All Fall Down. Erica Spindler

Jen continued, whispering.

      “Suffocated,” Veronica corrected.

      “Do you think they’ll catch the guy?” The receptionist laid a hand protectively over her swollen belly. “Knowing a person like that is walking the streets of Charlotte gives me the creeps. I mean, if someone like Joli Andersen can get killed, anybody can.”

      Veronica knew Jen wasn’t alone in her fears, not today. No doubt those same words, or a variation of them, had been uttered in nearly every household in Charlotte over the past few hours. A murder like this one, a victim like Joli Andersen, drove home just how dangerous the world was. And just how fickle fate.

      “I can assure you of one thing, Jen, this will probably be the most intensive manhunt Charlotte has ever seen.” Veronica stuffed her messages into her pocket, then collected her coffee cup and briefcase. “And when they do catch him, we’ll nail him.”

      The receptionist smiled, looking relieved. “Justice always wins out.”

      After agreeing, Veronica made her way to the conference room. There, the other lawyers—with the exception of Rick—were already assembled. And as she had known they would be, they were all talking about the same thing—Joli Andersen’s murder. She called out a hello, dropped her things at a vacant spot at the table and ambled over to a group of her colleagues. They all began talking to her at once.

      “Isn’t it unbelievable?”

      “I heard Rick dated Joli for a while. This is going to hit him really hard.”

      “Are you sure? He’s quite a bit older than—”

      “—heard that the FBI’s been called in.”

      “A top profiler. Rumor has it that—”

      “The crime involved some sort of kinky sex.”

      Veronica jumped on the last, the first bit of new information that interested her. “Where did you hear that? That wasn’t on any of the news reports.”

      The other attorney looked at her. “A friend in homicide. He didn’t give specifics, but indicated it was … unpleasant.”

      Rick entered the room, his face ashen. Immediately all conversation ceased, and the assembled ADAs took their seats. He cleared his throat. “Before any of you ask, I don’t know much more than you do. The murder occurred in Whistlestop. At a motel. She was suffocated. They have no suspects as of yet, but the FBI is putting together a profile of the killer. Apparently there was biological evidence left at the scene, though I don’t know of what nature. In deference to the Andersen family, the police have agreed to keep the most prurient aspects of the crime from the press.”

      He ran a hand across his forehead; Veronica saw that it shook. From the looks of him, Veronica suspected the rumor about him and the young Joli was true. She wondered if their past relationship might also make him a suspect. Probably, she decided. In this investigation, no stone would be left unturned.

      “Why don’t we get down to business?” Rick murmured. “What have we got? Anything new?”

      Laurie Carter spoke up. “I’ve got a pretty good assault with a deadly weapon. Two neighboring housewives get into an argument over a cup of borrowed sugar. The argument turns ugly and neighbor one whacks neighbor two with a sauté pan.”

      Laughter rippled around the table. A lawyer named Ned House arched his eyebrows. “A sauté pan’s your deadly weapon?”

      “Hey,” one of the other female prosecutors piped up, “you ever try to pick up one of those suckers? They’re heavy.”

      “It did the trick,” Laurie said dryly. “Landed our victim in the hospital. Concussion, stitches, broken nose. The whole bit.”

      Rick shook his head. “You’re joking, right?”

      “No way. And here’s where the story really gets fun. Turns out neighbor two’s been borrowing more than sugar from her neighbor. Seems she and Mrs. Sauté Pan’s husband have been doing the suburban cha-cha-cha when they thought nobody was looking.”

      Ned made a clucking sound with his tongue. “And people think the ‘burbs are safe.”

      “Plead it down,” Veronica murmured. “Sure she did it, but the jury’s going to sympathize with the scorned wife.”

      “Unless the jury’s predominantly male,” Ned countered.

      Veronica shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. This is a country founded by Puritans. In the back of their minds, the jurors, male or female, are going to figure the slut deserved it.”

      Rick agreed. “Simple assault’s the best you’re going to get out of it. Plead it down.”

      They moved on, discussing two other assaults and an attempted rape. Each time, the other lawyers looked to Veronica for her opinion. Although she had only been with the Charlotte D.A.’s office nine months, she had been with the Charleston District Attorney for three years before that. There, she had earned the reputation of being a careful prosecutor who went after each viable case with a vengeance.

      The truth was, she hated bullies. Hated the cowardly scum that roamed the streets preying on those weaker than themselves. On women. Children. The elderly. She had dedicated her life to making the scum pay.

      That dedication had translated into a ninety-seven percent conviction rate. It never failed to astound her how awed the other prosecutors were by that number. To her, it hadn’t been hard to achieve. If she went forward with a case, she believed she could win it. And she never stopped until she had.

      Rick turned to her. “Veronica, how’s the Alvarez date-rape case coming?”

      The other lawyers looked expectantly at her. When this case had first come in, Rick had recommended against it. It’d be tough to win, he’d said. Date rape was always iffy from a trial standpoint. And this case was more so because the girl involved had a reputation and the boy was a national merit scholar, the captain of his high-school football team and from a prominent family.

      But Veronica had fought for the case. She had seen Angie Alvarez’s bruises. She had listened to her story and seen the real terror in her eyes. This was America, Veronica had told Rick. Just because a boy could throw a football or his daddy had money didn’t make him above the law. “No” meant “no” for everybody.

      She had vowed to Rick—and herself—that she would make this case work. And now she had.

      Veronica smiled, remembering how, during their first interview, the boy had smirked at her. Cocky little prick. She had him now.

      “I have another girl,” she said.

      Rick straightened. “And she’s willing to testify?”

      “Willing and ready.”

      “What kept her quiet before?”

      “Fear. Her mother warned her that if she sought justice, the opposite would happen, her reputation would be ruined and no nice boy would ever have anything to do with her. Her mother begged her to put it behind her and go on as if nothing had happened.”

      “What changed?”

      “Simple. She hasn’t been able to put it behind her.” Veronica dropped her hands to her lap so the other prosecutors wouldn’t see her flexing her fingers. She didn’t want them to know how deeply this case had affected her. “Besides, there’s safety in numbers. And believe me, this boy’s been busy.”

      “There are more girls?” Laurie said, shaking her head, expression disgusted.

      “Looks like there might be. My witnesses have heard rumors. I’ve got someone checking into a couple of them.”

      “Nail this creep to the wall,” Laurie muttered.

      “Done.” Veronica smiled, determined. “At this point it’s just a matter of how high and how many nails.”