is so fresh, it feels like it happened just yesterday.
After that somber moment, Ruth skillfully steers the conversation in a different direction. Layla tells us about her current load of courses at UC, where she is majoring in psychology. Then the conversation turns to boating, and Ian talks about some high-tech navigation upgrades he wants to make to his yacht.
I sip my coffee and take it all in.
Ian’s father is reserved, sitting back quietly and listening, but not contributing much. His mother, on the other hand, is friendly and engaged.
The four of us polish off a bottle of Chianti, while Layla sips sparkling water.
After everyone has finished eating, Martin rises from his chair at the head of the table and nods toward the door. “Tyler, come join me in my study for a drink.”
It’s not so much an invitation as it is a command. Not wanting to risk pissing him off any more than I already have, simply by being here, I stand and lay my white linen napkin on the table. “Of course.”
Ian shoots to his feet as well, clearly not wanting to be left out, but his father says, “Stay, Ian. I know you have a lot of catching up to do with your mother and sister. We won’t be long.”
Ian’s worried gaze shifts to me, and I can tell he’s torn between visiting with his family and coming with me. Knowing Ian, he probably sees it as his duty to act as a buffer between me and his father. But I can hold my own with Martin Alexander. My guess is Martin doesn’t want Ian to hear what he’s about to say to me.
“It’s okay,” I tell Ian. “Stay and visit.”
Ian frowns, but he doesn’t argue.
I follow Martin out of the dining room and down a hallway to his home office, a dark-paneled room dominated by a large mahogany desk and walls lined with bookcases. He takes a seat behind the desk and motions me toward a chair beside it. “Have a seat, detective.”
Detective. I wonder if this is going to be a personal or professional conversation. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.
As I take a seat, the judge reaches for the crystal decanter sitting on his desk and pours us each a shot of whiskey. He hands me a glass and takes a sip of his. “Any word yet on charges?”
He certainly didn’t waste time getting to the point. I had assumed he wanted to resume threatening me for daring to date his son, but no, this is about Brad Turner. “No. Nothing yet.”
He shrugs. “He has time. The Illinois statute of limitations for battery is two years.” He levels his gaze on me. “He could hold this over your head for quite a while.”
I nod. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“How bad were his injuries? Because if the injuries were bad enough, the charges could amount to aggravated battery, which is a class three felony. Of course, you acted in defense of another—my son. That fact could be enough to exonerate you, depending on the charge. Still, if it goes to trial, Ian will be called upon to testify. And let me tell you, if Ian takes the stand, the prosecuting attorney will do everything he can to rip my son apart and destroy his credibility as a witness.”
Martin tosses back the rest of his whiskey and grimaces. “I think it goes without saying that Ruth and I don’t want our son to testify.”
“I don’t want that either.”
Martin leans back in his creaking leather chair. “How can I impress upon you the importance of keeping Ian off the witness stand? My son is emotionally fragile. His early formative years—living with his drug-addict of a birth mother—did profound damage to him. His sense of self-esteem was shattered. His sense of security nonexistent. When Ruth and I first got him, the slightest thing would set him off. Later, he was the perfect target for bullies at school. Kids can be mean, Tyler. They saw his fragility, and it was like sharks sensing blood in the water. Ian was the poor little rich kid the other children loved to torment. He was hounded to the point that he attempted to hurt himself. More than once. There were times when he required twenty-four-hour supervision, for his own safety. We had to pull him out of school and educate him at home, just to keep him safe. That was his darkest period—his teenage years. He’s in a much better place now, as an