Special Forces Father - By Mallory Kane Page 0,2
people involved had nothing to do with her or why she was reviewing the case.
She glanced through the other reports until she came to the statements given by Harte Delancey and Danielle Canto. She’d read one paragraph of Canto’s statement when her cell phone rang.
“This is Dr. Chalmet,” she said.
She heard nothing for a couple seconds. Then a voice spoke in a guttural whisper. “Dr. Chalmet. You understand that Myron Stamps was insane when he shot that guy, right?”
Kate was surprised. This wasn’t the first time she’d received an anonymous call about a case. It wasn’t even the first time she’d been threatened. Although if this was a threat, it was starting off very mildly. Usually the calls came during the trial, once her name was on the witness list, not days ahead of time. Sighing audibly, she asked, “Who is this?”
There was no answer.
“I do not respond to empty anonymous threats,” she said archly.
A hollow click told her the person had hung up. She set her phone down and tapped a fingernail on Stamps’s file. Who knew she’d been appointed to evaluate the senator? She ticked them off on her fingers. Vinson Akers’s secretary, who had called her two weeks ago with the District Attorney’s request. Akers himself, of course, and his prosecutors, Melissa Shallowford and Harte Delancey.
Stamps’s attorney knew, too, and that meant there was probably a 99 percent chance that Stamps knew. That probably explained the phone call. The caller might be a supporter, a family member, even a constituent who really thought the senator might be insane. She’d learned a long time ago that harassing, complaining, even threatening calls like this were part of the package if she was going to be a consultant and expert witness for the D.A.’s office. Moreover, she knew it was a waste of time to wonder about the caller’s motivation.
She went back to reading Danielle Canto’s statement. She’d studied most of the lengthy narrative by lunchtime when her secretary, Alice Stott, stuck her head in.
“Kate, it’s eleven-thirty. We need expanding files, pens and a few other things. Want me to go by the office-supply store on my lunch break?”
“Would you rather leave early and pick up the supplies on your way home?” Kate asked. “I’m probably going to leave a little early myself since I don’t have any appointments.”
Alice smiled. “Leave early? Twist my arm. I’ll just run out and grab some lunch. Can I bring you something?”
“I’ve got yogurt and an apple. I’m fixing Max pasketti tonight. We’re going to watch Shrek.”
“Max hasn’t seen Shrek?” Alice asked.
Kate laughed. “Please,” she said. “It hasn’t been that long since your kids were little. Of course he has. He’s seen all of them. This will be the third time. I just have to convince him that we can only watch one tonight.”
Alice chuckled. “I do remember. I’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time,” Kate said, her attention already back on Danielle Canto’s statement. She’d finished it and was flipping back through, expanding on the notes she’d taken, when someone rapped on her door facing.
She looked up and for a split second, her lungs seized, and she couldn’t get a breath. Then she blinked and realized that the tall lanky man standing in the doorway wasn’t Travis Delancey. It was Harte, Travis’s younger brother and a prosecutor in the D.A.’s office.
“Hi, Dr. Chalmet,” the young man said, smiling. “Your secretary must be at lunch.” He held a manila envelope in his right hand. His left arm was in a sling, a result of being shot during that same violent night she’d just been reading about. Harte had undergone surgery to remove a bullet that had lodged alarmingly close to his heart.
She cleared her throat, pushing away the thoughts of how very like Travis he looked. “Mr. Delancey. What can I do for you?”
“Senator Stamps’s attorney sent this to the D.A.’s office.” He handed her the envelope, which was too thin to hold more than a couple sheets of paper.
“Oh? Did she say what it was?” Kate grabbed a letter opener and slit the seal.
“Apparently it’s a report from an independent physician who evaluated Stamps.”
Kate glanced at the two sheets of paper. “An independent physician. Hmm.”
Harte laughed. “Spoken like a doctor.”
Kate glanced up, a little startled by his laugh. The laugh sounded just like Travis, too. She shook her head mentally as she set the envelope on her desk. “Thanks,” she said, then nodded toward the sling. “How are you doing?”
Harte shrugged, then winced. “Fine.