Star Witness - By Mallory Kane Page 0,1
colors of spring. Not that the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain in Louisiana ever saw spring...or fall for that matter. The weather was generally either hot and humid or chilly and wet.
Still, the sun seemed to shine brighter when their only sister and Harte’s closest sibling was around.
“What a gorgeous day to have dinner outside,” she said as she rounded the table, giving everyone a quick kiss, then sat.
“Nice of you to grace us with your presence,” Ethan said, cutting into his steak.
Cara Lynn made a face at him. “I’m showing twelve pieces at the New Orleans Fiber Arts Show in just over a month,” she said, “and I’ve got finish work to do on five of them. You probably won’t see me again until after the show.”
Harte’s mother sighed as she set two loaves of French bread on the table. “That’s why I try to have these dinners as often as possible. Everyone’s so busy these days.”
“Speaking of which,” Harte said, “the court date in the Freeman Canto murder case has been moved up. The judge will hear opening arguments on Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?” Lucas said. “Five days from now? That seems sudden. Didn’t you just take over the case a couple of months ago?”
“And they were talking about putting it on the docket for June. But now defense counsel Felix Drury has to have open-heart surgery, and the judge didn’t want to put off the case another three or four months while he recuperates.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and Drury will plead his client, or at least try to wrap up the case early,” Ethan said. “I’ve testified in a case or two where Jury Drury was defense counsel. He treats the jury like his own personal fan club. Plays to them and draws out his arguments. Plus, doesn’t he love to file motions for acquittal?”
“Yes, he does. The D.A. got the notification about the new trial date around one-thirty today, and before three there were two defense motions on his desk.” Harte speared a bite of steak. “So that means I probably won’t have time to breathe until the trial is over, starting tonight.” Just as he finished speaking, his cell phone rang.
His dad grunted. “Dang things,” he mumbled.
Harte glanced at the display and excused himself from the table. “Got to take this,” he apologized as he walked to the other end of the patio.
“Delancey? It’s Mahoney,” Detective Tom Mahoney said unnecessarily. The gruff detective didn’t like cell phones any more than Harte’s dad did. “Got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Harte asked, smothering a sigh. Mahoney was an excellent detective, but he had a very broad definition of problem.
“Your witness in the Canto case was almost run down a little while ago.”
Harte’s scalp burned. “Dani? What happened? Is she all right?” He blinked away a disturbing vision of Public Defender Danielle Canto’s exquisite body crumpled on the highway.
“Yep. A vehicle nearly sideswiped her on the sidewalk leading up to her house. Doubt it was an accident. The damn car left tracks in the grass—and skid marks—looks like it didn’t even try to slow down—”
“Tom! What about Dani?” Harte broke in.
“She’s okay. But real shaken up. Has a few scrapes and bruises from throwing herself up onto the porch, though,” Mahoney assured him. “That saved her. The front steps are nothing but toothpicks now.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“No need to rush,” Mahoney said. “The excitement’s over now.”
“Well, it may not be the last of it. Did you hear that the Canto case has been moved up? It’s due to start Tuesday.”
“Hmph. That explains a lot. That car had to be sent by Yeoman. He doesn’t want Ms. Canto testifying against him.”
Harte agreed. Ernest Yeoman was an importer and distributor who supplied goods to all the Hasty Marts in the Southeast. He had long been suspected of dealing in contraband, specifically drugs, through his import business. “Please tell me you’ve got evidence that ties him to this.”
Mahoney cleared his throat. “Can’t say. We picked up some headlight glass fragments and paint chips where the vehicle sideswiped the porch. We’ll see if the lab can match it up with a make and model.”
“Where’s Dani now?” Harte asked. “Did she have to go to the hospital? I want to talk to her. Find out what happened.”
“She’s at home. We’ve got her statement. You can read it as soon as it’s typed up.”
Harte was already fishing in his jeans for his car keys. “You left her by herself?”
“I told her to go to a hotel