Texas Tall - Janet Dailey Page 0,38

Those Tylers have always thought themselves a cut above everybody else. It does a body good to see one of ’em go down and face justice like us ordinary folks.” Abner took a tissue from a box on the desk and blew his nose. “Do you think we can get Will for murder?”

Abner was like an attack dog straining at the leash. Earlier, Clay had wondered whether Stella was pulling the sheriff’s strings, as well as his own. Now he was convinced of it.

“Murder?” Clay shook his head. “Not likely. We’d have to prove malice, and there’s no evidence of that. The inquest will be looking at self-defense versus manslaughter, which carries a sentence of two to twenty years in Texas.”

Abner smirked. “Even the minimum would take Will Tyler down a peg. What’ve we got to prove?”

Clay leaned back in his chair. “Tomescu had already surrendered his gun when Will shot him. As I see it, the case hinges on the knife, and whether a reasonable man would see it as a threat. If so, that would argue for self-defense.”

“It wasn’t much of a knife,” Abner said. “Just a little switchblade. Even if Tomescu had thrown it, it wouldn’t have done much damage.”

“But throwing it could’ve wounded Will or maybe distracted him long enough for Tomescu to grab his gun back and use it. That’s what the defense will argue if this goes to trial. Like I say, it’s a fine line.”

Abner’s face lit. “What if Tomescu hadn’t tried to throw the knife at all? What if Will put it in his hand after the man was shot dead?”

“Wouldn’t the knife have Will’s prints on it if he’d done that?”

“Not if he’d wiped it clean and used a handkerchief or something to put it in the dead man’s hand.”

Clay frowned. Evidence tampering was a crime, but if Abner was willing to try, it was no skin off his nose. “Could have happened,” he said. “What else can you think of?”

“Will’s a cool-headed shot. He could’ve wounded the man instead of blasting him through the chest. Ever see what a thirty-eight can do to a body at point-blank range?” Abner stood. “Will Tyler deserves to pay for what he done. And it’s up to us to see that he does.”

With that parting line, the sheriff marched out of Clay’s office and closed the door with a click. Clay opened his desk drawer, took out a bottle of Lortab, and gulped one down with the last of his morning coffee. Abner Sweeney was a jackass, but at least they were on the same side. And discussing Will Tyler’s case with him had clarified Clay’s own concerns about the upcoming inquest. Will Tyler was one of Blanco County’s leading citizens. He was respected, even liked by most of the people who knew him. Given the evidence, and the mitigating circumstances, there was a good chance the judge would rule against pressing charges.

Will would walk free, and Stella Rawlins would be out for blood.

Clay liked being county attorney, especially with the prospect of moving on to something bigger. He liked being a respected member of the community and having the kind of family life people admired. If Stella released that security footage, everything he’d worked for would be gone—his job, his marriage, his children, and his future. He’d be lucky to stay out of jail. One way or another, he needed to get that tape and destroy it. Until then, he’d have no choice but to do what she wanted.

And what she wanted was for Will Tyler to go to prison.

The physical evidence alone wouldn’t be enough to send the case to trial. Neither would the coroner’s findings nor even the testimony of the witnesses. That left the judge.

Apart from the juvenile court, there were just three judges in Blanco County. Clay knew them all—decent men, but human, with human failings. They had their weaknesses, and Clay knew how to use them—a small favor with implied repayment, a concession in some unrelated matter, or just a damned good argument. It was something he did well.

And it wasn’t as if an inquest was a life-or-death matter. Any room for doubt would be enough to justify sending a case to trial—a trial that could be delayed by weeks, even months, buying him more time to deal with Stella.

Feeling better, Clay picked up the phone and buzzed the receptionist at the front desk. “Glenda, could you find out which judge is on the Tyler inquest and get