“He pushed himself to his feet, supporting himself on the edges of the desk. “There’s nothing more to be said.”
“Uncle Jon, please! It was someone else’s voice, someone imitating him on that tape!”
“Tape?” For a second the judge’s eyes were vague and unfocused.
“I’m sure a voice analysis will prove it wasn’t my father, but in the meantime, his reputation will be . . .” Nancy broke off and stared at him, a funny feeling creeping up the back of her neck. “You do tape your calls?”
“I—” Judge Renk seemed confused, uncertain. “Yes. No matter. It was definitely Carson’s voice. He called me the day before yesterday, and—”
“When?” The judge’s statement had triggered a memory—her father grumbling about a one-hour morning meeting that had lasted until almost ten o’clock that night. “I even had lunch and dinner brought in,” Carson Drew had said. “I was in that room so long, I got cabin fever.”
“You say he called you the day before yesterday, Uncle Jon? But I know he was in a meeting from eight-thirty in the morning until ten at night.”
“Then he must have called during a break.” He spoke hurriedly, as if he were running out of breath. “That’s it, during a break.”
“What time was it?”
“I—I don’t remember exactly. I’ll have to think about it. I—” Frowning, he rubbed his forehead. “Maybe it was the day before that.”
Nancy felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach as the beginning of a very unpleasant and unexpected suspicion began to filter through her mind.
“I’ll have to check,” the judge was saying. “I—” Suddenly his voice failed, and he shook his head. “Carson doesn’t deserve this.”
It came so softly that Nancy almost missed it. “ ‘Doesn’t deserve . . .’ This is a frameup, and you’re a part of it, aren’t you?” Suddenly she knew it for certain, and the realization left her stunned. “You made the bribery accusation, knowing it wasn’t true!”
The judge tried to bristle, but it didn’t work. “I won’t be talked to like this,” he said, blustering.
Darting behind the desk, Nancy leaned over him. “You lied, Uncle Jon! Why? Why?”
“Please, you don’t understand.”
“Oh, Uncle Jon! What would Aunt Martha say if she knew? She used to say my dad was like a son to her! So did you! Yet you’re trying to ruin him! He’ll be disbarred, go to prison—”
“It won’t come to that. I won’t let it.”
“We were almost killed last night! Ann Granger and my father and me—because we were with her! Her car was rigged to explode when she opened the door. She’s in the hospital right now.”
“No,” the judge whispered.
“And about an hour ago a man tried to kidnap me. It was going to be a swap—my life for the name of Ann Granger’s contact!”
The judge’s face was pale. “They wouldn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t they? They are capable of anything! It’s up to you to stop them! You, protector of our system of laws!”
With his own words used as a weapon against him, the judge seemed to collapse. “No more, Nancy. I swear to you I never thought it would go this far, never thought—” He dabbed at his forehead. “Get the police, Nancy. I’ll do what has to be done.”
Nancy’s sense of triumph was muted by a deep sadness. One of her childhood idols had crumbled before her eyes. “There’s a squad car out front,” she said softly. “I’ll ask one of the officers to come in.” She hurried from the room, afraid lie would change his mind.
Crossing the marble foyer, Nancy heard footsteps. Mrs. O’Hara was just at the entrance to the library, a tray of covered dishes in her hand. “I’ll be right back,” Nancy called to the housekeeper.
“Hurry, then. It’s soup, nice and hot.”
As Nancy opened the front door, a shot shattered the silence behind her. She whirled around. Mrs. O’Hara, one foot across the threshold to the library, dropped the tray. Heavy soup bowls and spoons went flying—the crockery shattering and soup splattering everywhere.
Then the housekeeper screamed, a wail of horror that ricocheted against the paneled walls and pierced Nancy’s heart with dread.