Murder Season by Robert Ellis

this early in the afternoon didn’t change that.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    She nodded and they started down the hall.
    “You look like you could use something to eat,” he said. “A meeting was canceled. They brought in food.”
    “I’m good,” she said.
    “Well, I need something. Maybe you’ll change your mind after you see what’s there.”
    She looked him over as they walked. His jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he appeared less weary and more able than he had this morning. As they entered the meeting room, she saw a group of prosecutors standing before a long serving table with plates in their hands. The room was quiet, the tables and chairs set with pads and pens, not place settings. It looked like people were taking advantage of a free lunch, but returning to their offices and eating at their desks.
    Vaughan poured a large cup of coffee. In spite of the caterer’s obvious talent, Lena had too much on her mind to eat and too much caffeine already streaming through her body to add another dose to the mix. She turned away. When she looked up, she found Debi Watson staring at her through the crowd. Watson stood by the water glasses with a modest plate of food and tried to smile but was late with it. After an awkward moment, the woman stepped out of the room with her lunch.
    Lena found the encounter unsettling. No matter how brief, she had just caught a glimpse of what Watson looked like stripped of her confidence. She had seen it in her eyes—a combination of weariness and pain. A certain recognition that the prosecutor had lost her standing in the office, and things would never return to what they were.
    Lena turned back, following Vaughan over to a table by the windows.
    “Let me guess,” he said. “You searched Hight’s place and didn’t find the gun.”
    “He got rid of it. We found the receipt, but not the gun.”
    Vaughan tested his coffee with a short first sip. “And he has no intention of working with us. He’s not gonna make it easy.”
    “It sounds like he’s got more than one attorney,” she said.
    “He thinks he can win, Lena. And you know what? He’s probably right.”
    Lena started to say something, but stopped when she saw Steven Bennett enter the room. He nodded at them, then turned away and picked up a plate. Although his purpose appeared innocent enough, the way he walked into the room carried the same lack of authenticity as Watson’s delayed smile. It didn’t feel true. He didn’t enter the room looking for the serving table. Instead, his emerald green eyes had swept through the space searching out faces. It seemed obvious that Watson had told him that they were here. For some reason, he needed to see it for himself.
    Vaughan took another sip of coffee, then spoke in a lower voice. “Why couldn’t you say any of this over the phone? What else did you find?”
    “Cash that may have come from Bosco,” she said. “Fifteen to twenty grams of cocaine that may have been taken from that pile at the club.”
    “How long will it take SID to process everything?”
    “We’re at the top of the list.”
    Lena was still eyeing Bennett. The deputy DA was spending too much time staring at the catering trays with his back to them. He was close enough to hear them. Lena had no doubt that he was listening.
    Vaughan tapped her wrist. “Is something wrong?”
    “We need to go to your office,” she said. “We can’t talk here.”
    Her eyes were still on Bennett. Vaughan followed her gaze.
    “I see what you mean,” he said.
    Bennett didn’t turn or move as they walked out. When they reached Vaughan’s office on the other side of the building one floor below, he closed the door and apologized for his housekeeping. Stacks of file folders two and three feet high lined nearly every square foot of the room. They were piled on his credenza, on the couch and chair, and formed a semicircle to the right of his desk chair. As he cleared off a seat for Lena, she