THREE WEEKS EARLIER

"PLEASE STATE YOUR name for the court."

Abby had to admit to almost feeling sorry for the woman sitting before the judge today. Less than a year ago, Kelsey Cox had retired as a deputy chief after a thirty-year, trailblazing law enforcement career. And here she was in a prison jumpsuit, no makeup, bad hairstyle, and looking so painfully thin, Abby winced. She also sported what looked like a fresh black eye. Someone in jail had most likely recognized her as an ex-cop. Abby wondered if that was why Kelsey insisted on the fast track for her confession. If so, she understandably wanted to get out of the city jail and into a state facility, where there were fewer chances of being recognized. She was set to confess to murdering and then concealing the body of Buck Morgan, Abby's father, more than twenty-seven years ago.

Yeah, Abby thought, I almost feel sorry.

Cox cleared her throat. "Kelsey June Cox." She stared at the microphone she spoke into, seemingly oblivious to anyone else in the judge's private chamber. This had been one of Kelsey's demands — along with the plea to speed up the process and have her hearing as soon as possible — that she be able to give her statement in private, with only a few people present and no questions except from the judge. All in exchange for a mere fifteen-year sentence.

Sure, I'm getting a confession, Abby thought. But why do I feel as though in our effort to close this, we've dealt away justice — real justice?

She looked over at Walter Gunther, Long Beach's police beat reporter. She'd fought to have him here in a simple demonstration of petulance. It was one battle won in a lost war. As glad as she was that he was in her corner, she wished it were Luke Murphy by her side, giving her support.

"Please proceed with your statement, Ms. Cox, about what occurred on the night of June 16, 1988."

After a sip of water, Cox began. "On that night, I left work late, after 10 p.m., and returned to my home on Granada, in Long Beach, to hear two men arguing." Her voice was thin and reedy, not the same one Abby remembered barking orders when Kelsey Cox was a supervisor in patrol.

"I shared the home with Gavin Kent. He was a fellow officer and my fiancé. I recognized him as being part of the argument, but it was only when I stepped out onto the patio that I saw who the other person was. It was Buck Morgan." She paused to take a drink of water. Her gaze flickered briefly to Abby, then back down to the mic.

"Was Buck Morgan an acquaintance?" the judge asked.

"Buck Morgan was known to me as one of the owners of a restaurant that had burned down, the Triple Seven. The fire had occurred two nights previous, and it was assumed by everyone that Morgan had died in it."

"Did someone die in the fire?"

"We found three bodies. At the time we thought them to be Buck Morgan, his wife, Patricia, and Luke Goddard, their cook."

The judge scribbled some notes.

"When you stepped out onto the patio, did the two men see you?"

"No, uh ... I mean, I think Gavin saw me, but I was behind Buck."

"What was the argument about?"

"I only caught bits of it — it really didn't make sense, and like I said, I thought Buck was dead, and that concerned me. What if he had faked his death? It occurred to me that he might be a killer; he might have killed his wife, the cook, and set the fire ..."

Abby was almost up out of her seat. Beside her, DA Drew gripped her hand, and Walter shook his head. Face hot, heart pumping, Abby slowly settled back into her chair. For the first time Cox steadily looked her way, expression blank.

Abby fumed. Gavin Kent was the one who burned down her father's restaurant, killed her mother. Of course her father had a reason to be arguing with him. What was it Kelsey was going to confess to? A bad hair day and taking it out on Abby's dad?

The judge cast a frown Abby's direction and then nodded for Cox to continue.

"I didn't really know what to think, or what was happening, but I could see that Buck was trying to get Gavin to go somewhere with him. Fearing for Gavin, I moved in behind Morgan."

"Did you have a weapon?"

"I'd left my duty weapon in the house and I didn't want to waste time by going back to get it. I grabbed a shovel — we were having work done in our backyard and there was one handy. Morgan was getting more animated. Gavin was vulnerable — he'd hurt himself and was not 100 percent."

"How had he hurt himself?"

"Helping with the yard remodel."

Abby could not hold back a snort. Gavin Kent had been wounded in a gunfight, shot by her father, after Buck had wit- nessed Gavin kill Abby's mother. Her dad then killed the drug dealer Gavin had brought with him. After that he ran out of ammo and had to flee the restaurant for his life.

Another angry glance from the judge, and she forced herself to nod an apology.

"What happened then?"

"I just reacted. I saw Morgan move toward Gavin, and I swung the shovel and hit him in the head as hard as I could."

* * *

Abby left the courthouse angry and frustrated. She remembered when she was a kid in foster care, in the weeks right after her parents' murders, filled with anger. She used to pound big rocks into smaller rocks and pretend she was pounding the people who had murdered them. It had been a long time since that anger — rage, really — had surged so completely through her. A rage that made her want to pound something — or someone. What Kelsey called a confession was a farce.

A social worker back then had given Abby a Bible verse from the book of Deuteronomy. It took years before six-year-old Abby completely understood the verse, but when she did, it became a lifeline and something that eased her anger. "He gives justice to the fatherless and widows ..."

"Hey, Abby, hold up."

She stopped and turned. She'd tried to ignore Gunther but wasn't angry enough to make the old guy chase after her. Besides, he wasn't the one who infuriated her.

"Trying to give me a heart attack?" He caught up to her, breathing hard, bending over, and putting his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. "You stormed out of there and made the judge mad," he said after he straightened up. "Hope you don't have to try any cases in front of him right away."

"I don't know what I expected in there. I didn't want a trial any more than the DA did — too risky with the shaky evidence we have — but somehow what Kelsey had to say just didn't sit right with me. She wanted my dad to be the bad guy, threatening Gavin Kent. And Kent is the man who killed my mother!"

Gunther raised both hands. "Calm down. I'm on your side here."

Abby took a deep breath, glancing around the street in front of the courthouse, at the people coming and going. This was the place where people came for justice, she thought bitterly. On one level she knew she had no right to be so angry. She had more answers now about the murders of her parents than she'd had a year ago.

After Gavin Kent killed her mother, her father fled, thinking that by doing so he'd saved Abby, that Kent would leave her alone. But Kent still burned the restaurant down to destroy evidence, nearly killing Abby and killing an innocent cook, Luke Murphy's uncle. Her father had come out of hiding to try to take Kent to the police, but Cox killed Buck Morgan before that could happen. Then she buried him under tons of concrete in her backyard, where he'd lain hidden for all these years.

Now, at least, there would be one person in jail, sentenced for part of the crime. Abby had hoped Kelsey would finally point the finger at the person responsible for ordering the massacre at the Triple Seven restaurant: California's First Lady, Alyssa Rollins. But after hearing Cox's self-serving confession, it stung like a thousand bee stings to Abby's heart that Alyssa effortlessly slipped through every crack and avoided judgment. She was the real killer, and she would stay free.

She looked at Gunther. "I know you are. This is just aggravating."

"Well, step into my office." He pointed to a street hot dog vendor. "Let me buy you lunch and we'll talk about it."

In spite of everything Abby laughed. "Yeah, that used to be Asa's favorite place to take me for lunch too." Her old partner Asa Foster had been the one to introduce her to the crusty reporter Gunther. "But he did it because he was cheap."

"I resemble that remark," Gunther said with mock insult.

"Thanks for the offer, but I've got some training to get back to, for the cold case squad. Rain check?"

"Sure." He stepped close. "I'd still like to pick your brain about the Triple Seven someday. It's not settled in my mind, and I don't think it's settled in yours either."

Abby cocked her head and shrugged, then continued on to the parking structure.

She'd thought all of this had been settled in her heart and mind a long time ago, but it wasn't, she realized. I doubt that it will ever be settled. I'm that orphan talked about in the Bible. God is supposed to give me justice. Will he ever deliver?