Blood Money (Joe Dillard Series No. 6) Read Free

he isn’t a danger to himself or anyone else. That’s the legal standard for involuntary commitment, isn’t it?”
    I nodded and said, “Has the son hired a lawyer?”
    “Nathaniel Mitchell. They’ve already served the petition on Roscoe.”
    “Then the son has money. Mitchell is the most expensive lawyer in Northeast Tennessee.”
    “Zane is a developer,” Charlie said. “Builds big houses in the mountains for the nouveaux riche . Maybe he’s struggling because of the economic downturn in the housing industry, but I still don’t understand why he would go after his own father’s property.”
    “You should get an affidavit from an expert that says Roscoe is competent and file a motion to have the petition dismissed,” I said. “Try to take them out of the game before it gets started. Once the discovery process gets underway, Mitchell will try to bury you in paper and he’ll make things as expensive as possible hoping your client will run out of money and give them what they want.”
    “Roscoe won’t give them anything. He’s a stubborn old bird.”
    “I want to meet him and talk to him,” I said. “If I’m going to help you out on a case, I want to know our client. Early Monday morning would be best for me.”
    Her eyes brightened.
    “You’ll do it, then? You’ll supervise me?”
    I nodded again. “We’ll work something out as far as finding some space for you here.”
    “How much of the five thousand do you want?”
    “Keep it. You need it more than I do.”
    Before I could say another word, she was on her feet and around the desk.
    “Please let me hug your neck,” she said.
    I stood, bent over, and opened my arms. She squeezed me so tightly and for so long I started to feel light-headed.
    “Whoa, whoa,” I said. “I can’t help you if you strangle me to death.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Dillard,” she said when she finally let me go. “You won’t regret this.”
    A minute later, she’d picked up her pocketbook and was walking toward the door. Just before she walked out she turned.
    “By the way,” she said. “The answer is no.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Tell Jack I said no. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Chapter 2

    LATER that afternoon, my cell phone rang. I looked down at the caller ID and smiled. It was my wife, Caroline, probably calling about where she wanted to eat for lunch.  
    “You need to go over to the Sullivan County jail,” she said when I answered, “and talk to a young man named Jordan Scott. I just got off the phone with his father. He’s   been arrested for murder.”
    “Murder? What murder?”
    “It apparently happened this morning,” she said.  
    “I don’t want to get involved in a murder case, Caroline. I thought we talked about—”
    “I know, I know,” she said, “but this one is different. You need to get over there right away. He needs help.”
    The tone of her voice was urgent, which was uncharacteristic.  
    “Who did he supposedly murder?” I asked.
    “A cop. He’s black, Joe. Just a kid, and he shot a white police officer. I think it’s going to be a bad one.”
    “Then why do you want me to get involved?”
    “Trust me,” she said. “I’ve been talking to his father for the past forty minutes. He’s a good kid from a good family. There are circumstances, Joe. This is something you need to do.”
    “What circumstances?”
    “I heard them from his father. If I tell you, then you’ll be getting your information third-hand. It’s better if you get it straight from him. If you aren’t comfortable representing him after you talk to him, then fine, don’t do it. But if half of what his father told me is true, you’ll take the case.”
    “Which means I’ll probably get caught up in another firestorm.”
    “Firestorms are what you do best, baby.”

    The door buzzed and clanged, and I walked into a small interview room walled by concrete blocks of gunmetal gray and floored in gray linoleum. The sights, sounds and smells of