FORTY-SIX
Mid-morning a week later, Kelly got a call with yet more bad news. The caller was her old friend Ronnie Hooper. “I’ve got something to tell you about your client Frank Oliver that you’re not going to like.”
There wasn’t much about him that she did like, but Kelly held her tongue. “I’m listening.”
“We’re looking at charging him with a second murder.”
Kelly stifled a sharp intake of breath lest she betray her sense of panic. In as calm a voice as she could muster, she asked, “Did Alicia Oliver die?”
“No. But it seems he may have killed his cellmate last night in lock-up.”
Kelly felt as if her heart had stopped beating and blood rushed to her head. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t be!
“Tell me about it,” she said, again as calmly as she could.
“He claims the cell
