Read Defense for the Devil Online
Authors: Kate Wilhelm
Defense for the Devil (19 page)
“Mr. Roxbury,” she said gently, “please. If I had called your office and said I happened to have a suitcase of money that came from Mitch Arno, where would it be now?” She shook her head. “I had no idea you’d jump the gun and arrest the first suspect you got your sights on, and meanwhile, we handled this matter in a timely and orderly manner. I am prepared to deliver copies of all the documents to you at this time. Mr. Chenowith at Internal Revenue handled it for the government; Mr. Trassi acted on Mitch Arno’s behalf. I’m sure that both of them will be happy to answer any questions you may have.”
“I have questions, all right,” he snapped, and began barking them at Maggie, the same questions Barbara had predicted he would ask. Maggie answered them all without hesitation.
Then Barbara handed the file folder to him. “Of course, we’ll be available to answer any questions; however, I have advised my client to talk to you only in my presence.”
“Why?” he muttered. “If it’s all as aboveboard as you say, what’s she got to hide?”
Barbara laughed. “Goes with the turf, Mr. Roxbury.” She sobered again. “After you’ve discussed this at the office, and talked with the other principals, I expect you’ll agree that you arrested the wrong man. Obviously, others learned that Mitch Arno was delivering a large sum of money in cash to his ex-wife. No one here knew it, but Arno’s colleagues, his friends, or even his enemies could well have found out.”
Roxbury’s eyes narrowed, and abruptly he stood up. “We never suggested he did it for money,” he snapped. “If what you’re telling me checks out, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference in our case. We’ll be in touch.”
Frank escorted him from the office. As soon as the door closed behind them, Maggie said in a low voice, “You did it! They’ll have to investigate those people now! They’ll see that they’re the ones with a reason to kill Mitch!”
“Maybe,” Barbara said.
“Can’t I tell the family anything?” Maggie asked. “Just a hint that things will work out?”
“They know I’m trying to get back support payments. Don’t breathe a word more than that,” Barbara said sharply. “For one thing, it’s a court order and you could be held in contempt. But more important, we might need it later. If word leaks, I want to know who leaked it. If it leaks from the D.A.’s office, it will say a lot about how seriously they’re taking this.” She stopped; it was too complex to explain. If a little came out now, a little in a week or two, then a full disclosure, it might mean they intended to release Ray and go after persons unknown. If a rumor of unspecified wealth started to float around, it could mean they wanted to defuse it now, not have a surprise later. If they sat tight and nothing leaked, it could mean they really didn’t consider it important to their case and would be prepared to deal with it later. Or…
She grinned at Maggie and spread her hands. “Anyway, from what I hear about the Arno family, it’s a real talk machine set full speed ahead all the time. How long would it be a family secret?”
Reluctantly Maggie accepted that.
After Maggie left, and Frank was behind his desk again, his expression turned grim. “They won’t buy it,” he said flatly.
“I know. Roxbury thinks it’s chalk dust.”
“Well, he thinks you’re trying to pull a fast one.”
Alone later, he brooded about Roxbury. He had sounded very sure of himself when he declared the new development wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference in his case. Frank had never met Ray, or any of the Amos, and for the first time he wondered if Barbara had come to a conclusion prematurely.
By forcing Trassi’s statement, Barbara had effectively given Mitch Arno an alibi for the murders of Thelma Wygood and the other Palmer courier in Florida, as well as for Gary Belmont’s murder in New Orleans. Defending Cain, he mused, but what about the brother? They knew Mitch was a killer. How did they know his brother was not?
You never know for sure,
he told himself sharply. So you risk a lot, take chances; that had been his life, too. But then he thought, this was different. He wasn’t risking anything these days. He no longer had a damn thing to lose, he thought, surveying his office bleakly, but, Christ, she was way out there and the limb was fragile.
He became very still, remembering the laughter and happiness in her voice when she reported in from Mexico, from New York, from Denver; the sparkle in her eyes when they came home, the lightness of her step. And he wondered, had he acted for her sake when he asked her to come back years ago, or for his own? She had left once, packed her few things, cleaned out her bank account, and had taken off for parts unknown. And he had brought her back. For good or evil? It was one thing to walk because you decided to go that route, but quite a different matter to be forced out, to leave in disgrace. Or would that hidden engine that drove her think it was a pretty good trade-off? He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed and cursed his helplessness, aware that she had to fight this battle alone.
19
All Monday evening
Barbara pretended she was not listening for the phone to ring, and she learned how to make chicken breasts with green chilies. The sauce looked strange, but it tasted good.
Tuesday she didn’t leave the apartment and pretended she was not listening for the phone. When it did ring, it was Bailey. He and Hannah were going to take a trip, he practically snarled; he would bill her for it. She didn’t press him for details, but she thought, New Orleans in August, yuck.
She browsed through the children’s cookbook for a few minutes, then began to walk.
He should be out of the mine by now. He should be back somewhere with a telephone handy. He should have called by now.
His call came at eight. “Hi,” he said softly. “God, I’ve missed you.”
She sank down into a chair. “Me, too. Where are you?”
“Boise. We just pulled in half an hour ago. I’ll be out of here at dawn, home at eight or nine. Unless there’s heavy traffic or something. If there is, I’ll fly over it.”
“Don’t drive too fast. No, scratch that. Drive like hell.”
He laughed.
After they hung up, she continued to sit with her hand on the phone, her eyes closed hard. Finally she roused. “And that’s how it is, kiddo,” she said softly.
He got home at eight-thirty Wednesday night. They didn’t bother to eat, just tumbled into bed, and got up at midnight to scrounge for food, then back to bed.
On Thursday he told her the Staley mine was closed for good. “I dragged a couple of commissioners down with me and scared the shit out of them.”
Then he said, “Up in the Canadian Cascades, I had plenty of time to think. It’s beautiful country up there; we’ll go back one day. I’d like to show you. Anyway, I got to thinking, what if you asked me to give up little jaunts like that, take up teaching or something instead. In time, a long time probably, but in time, after the honeymoon wore off and every day I had to face another classroom of kids who’d rather be out playing, or fucking their heads off, or something else, I’d come to resent my decision and blame the one I decided was responsible.”
She looked at him in dismay. “I wouldn’t ask you to give it up. You can’t believe I’d ask that.”
“No, I can’t. But isn’t that what I’ve been asking you to do? Give up the biggest part of your life? I don’t know. If I have been, by implication or outright, I can’t tell. If I have been, I’m sorry.”
“But you said you hate what I do.”
“What you get involved in, the people who might be dangerous, the risks you take. I’m afraid for you, and jealous of that part of your life because it takes you away from me. Out there in the wild I realized I’m a lousy test pilot’s spouse.”
She put her finger on his lips. “I have to show you something,” she said. “We’ll drive part of the way, then walk a little. Okay?”
She drove to the riverfront park, where they left the car and walked across the grass to the trail that followed the river for many miles. It was not crowded at one in the afternoon. Blackberry brambles were lush and weighted down with fruit on one side of the trail; the ground sloped to the flashing, sparkling river on the other.
“No hint about where we’re going?” he asked.
“Not even a hint. Remember the great blue heron we saw that first day?”
He nodded; his hand tightened on hers.
After a walk of several minutes, she pointed to a trail through the brambles. “Up there,” she said. It was not a very steep ascent; when they emerged, the Rose Garden was in front of them. She led him through it, and out the far side, past hundreds of blooming rose bushes; the air was heavy with perfume.
They crossed a street and went up several stairs, and before them was the Rose Garden Apartments complex. John looked at her curiously, but she didn’t explain yet.
The apartments were laid out in three groups; a landscaping crew was at work putting down sod, planting bushes, some balled and burlapped trees. She headed for the apartments nearest the river. Four units of two apartments each faced one another across a courtyard with a swimming pool. Two more double units one floor up spanned the distance between them at the ends, enclosing the whole. She went to two doors, one leading to stairs, the other to the interior space between the apartments on the lower level. She unlocked the door to the stairs and they went up to a small landing with two facing doors, both locked. She opened the apartment to their right and led him inside to a short hallway with a closet on one side and an open door to the first bedroom on the other. Another short hallway led to the bathroom. Straight through was a hallway to the living room on the right and the kitchen on the left, open space now, with folding doors pushed all the way back. Beyond the kitchen was the door to the second bedroom. It was bright and airy throughout.
“What do you think?” she asked. He had been absolutely silent. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think,” he said in a curiously flat voice. “Small?”
“Yes, it is. But watch.” Now she led him back out the way they had entered, and unlocked the second apartment, a mirror image of the first one.
She watched him walk through the rooms; in the kitchen he turned to face her. “Two of them! My God, you’re a genius! Two apartments side by side. Four bedrooms!” He was coming toward her as he spoke; he took her in his arms and held her, kissed her. “I had decided to rent an office and clear out my stuff, so there’d be room to move. This is a hell of a lot better. Two apartments!” He began to laugh, and she felt weak with relief.
RAY
20
Barbara smiled as
she watched Shelley McGinnis walk toward her table in the Ambrosia Restaurant. Shelley had to be aware that eyes turned to follow her progress, but she gave no indication of it. She had grown prettier than ever in the months since she had moved to California in pursuit of a job; maturity, sadness, distress, were all becoming to her, although her outfit suggested anything but maturity. She was dressed in a pink raincoat and pink high-heeled boots. Her smile was radiant, belying her unhappiness at not finding a job here in Eugene.
“Hi,” Barbara said when the younger woman drew near. “You look terrific, as usual.”
“Hi. Bill keeps complaining about how gray the weather is, how miserable everything is, so I just brought bright and cheerful clothes this time. I have a yellow jacket that looks like sunshine. How are you?”
“Not bad.” Barbara had talked to Bill Spassero quite a few times during the past months, just in passing usually, and she knew how miserable he was; he had made no secret of it. She wondered how many miles the two had traveled going back and forth, taking turns visiting, and how many triple-digit phone bills each had paid. “Let’s order and then talk,” she said. “Okay?”
“Sure.” Shelley took off her raincoat to reveal a bright pink knit dress. “See?” she said complacently. Her cheeks matched the color almost exactly. Frank called her the golden-haired pink fairy princess, and that was just about right.
They ordered soup and salad, and then, waiting for it, Barbara asked what work she was doing now.
“I’m researching rights-of-way,” Shelley said mournfully. “A lot of them. Hundreds and hundreds.”
“Sam Bixby was an idiot not to take you on permanently,”
“Well, you know. He interviewed me and asked me point-blank if I had any interest in trusts and corporate law, and I had to tell him no. He said the firm won’t be handling any criminal cases in the future, and that was that.”
“He said that?” Barbara asked, surprised. Shelley had not told her anything about the interview, which had taken place while Barbara and John were in Mexico. Shelley had worked as an intern for the firm for a year; most of the work had been done for Barbara.
“I thought you knew. He said the day Mr. Holloway retires, that’s the last day they’ll be associated with a criminal lawyer.”
Barbara nodded. “I knew, but I didn’t realize he was telling people that.” The waitress brought crusty bread and herb butter. Barbara let Shelley carry the conversation until they finished eating and were ready for coffee.
Finally, with espressos before them, Barbara said, “I have an ulterior motive, as you probably guessed.” Shelley leaned forward. “I’m mixed up in something that’s going to be pretty messy in a few weeks, and I need help. But it wouldn’t be permanent.”
“I’ll take it,” Shelley said.
“Not so fast.” Barbara laughed. “Can you get a leave of absence? Would it jeopardize your job?”
“I don’t give a damn about my job! Rights-of-way! Good heavens! I’ll take whatever you have.”
“You have to know a little bit more before you make a decision. Just a few highlights for now, and then let’s talk again before you fly back to Sacramento. Okay?”
Shelley’s expression said she had decided already, but she nodded.
“Okay. I’m in a conflict-of-interest dilemma….” Barbara gave her no more than a hint of the two overlapping cases, watching Shelley’s face as she talked. Shelley was extremely intelligent, as she had proved during her internship, but she had little real experience yet; Barbara was uncertain how much of what she was relating needed more explanation. “So if you were on the scene, applying for jobs again, and sitting in on a couple of trials, then getting interested in this one, you would be in a perfect position to be my second counsel and fill me in on what you saw and heard. You would be doing it on your own, not in my employ, although there’s no law that says you can’t chat about things.”
“I’ll take it,” Shelley said firmly.
They made a date for Shelley to visit Barbara’s new apartment on Monday. “It has to be kept completely confidential,” Barbara said; they both knew she was talking about Bill Spassero, who was in the public defender’s office.
When they left the restaurant, the rain was pelting down; Barbara felt shabby next to the sparkling pink of Shelley’s outfit. She laughed when Shelley opened an umbrella, transparent, with golden sunflowers hanging in space, aglow in the rain.
At home, she hung up her raincoat on the coat tree they had installed on the upper landing, then looked in on John, who grinned and waved, blew her a kiss. He liked for her to look in on him, and he never came to her office to do the same. His living room held his massive desk, a dining table and chairs, the television, and two easy chairs. They cooked in his kitchen, and she used hers to continue her lessons.
She went through the other door, past their bedroom, past her living room with reading chairs and lamps and bookcases, past her kitchen, and into her office, where no sound he made ever penetrated. She closed her door and stood at the window, gazing out through the trees, which looked ghostly in the rain, at the river, thinking about what Sam Bixby had told Shelley.
The next night at Frank’s table, she brought it up when they were lingering over coffee. “Dad,” she said hesitantly, “would you consider it abandonment if I struck out on my own?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I talked it over with John last night, and we both think I should have my own offices and stop using yours. It would be a stretch financially at first, but I think in time it would work out. You know how happy that would make Sam.”
“Has he been at you again?”
“No. But to be truthful, I’m not very comfortable using your office space all the time. I can’t stand the accusing look Patsy gives me.”
Frank laughed. “I think it’s a grand idea.” Thoughtfully he said, “Patsy’s problem is boredom. I’ve been thinking how good she’d be at organizing some of my book, retyping parts of it, proofreading it for me. It’s just about ready to send off, and I keep finding reasons not to do the grunge work that needs doing. She’d love it.” He eyed John diffidently. “You read it. What would you think about a title like
The Zen of Cross-examination?”
They talked about the book he had been writing for the past five years, and Barbara kept giving him suspicious looks, unable to shake the feeling that somehow she had done what he had planned for her to do all along.
On Monday when Shelley arrived at the apartment, they went into Barbara’s office and closed the door, and Shelley said she most definitely wanted the job.
“The situation has changed,” Barbara said. Shelley’s bright expression dimmed, and she looked near tears. “You see,” Barbara said, “I’m going to start my own firm. Do you want a permanent job? As permanent as mine will be, anyway.”
Shelley did not jump up and down, but it was obvious that she was pulling in unsuspected reserves of self-control. “Do I want it! Does an angel want wings! You don’t have to pay me anything!”
“Well, let’s start.” Barbara had not told her anything in detail; now she did, starting with Maggie’s seduction and abandonment, bringing it all up to date. “So Gilmore’s dropped out of sight. Sylvia was approached by the FBI to drop charges, which she did, of course. Bailey got the lead pipe and the Belmont material down to the New Orleans police; nothing I have to do there. The D.A. decided the money is a side issue, and Ray’s trial will start on December second. Between now and the trial date, you’ll have to read every scrap I have—there’s a ton of stuff—and become familiar with every detail so you’ll know what to watch and listen for at the trial. But you won’t be hired officially until the day of the closing agreement, when I discharge my obligation to Maggie. I can’t cut her loose until I know that business is over and done with, and I don’t dare show my face at the trial. I don’t want even a suspicion of conflict of interest to arise, so it’s going to be on your shoulders.”
She scowled and added, “Meanwhile, Stover’s been frightening the Amos with talk of the death penalty, as opposed to copping a plea for a lesser offense.”
Shelley had been making notes as Barbara talked. She looked up. “What about the fingerprints Bailey lifted? Isn’t anyone chasing down those two men?”
“Nope. It’s the one-armed-man syndrome. Except there are two of them, Stael and Ulrich, ex-cons. Stover’s willing to bring them in, but only to muddy the water. He hasn’t done a thing with them. He warned Ray that they aren’t worth a damn, since no one can prove when they got in. That’s the line the D.A.’s office will take if they’re brought up.”
Shelley looked shocked, and again Barbara thought how young she was, how inexperienced.
“Okay,” Shelley said then. “I’ll give two weeks’ notice, and be done at the end of next week. I’ll need an apartment here. Are there still any vacancies in this complex?”
There were three. She said she would take one today. “I’ll need to be in touch with you every evening,” she said. “That will be perfect.”
“Perfect,” Barbara agreed. “And I’ll start looking for office space.”
Almost shyly, keeping her gaze on her notebook, Shelley asked, “Would it offend you if I asked to decorate the offices? You know, pick out the drapes and desks and things like that?”
Barbara hesitated. Shelley was a very rich young woman with expensive taste who had never had to skimp or save a dime in her life.
“I won’t go overboard,” Shelley said hurriedly. “And no pink or anything like that. We could work out something about paying for it, if you’d just let me take care of that part.”
“Done,” Barbara said, mentally kissing her meager budget good-bye. They talked about what kind of space they would need, what they would need to start with, and then Shelley left to talk to management about her own apartment. When she walked out, her feet skimmed over the floor as she reverted to the fairy princess, who had no need for earthly contact.
21
From two until
four, people had drifted in, oohed and aahed, had drunk champagne, and congratulated Barbara on the appearance of her offices, misplaced praise, since Shelley had been the interior decorator, but no one knew that yet. Shelley and Bill Spassero had been guests among many other guests. No one mentioned Bailey’s invisible contribution—a state-of-the-art security system and a safe built into the wall behind bookcases.
The carpeting was a deep burgundy plush wool. Shelley had explained it with a helpless shrug. “Daddy wanted me to have it,” she said. “It’s his gift to both of us.” The furnishings were Danish modern, pale gleaming wood with wonderfully simple lines. A couch covered with dark green leather and matching chairs were in Barbara’s office; her desk was big, her swivel chair was highbacked, with a golden-tan leather seat cushion and armrests, and the clients’ chairs were comfortable, with pale green cushions. A coffee table before the couch had an inlaid border of jade and ruby-colored stones. Three brilliant Chinese urns held plants, which Shelley swore she would take care of, and vertical blinds admitted soft light from windows on three walls.
“Shelley, how could you?” Barbara had cried after the furniture was delivered.
Shelley had already explained about the carpeting. She looked a little confused at Barbara’s shock and dismay. “Don’t you like it?”
“That’s not the point. I love it, but I can’t afford it!”
“Oh, that. Mr. Holloway said it was on him. Daddy gave me the carpet; your father gave you the rest.”
“I can’t let him do this,” Barbara had said to John.
“I don’t think you realize how much pleasure it gives him to be able to do it,” John said.
That day Frank had come early and stayed until the last visitor left, and his pleasure had not been at all concealed. Now Barbara and John were alone in her office, sitting side by side on the couch, their feet on the coffee table.
“Good party,” he said lazily. “Everyone’s mighty impressed.”
“Me, too,” she said. “Other girls dream of dancing with Prince Charming. I dreamed of my own offices.”
“Lucky girl,” he said, taking her hand.
“I know.” Then hastily she leaned forward and knocked on wood. John laughed.
After a moment she said, “You know I’m gearing up for Ray Arno’s trial, don’t you?”
“Just for the past three months.”
“Well, it actually starts on Monday, and we’ll have our closing agreement for Maggie the following Monday. That’s cutting it terribly fine if the prosecution starts to steamroll and Stover doesn’t slow it down. In any event, I’m going to be pretty busy from the start of the trial until it’s over. Just a warning.”
“Okay. Will it be over by Christmas?”
“I hope so. That’s all I can say. I’m afraid there will be a lot of objections to the various lines I’ll open; there may be a continuance.”
John stood up and walked to the window, moved the blind aside, and gazed out. His children were due the day after Christmas for a week’s visit. “I understand.” He sounded distant.
“I’ll gather up glasses and then we’ll go eat.” They picked up glasses and empty bottles together and she groaned melodramatically about having to wash everything, but he stayed remote.
Then the trial began. It was as bad as Barbara had feared; Shelley was outraged by Stover’s performance. Her own performance was exemplary. Every day she reported in full, how people had appeared, how they had dressed; she commented on the jurors, on the judge’s demeanor—everything.
Every night Barbara listened to the tapes. And that had to be done in real time, hours and hours of real time. On Thursday, four days into the trial, she asked Maggie to come to the office after court recessed for the day.
Maggie looked at her accusingly. She was staying in town all week, but she was not sleeping well, and she was more nervous than Barbara had ever seen her. “They’re going to nail him,” she said. “They keep adding more and more details to prove that no one else could have done it, and they showed the autopsy pictures and kept going on about how sadistic the attack was. They’ll convict him!”
