Evidence of Guilt (27 page)

"So you went to see her Friday evening?"

A weary sigh. "Yeah, jerk that I am. I stopped by after work."

"And?"

"That's it. We had a beer, talked. I asked her if she wanted to go dancing or something later on, and she said she couldn't, but maybe another time. It was weird. I couldn't figure out where she was coming from, why she'd

even bothered asking me over if she was just going to put me off again."

"What time did you leave?"

"Six, six-thirty."

Lisa had canceled the dinner with Philip around four. Was Wes's visit the reason? Or was it something else?

"Did she say why she couldn't go out that night?"

He shook his head. "Although she did apologize. Said that something had come up at the last minute. Who knows if it's true? Could have been her way of yanking my chain again."

I sat back a bit and mulled this over. "What you've told me explains the rabbit's foot and the dirt on your motorcycle." I paused. "You did go over there on your bike, didn't you?"

Wes nodded.

"But what about the bloodstains on your pants?"

"Lisa scraped her knuckle when she was getting out the beer. She washed it off, then pressed her thumb against it to stop the bleeding. But she didn't put a Band-Aid on it or anything. Later, when we were sitting on the back porch drinking, she must have brushed her hand against my leg."

" 'Must have'? You don't remember getting blood on your pants?"

Wes's eyes met mine, then slid away. "I remember her hand touching my leg."

It all fit rather nicely. Too nicely? I wondered if Wes was telling the truth or if he'd concocted a story to fit the evidence.

"Why didn't you tell the police all this at the beginning?"

He shrugged. "They asked if I knew her, and I didn't,

really. It just seemed easier than getting into the whole thing. If I'd had any idea they'd try to pin the murders on me, I'd have handled it differently, believe me."

"What about after you were charged? Why not tell the truth then?"

Wes leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. Think about it. First off, how many people are going to believe me? The newspapers made it sound like Lisa Cornell was as wholesome as fresh milk. Turns out she was engaged to some wealthy, well-respected guy. Why in the world would she have the hots for ol' loser Wes? The story sounds like a crock of shit. If anything, it gives me a motive. I end up looking guiltier than before."

Unfortunately, he was right.

"Besides," Wes mumbled, "it's humiliating. You think I want the whole town laughing at me behind my back?"

"I don't see what there is to laugh at."

"No? Well, you and I don't travel in the same circles."

"Why come forward now?"

Wes snorted. "I'm kind of short on options."

I clicked my pen, thinking. "Did anyone see you and Lisa together that night in Coopertown?"

"Lots of people, I imagine. We weren't hiding. But I didn't sit down and gather up people's names and addresses, if that's what you mean. What difference does it make anyway?"

"Not a lot, I guess. But if people saw you together, it would add credibility to your story." It might also provide fuel for Curt Willis to use against us.

Wes started pacing again. "You don't believe me, do you? You think I'm making this whole thing up."

"It's not that I
disbelieve you."

"But you've got your doubts all the same. Christ, I don't

know why I bothered telling you this. You of all people." He made a disgruntled gesture with his arm, then stopped his pacing to face me. "If I was going to make up a story, don't you think I'd make up one that was a little more believable? One that made me look a little less a fool?"

I didn't think Wes looked like such a fool, myself. In fact, I found the episode oddly touching. But I've had enough experience with the masculine ego to know that male and female logic aren't the same.

The "believing" part was more troublesome. Lisa certainly wouldn't have been the first woman to have walked both sides of the line, good girl and bad girl at the same time. And whatever else Wes was, there was an undeniable magnetism about him. Besides, he was about as different from Philip Stockman as was possible.

So Wes's explanation was believable enough in the general sense. The difficulty came from the fact that I wasn't sure
believed it. And the last thing I wanted was to commit myself to some story that would leave us out on a limb in the middle of the trial.span>

I asked, "Do you have a regular girlfriend?"

"Not at the moment."

"Not since Kathy?"

He moved away from the wall. "Kathy's got nothing to do with this."

"Except that women you get involved with have a way of winding up dead."

"You're disgusting, you know that? You're just like them."

"Who?"

He ignored my question. "You learn this stuff in bitch-training school? You must have all had the same teacher."

More than the words, it was his tone. I shoved back my chair and went to call the guard.

Wes crossed his arms, glaring at me. But what I saw in his eyes wasn't anger so much as pain and confusion. And a trace of fear.

"Wait," he said when I was halfway across the room. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have."

I hesitated. It wasn't entirely his fault. I'd pushed him. Goaded him, in fact. The dynamics of the present were, I realized, heavily colored by the past. Wes Harding still had a way of getting under my skin.

"You feel like telling me about Kathy?" I asked after a moment. "I don't want any surprises once we're in trial."

Wes returned to his chair. "It was about four years ago. She was a teacher. Her family lived on the East Coast. Very wealthy, very snooty. I never met them until we went back to tell them we were getting married. From the minute we walked off the plane it was clear we were from different worlds. Her parents loathed me. Eathy's mother pretended I wasn't there, wouldn't even talk to me if we were in the same room. Her father was more direct. He took me aside and explained that Kathy was 'slumming'just to get back at her family. He offered me ten thousand dollars to get out of her life for good."

Wes's voice turned husky. "I laughed in his face. Told him there wasn't any amount in the world that would tempt me. A month later Kathy called off the wedding and moved back home. I never did find out how much he offered her."

I felt a strange turbulence inside. It was no wonder Wes had an attitude about women. "When did she die?"

"About eight months later. I only found out because our old landlady tried to forward some mail." He looked down at his fingers. "Her family never even bothered to contact me."

My visit with Wes left me feeling wound-up and edgy. I took the long route back to Silver Creek, using the driving time to think through this latest twist to our case.

If Lisa had been in the habit of picking up strange men, there were any number of possible suspects out there. Unfortunately, Wes was as likely a candidate as any of them. And the story he'd just told me, while explaining the evidence, also drew a nice little picture for motive. I hated to think what the prosecution would do to it. A man given to bursts of temper. A woman toying with him, making him appear, in his eyes at any rate, a fool. The only point in the whole account that Willis would need to challenge was the ending--the part where Wes claimed to have left Lisa's place while she was still alive.

And yet, as Wes had pointed out himself, it was hardly the tale he'd hit upon if he was going to make something up.

It fit, and yet it didn't. If Lisa had come on to Wes in the bar, as he claimed, why did she suddenly get cold feet

later in the evening? Had Wes turned rough once they were somewhere private? That might have been a point he glossed over in recounting the events to me. But then why did she call him less than a week later and invite him to drop by?

By the time I got back to the office my mind was a fog. And I still had more questions than answers. I called Sam anyway, knowing he would be waiting to hear from me.

"You think this is fact or fiction?" he asked when I'd finished explaining.

"I'm not sure, but I'm leaning toward fact. Of course, that doesn't mean he hasn't embellished it a little here and there. And he refused to say anything more about those videos, so there may be more there than he's admitted."

Sam mulled this over. "Why would a woman like Lisa Cornell go around picking up strange men?"

"Because that's the only kind there are."

"Huh?" Sam was clearly in no mood for my attempts at humor.

"I'm not sure. It might have been the excitement, the thrill of the conquest. Philip Stockman is one extreme; maybe she needed to balance the scales. Or maybe she had a low sense of self-worth. I had a college roommate who did the same kind of thing. It was as if she needed constant reassurance that men found her attractive."

"Sort of a
Looking For Mr. Goodbar
thing?"

"Right. Or maybe she simply found Wes attractive."

"Still sounds odd. Lisa Cornell must have had plenty of men interested in her."

"It doesn't seem so odd to me. Dr. Markley talked about Lisa's unresolved conflict. Maybe this is part of it. The behavior fits with what I know about childhood trauma and repressed memory."

Sam humphed. "I'm too old for this psycho-babble."

"I'm pretty sure Lisa talked to Dr. Markley about Wes. Remember I mentioned that fact after I saw her? At the time it didn't make sense, but it does now. Maybe if I tell Dr. Markley I already know about Lisa's going with Wes back to his place, she'll be more willing to fill in the blanks."

"People really talk about stuff like that in therapy? It's like airing your dirty laundry."

"That's kind of the point, I think."

Sam sighed. "Do you think Stockman suspected what she was up to?"

'That same thought crossed my mind. Lisa had just canceled out on their dinner, after all. And postponed their wedding not too long ago. Maybe he was getting suspicious."

When I got off the phone with Sam I called Tom. "How would you like to take a drive to Coopertown with me tonight?"

"Sorry. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cancel out on dinner as well. I was just getting ready to phone you."

"How come?" I could feel the disappointment settle over me.

"Tonight's Erin's drama production. The class has been working up to it all summer and she's pretty excited. I didn't think I'd be back from the camping trip, but now that I am, I can't skip it."

"No, of course not."

"You could come too, if you'd like." It was a nice gesture, but clearly an afterthought.

Thanks, but I think your daughter needs you to herself tonight. Maybe it will go toward making up for the week you spent camping with Nick."

"I feel like a heel. First falling asleep on you last night, then standing you up tonight."

"Don't feel bad," I told him. "You may have fallen asleep last night, but you put on a stellar performance beforehand."

"Stellar, huh?" He laughed. "That's good to hear."

The temperature had dropped some by the time I left for Coopertown later that evening, but it was still a warm night. A night better suited for sitting under the open sky and sharing a bottle of wine with a friend than holing oneself up in the dank, stale interior of a bar. But the friend I had in mind was unavailable and the bar in question demanded a visit.

The Last Chance was on the main road through town. By day it was probably drab and cheerless, so nondescript you wouldn't notice it. But at night it was plastered with lights. Above the door,
Last Chance
flashed on and off in bright green letters. The window to the left was a collage of flickering beer ads, and the eaves along the front were draped with strings of colored bulbs that looked as though they'd been left over from Christmas.

What the owners spent on outside electricity they more than recouped by keeping the lighting inside to a minimum. The haze of smoke in the air didn't help matters.