Motion to Dismiss (22 page)

Generally, I try to limit myself to two cups of coffee a day, but I thought this was an ideal day for making an exception. I poured a cup from the carafe in the small conference room, then set to work.

The files in my office seemed untouched. As far as I could tell, the intruder hadn't even opened the desk drawer. I was less sure about the papers on my desk, but I couldn't say for certain that anything was missing.

As I was going through the Barrett file, I remembered the pages from Deirdre Nichols's date book. I picked up the phone and called Madelaine.

"Remember my asking you about Deirdre Nichols' Day-Timer?" I asked.

"Vaguely. You wanted to know if it had been logged into evidence."

"Right, and it hadn't."

She chuckled. "So you're going to try to build your defense around the missing Day-Timer, huh?"

"That would be hard to do. It was in the stack of discovery materials we got from you the other day."

Madelaine hesitated. "Are you kidding?"

"You didn't know?"

"I haven't had time to go through things in much detail yet." She paused. "I honestly didn't know it was there. I'm not playing games with you, Kali."

"No?" In this instance I didn't actually think she was, but only because I couldn't imagine what advantage it would have given her.

"The guys in Evidence aren't always as careful as they should be," she explained. "Sometimes things get collected but not noted. Or they get lumped into some generic category, like 'contents of kitchen drawer.'"

I rubbed my thumb against the smooth plastic of my pen. "Maybe you ought to find time to go through everything and let me know if there are any other surprises. It won't look good if it comes out at trial that the D.A.'s office isn't being straight with the defense."

"And you'd be just the one to make an issue of it, wouldn't you?" There was an unexpected sharpness to her tone.

"Hey, I was just -- "

"I know, I know." She gave a disgruntled sigh. "We've each got a job to do."

"What's the matter? You sound ticked about something."

"Sorry, it's not you. Guess I was taking the message out on the messenger."

"The no-longer-missing date book?"

Another sigh. "My job would be a whole lot easier if the cops would simply follow procedure."

I'd just hung up the phone from talking to Madelaine, when Hal poked his head into the office. "Got a minute for me?"

"Always. In fact, I was going to give you a call."

He took a seat, sprawling diagonally with a leg draped over the arm of the chair, foot dangling. His brown loafers were scuffed, and the stitching was so loose at the toe, I thought he might have trouble walking.

"What's up?" Hal asked.

I told him about the breakin last night, and our narrow escape.

"Jesus. What do the police think?"

"Not much so far." Unfortunately, breakins, burglaries, even gunshots weren't uncommon in the area. Oakland had more than enough crime to keep the cops busy.

Hal scratched his cheek. "You think it's tied in somehow with this murder case?"

"I don't know. It's got me worried though. And frightened."

He nodded. "Getting shot at is no fun."

More than the shots even, it was the stark terror of hearing the intruder approach and finding myself cornered. My skin felt clammy at the memory.

"The guy waited until Marc left," Hal added after a moment's thought. "He probably didn't know you were in the building. It might be something Marc's working on that got his interest."

"I thought about that too." Especially after I'd discovered the pen from Rapunzel by Marc's phone. I couldn't help wonder if there was a connection between Marc and the case that I wasn't aware of. "Anyway, you dropped by to see me. What's up?"

Hal frowned. "I don't suppose you've heard from Xavier?"

I shook my head.

"Me neither." He tapped his fingers on his knee. "I've been doing some more digging on Deirdre Nichols though."

"And?"

"And nothing. A big, fat zippo. No disputes, no jealousies, no one who's going to profit from her death." Hal pulled a bag of M&Ms from his pocket, offered me some, and then popped a fistful into his mouth. "I checked into the other thing as well."

"What other thing?" It seemed to me I'd mentioned more than one avenue that warranted further investigation.

"Contractors, workmen, service people ... Nothing there either." Hal was referring to our persistent quest for another possible killer. "Of course, I haven't been able to reach the owners to double-check with them. When the Carsons travel, they apparently want to leave the cares of home far behind. No one seems to know how to reach them."

"That doesn't give us much to work with, does it?"

Hal picked out a single yellow M&M and bit it in half. "You ask me, I think Tony Rodale looks pretty good for the role. The guy's got a history of abusing women, including Deirdre. And the fact that a neighbor saw his car at home doesn't mean squat. Rodale owns a motorcycle as well as a Lexus. What's more, I have a witness who heard a cycle near Deirdre's place the night she was killed."

As well as every other night of the week, I was willing to bet. "You're forgetting that Adrianna saw a silver convertible."

"She thinks." Hal tugged on an earlobe. "Besides, you have any idea how many silver convertibles there are in the Bay Area? It's not exactly an exclusive club."

"The same can be said for motorcycles."

Hal smiled and popped another candy. "Our friend Tony called Deirdre Nichols at work the day she was killed. A short conversation, according to one of Deirdre's coworkers, but tense. And no one heard her say a word about Gabrielle or any other woman he might be taking on a trip. He wasn't being straight with us."

"Okay, so it's got possibilities."

Hal swung his leg to the floor and leaned forward. "Something else you might find interesting. There's a lot of rumors floating around about Tony."

"Rumors? What kind of rumors?"

"Shady friends, shady deals. Speculation that maybe he's into something besides apple pie and legitimate business."

"Such as?"

"Could be any number of things." Hal pressed his hands together, knuckles against palm. "I'm working on it."

"The more we can dredge up, the better," I told him. "As far as I can tell, the police wrote Rodale off as a suspect early on. We might be able to argue that they conducted a half-baked investigation, pinned the thing on Grady because it was easy."

Hal sucked on his cheek. "Or that they did it intentionally."

I looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. But I get the feeling there's some connection between Rodale and a couple of the guys on the force."

That was a surprise. "Do you have anything to back it up?"

"Not yet."

Just then Marc dropped by with some files. He nodded in Hal's direction with only a trace of friendliness.

"Guess I'll be going," Hal said, standing. "Talk to you later, Kali." His eyes held a glint of amusement. "You too, Marc."

"What did he want?" Marc asked when we were alone.

"Just bringing me up-to-date."

"Anything new?"

I relayed the highlights of our conversation.

Marc shook his head in disbelief. "What's with this guy that he's harping on Rodale? Does he have an overactive imagination or something?"

"He's looking for whatever angle he can find."

"Yeah? Well, he's squandering valuable time and money if you ask me."

I shook my head. "I agree that it probably won't pan out, but if we're going to give Grady his best shot at a winning defense, we're going to need something different. Something a little bit flashy."

"We can't simply concoct a story out of thin air." Marc's voice rose with agitation. "It will backfire. We'll end up making ourselves look desperate."

"Calm down, nobody's -- "

"Calm down? You seem to be giving an awful lot of credence to some hippie P.I. with a
hunch
. Maybe Hal's got eyes for Tony or something."

"Marc, you're being -- "

He held up a hand. "I know, Hal's a friend of yours."

"Even if he weren't, you're being a jerk about this."

Marc drew in a breath, raked a hand through his hair. Finally, he gave me a quirky smile. "I am, aren't I? Sorry. I guess I'm a little on edge."

"More than a little."

"Okay, a lot on edge." He stood behind my chair. Pulling my hair up into a loose ponytail, he kissed my neck. "I don't want to fight with you, Kali. Especially after last night."

I sighed. "We're both on edge, I guess."

"With reason." Marc sat on the edge of my desk, facing me. He cocked his head. "I want to go about this right, so tell me, did you stay last night because you were scared or because you wanted to?"

"Probably a little of both."

"And what are you feeling now?"

I gave a noncommittal shake of my head. "Confused maybe."

"About me?"

I smiled. "About you, yes. But about me too. And what I'm letting myself in for. I wasn't being truthful when I told you the other night that what happened in law school didn't leave scars."

He touched my cheek. "I know that. But it's not going to happen again."

Maybe, I thought. But there are lots of ways to be hurt.

I'd set up an appointment that afternoon with Judith Powers, Deirdre's friend at ComTech. As I was leaving the office, I ran into Byron Spencer on the street in front of the building.

"Hey, I was just coming to see you," he said, pulling a business card from the pocket of his leather jacket. "I've been trying to reach you."

I took the card and nodded. I'd returned his call Friday morning, only to miss it again that afternoon. "I'm on my way out though."

"I can see." He fell into step beside me. "I heard about the breakin at your office."

I did a double take. "How'd you know about that?"

"I keep my eye on the crime report." He grinned. "Always looking for a good story. Anything taken?"

"You think I'd tell you if there was?"

Another gap-toothed grin. "I'm not the enemy, you know."

"There's a lot of territory between friend and enemy."

"Guess that means you don't consider me a friend either."

There was a goofy, guileless quality about Byron Spencer that made it hard to dislike him, but that was a long way from friend. "Maybe you should be talking to Marc," I said. "I thought you and he were tight."

"Sometimes. Depends on his mood."

I'd reached my car, and the end of my interest in pleasantry. "What is it you want?"

"Barter."

"Barter?"

"A deal. Quid pro quo. I help you with the Grady Barrett trial, in return for which you give me an exclusive."

"And just what do you propose to do by way of
help?
"

He shrugged. "I don't know yet. But would you be interested if I found a way?"

I laughed. It was hard to remain stern with someone who reminded me of a St. Bernard puppy. "You bring me something useful and then we'll talk."

ComTech occupied the first floor of a four-story building in the Harbor Bay section of Alameda, an area replete with well-kept office and industrial parks. Immediately inside was a reception area, and beyond that a maze of modestly appointed cubicles.

The woman at the reception desk found my name on the visitor's list, handed me a temporary badge, and pointed me in the right direction. There was little activity that I could see, and I wondered if this was normal or the fallout of Grady's arrest and the company's financial instability.

Judith Powers was seated at her desk in front of a large-screen computer. She looked up when I entered the partitioned space that served as her office.

"The receptionist told me to come through," I told her, and then introduced myself. "I'm a bit early. I don't mind waiting."

"That's okay. Have a seat. I'm just about finished here."

Belying her name, Judith Powers was petite, probably not over five feet, with smooth, creamy skin and eyes the color of spring moss. She punched the keyboard a few times, and I heard the computer kick into processing phase.

She turned to face me. "You wanted to talk about Deirdre Nichols, right?"

I nodded. "You were one of the last people she talked to before she was killed."

"I know, the police told me. It kind of gives me the creeps to think about it." Judith pushed back her chair. "You want a soda or something? We can talk in the lounge."

"Sure, that sounds good."

She led me past the receptionist again and down a long hallway to a room with vending machines, a microwave, and half a dozen mismatched sofas and chairs. Sliding glass doors opened onto a small patio, where an acne-faced young man sat with his nose buried in a book. We had the inside to ourselves.

"My treat," I said, pulling change from my purse.

"Thanks."

We both opted for Diet Dr. Pepper.

When we'd settled in, I asked, "Do you remember what you and Deirdre talked about the night she died?"

"The usual
what's-new, not-much
. We made plans to go out for a drink the next evening. It was a very brief conversation."

"Deirdre called you?"

"That's right."

"Did she mention Grady Barrett at all? Or the lawsuit?"

Judith shook her head. "I tried real hard to stay away from all that. It was awkward -- my working here at ComTech, and Deirdre claiming Grady Barrett had raped her. She's my friend; he's my boss."

"I can see how that might be awkward."

"Awkward doesn't begin to cover it." Judith paused. "It's even worse," she added, "because I was the one who invited her to the party where she met Grady. So in some sense, I guess, I set the whole thing in motion."

"You're not blaming yourself, are you?"

"It's one of those things you can't help think about." She took a sip of soda, tucked a leg up under her body. "Of course, maybe if Marc had stuck around, things would have been different too."

"Marc?"

"Griffin." Judith cocked her head. "You work with him, don't you?"