Motion to Dismiss (29 page)

Marc frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"Just answer the question."

A moment's pause, and then Marc shook his head. "Why would I?" His tone was earnest, his expression one of confusion.

"Is that a no?" The words were sharp, but I couldn't help it.

Marc nodded.

I swallowed, trying the answer on for size. Maybe Hal had been wrong after all. "You've never met him?" I asked.

Marc shook his head again.

"How about Deirdre Nichols? Did you know her before she filed rape charges against Grady?"

The confusion on Marc's face deepened. "What are you suggesting?"

"Did you?"

He crossed his arms, glared at me. "No, I did not."

"How about after? Did you meet with her after she accused Grady?"

Marc looked ready to explode. His eyes were narrow and dark, and his expression stony. "You're the one who skated on ethical thin ice by meeting with her privately," he snapped. "Not me."

"She followed me into the rest room."

"Well, she didn't follow me, and I didn't talk to her." He paused, collecting himself, then continued in a calmer voice. "Now, you want to tell me what this is all about?"

I wasn't so sure myself. Why was I making such a big deal about something Hal had uttered almost in passing?
Go slow
, he told me.
You may not know Marc as well as you think
. There was nothing substantive about the comment.

But Hal had also said he'd seen Marc with Tony Rodale. Thought he'd seen, I corrected myself. Even Hal had admitted he wasn't certain. I'd misread Marc once ten years ago. Was that coloring my thinking now?

I hedged. "I saw a cop outside Tony Rodale's house the other night."

"A cop?"

"The guy Madelaine Rivera is dating. It looked like he was on a stakeout. I assumed they were watching Rodale in connection with Hal's death. But it turns out the guy's not even in homicide. He's on special assignment."

A muscle in Marc's jaw pulsed erratically. "What kind of special assignment?"

I shook my head. "Nobody would say. I hate to offer up Rodale as an alternate suspect without knowing all the details."

"Then don't do it. I've said that all along. Chances are it will backfire."

"It may be our only hope."

Marc went to the window, locked his fingers behind the bar of his neck. "You think Hal kept notes of his investigation?"

"Not anything that would help us. Hal's approach was to file things mentally until he was ready to pass along the information. He wasn't big on the intermediary steps."

"No kind of record at all?"

"I doubt it."

Marc turned back into the room, favoring me with a weary smile. "Too bad."

I nodded agreement.

He sat on the edge of the desk, facing me. "Now, you want to tell me what's with all the questions about whether I knew Tony Rodale or Deirdre Nichols?"

There we were again. I wanted to tell him, to open up and get it off my chest. I wanted to hear him cast the doubt from my mind. But still, I hesitated.

"Hal thought he saw you with Rodale," I said. "Remember?"

"Seems to me we covered that before. Hal was mistaken."

"There's also the pen from Rapunzel."

Marc's smile widened. "We already covered that one too."

"You haven't remembered how you got it?"

"What's the big deal? You've never inadvertently walked off with a pen that wasn't yours?" Marc shook his head, bemused. "Happens to me all the time. A couple of people at ComTech have taken to taping their names on their pens when I'm around."

His explanation
was
plausible. Judith Powers worked at ComTech and was Deirdre's friend. She might have had the pen sitting on her desk. It was even plausible that one of the other employees patronized the salon.

Marc reached for my hand. "You're worried about Grady's trial and you're upset about Hal. It's hard not to let other stuff build and grow out of proportion."

"I guess so."

"After the hearing is over, let's get away for a few days. Just the two of us. There's probably still fairly decent snow in the mountains. We could get in some skiing. Or we could head north to Sea Ranch. I've got a friend who has a house there we could use."

"I don't think -- "

"I'm not asking you to make a life commitment, Kali. I only want you to give me another chance." He paused. "To give
us
a chance." His voice caught on the last few words.

Maybe that's all we needed, time to get to know each other again. Time to erase the doubts and to learn trust.

"Please say yes."

I gave his hand a squeeze. "No promises," I told him. "But I'll think about it."

I worked at the office until almost seven. Rose came in before she left to make sure I was properly equipped with paper and pens as well as a cellophane sack of throat mints. I'd never figured out whether it was nerves or the air inside the courthouse, but my throat always gave out about midway through a day at trial.

Before leaving, I called Nina. I could tell the tension was getting to her, because she was in a foul mood.

"Emily was in a fight at school today," she said. "The teacher called, and then the principal. What am I supposed to do? I can't even talk to Emily except by phone."

"Surely they must understand -- "

"Oh, they know the circumstances, if that's what you mean. Me in the hospital and Grady in jail. I'm sure that's part of the reason for the call. Nobody knows quite what to do with us."

"Did they say who started the fight?"

"They say it was Emily. She says it was the other little girl." Nina sighed. "It doesn't really matter. Emily apparently gave the girl a bloody nose and pushed her so hard, she fell down."

My heart went out to Emily, who was probably the most vulnerable of the Barretts. She had to be feeling the stress of her parents' troubles, and trying to find her way pretty much on her own.

"I wish I were freer to spend time with her," I said.

"Grady and this trial need your attention at the moment. And I do have people who are helping with Emily. Thank God. I couldn't bear it if I thought she had to rely solely on Simon and Elsa, as lovely as they are."

"It's good to have friends you can count on."

Nina was silent a moment. "I do have some wonderful friends, you foremost among them. But I've discovered there are also a lot of people I thought were my friends who are now delighting in the gossip." Her laugh was bitter. "The numbers are weighted heavily into the latter camp."

"I bet people care more than you think."

"Don't bank on it." Her tone was bleak. "And there's plenty for them to feast on. As if coverage in the local press wasn't bad enough, there was a piece about Grady in Monday's
Wall Street Journal
. One of my neighbors sent me a copy."

"About the trial?" With all that was going on, I hadn't been reading the
Journal
recently.

"About Deirdre, the trial, the falling fortunes of ComTech. What was she trying to do, rub my nose in it?"

"Maybe she saw Grady's name and didn't bother to read the article." It sounded lame, but I didn't know what else to say.

Another humorless laugh, which wound down to a sort of mewing sound. "I hate this, Kali. I fucking hate everything about life right now.
Everything
."

The pain in her voice sent a rattle through my chest. It's a terrible thing to watch someone you care about hurting. It's even worse when you're unable to help.

I offered reassurance, but the words rang hollow in my own ears. "I know things seem pretty bleak right now, but they'll turn around."

"Not soon enough, I'm afraid." Her voice faltered. "Or far enough."

"You're strong, Nina. A fighter. You always have been. Now's not the time to give up."

"I've got news for you, Kali -- hope doesn't always spring eternal."

I knew in Nina's place I'd feel the same way.

"You'll call me tomorrow at the end of court?" she asked after a moment.

"You know I will."

"And you'll tell me the truth, no matter how bad it looks?"

I hesitated for only a second, but she jumped on me.

"Promise me, Kali."

"I promise."

Bea had fixed homemade soup for dinner, and she and Dotty talked me into sharing it with them. I was grateful. Both for the soup, a delicious chicken vegetable with curry, and for the conversation, which was about nothing heavier than restaurants that failed to live up to their reputation. My two companions had quite a list, and they expounded on it for a good part of the meal.

When we'd finished eating, I fixed myself a cup of coffee and went downstairs to work. About ten-thirty the phone rang.

Bea called down. "It's for you."

I picked up the receiver. The voice on the other end was scratchy and faint.

"Kali?"

"Is that you, Marc?"

He coughed, a ratchety, wheezing sound as though he were having trouble getting enough air.

"Marc? Are you okay?"

"I need help, Kali. Will you help me?"

"I need help," Marc said again.

Fear clutched my chest. "What's wrong?"

"I'm hurt."

"Hurt? How?" I could hear panic edging its way into my voice. Marc was not one to readily admit need.

Silence, accompanied by labored breathing.

"Should I call an ambulance?"

"No ambulance." The words were thin and frayed. "It's not that bad."

Maybe not, but it sounded close.

"Please, just come get me. I'll explain when you get here."

"Where are you? At work?" I thought maybe our attacker from the other night had returned.

"No, I'm -- " He paused. "I'm a couple of streets south of Alcatraz. Near a church, close to Sacramento Street." There was a shuffling noise on the other end, another audible breath. "Look for a blue house. I'll be in front."

"You're sure you don't need an ambulance?"

"Positive."

"Should I call the police?"

"No." His response was vehement. "I'm okay, honest. I'll explain when I see you. Just hurry."

"I'm on my way."

I drove above the speed limit, but not nearly as fast as the frightened voice in my head urged. Each stop sign was exasperating. Each curve in the road pushed the limits of my patience. Red lights lasted forever.

Had there been an auto accident? Or maybe a biking accident? I knew Marc was a biker. Maybe he'd taken a bad spill. My mind filled with other visions as well. I thought of Hal, dead. Of the man who'd broken into our office. I gave a silent prayer, hoping for a simple biking injury.

I turned onto the first street south of Alcatraz. Small houses, barred windows. Some boarded and abandoned. It was not a prosperous part of the city.

The neighborhood was dark, the streetlights few and far between. The sliver moon, low on the horizon, was no help. Shadow and stillness, broken only by an occasional gust of wind that sent dry leaves across the roadway like scampering rodents.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my blood pulsing in my ears. I wondered fleetingly if I was walking into a trap, if someone was using Marc to lure me into danger. I'd grabbed my can of pepper spray before leaving the house, but it wouldn't be of much use against a gun. I wished I'd thought to tell Bea and Dotty where I was going.

I slowed at each corner to read the street signs, many of which were missing or obscured by low-hanging foliage. When I passed a church, I slowed the car to a crawl and kept my eyes on the houses to either side of the street. It was too dark to tell blue from any other color. I struggled instead to find Marc, but with cars parked along the curb I found it difficult to see onto the sidewalk.

It was a glint of white -- a shirt reflected in the car's headlights -- that first caught my attention. And then my eyes made out a form slouched against a tree near the curb. Marc was sitting on the ground, bent over, clutching his stomach, swaying slightly from left to right.

I stopped the car without taking time to park it and jumped out. As I got closer, I saw that his shirt was torn across the shoulder and that there were dark stains down the front. Marc's face was scraped and swollen. He held his left arm close to his chest.

"My God, Marc. What happened?"

He looked at me with one eye and groaned.

"We need to get you to the hospital," I said.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

Even if it was half as bad, I thought a visit to the emergency room was in order.

Marc tried to straighten, and was only partially successful. "They gave me a bloody nose -- that's what makes it look so bad."

"Who hit you? What happened?"

"Two guys." He winced, as though talking hurt. "They jumped me."

"Why?"

"Creeps like that don't need a why. They took my wallet and watch."

"You're lucky they didn't kill you."

"I think they may have tried. Fortunately a car drove by and scared them off."

In my mind's eye I saw Hal's lifeless body laid out in the morgue. Had the same two men gotten to him? If the car hadn't driven by when it did, would Marc have ended up dead as well?

Fear closed my throat, making it difficult to speak. "Can you walk?" I managed to ask.

"I could a bit ago. I used the car phone to call you." He started to get up, but it clearly hurt to move. "You've got so much on your mind right now. I hated to bother you."

"Don't worry about it." I put an arm around his middle.

"Careful. They kicked me in the stomach and ribs. I think that's where most of the damage is."

Moving an inch at a time, we finally got Marc into the car. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as I buckled the seat belt around him. I drove slowly so as not to joggle him any more than necessary.

"What were you doing in that neighborhood, anyway?" I asked when it became clear Marc wasn't going to volunteer a full explanation.

"I went to see a guy."

"What guy?"

Marc closed his eyes again. "I got a call from someone telling me to meet him there. He said he had some information about the case."

"And you went?" The full force of my anxiety was embedded in my words. I practically screamed at him.