Tell No Lies (3 page)

Jack felt all eyes turn cautiously in his direction. Everyone at the table, even Jenny, knew exactly which case Frank referred to, because in the past few days it had become impossible for St. Louis residents to turn on their televisions or radios and not hear about it. Cassia Barnard was a twelve-year-old girl who'd been kidnapped and brutally murdered months before, and the cops had finally made an arrest earlier in the week. Every seasoned prosecutor in the office had lobbied Earl for the assignment—the case had the potential to make an attorney's career—everyone except Jack. He knew there was a good chance Earl would seek the death penalty, and, for that reason alone, he didn't want it. It hadn't surprised him, though, when Earl offered it to him anyway. And it hadn't surprised Earl when Jack turned it down. Frank was the lucky runner-up.

Now everyone at the table looked at Jack with veiled pity, as if he hadn't played a part in his exclusion from the case.

"Well, I agree with Jenny," Maria said brightly, trying to quell the awkwardness that followed Frank's comment.  "I think he'd be a great boss."

Brown nose
, thought Jack.
 

As if bolstered by Maria, Andy Rinehart spoke up. "Jenny, Mann's just arguing with you because he wants the job for himself."

"Frank doesn't like to admit that we might prefer someone else," said Jeff McCarthy, one of Jack's closer friends in the office. They all laughed, except Frank and Jack.

The alcohol was starting to have its effect on everyone now. Jack remembered what one of the litigators at Newman, one of the few he respected, told him when he'd first started there: "Loose lips sink ships," he liked to say. Jack could feel this boat starting to take on a lot of water.

"I suspected as much," Jenny said, pleased they were beginning to come around.

"Well,
Jack's
not interested," Jack said, hoping to cut them off.
 

"Who's the hunk from your firm?" Maria asked Jenny, changing the subject because she was more interested in young men than office politics.

"Who?"

"The guy you were sitting with." Maria lowered her voice. "The one with the bedroom eyes."

Jack turned to look. He recognized most of the other lawyers from Jenny's table, but he didn't recognize this guy. He was young, perhaps a new associate at Newman.

Jenny laughed. "Oh, you mean Lance," she said, putting emphasis on his name, and then she shrugged her shoulders as if to say,
What kind of name is that?
"He's new. He thinks he wants to work in the bankruptcy department, so I've been assigned to be his mentor, whatever that means."
 

Maria raised her eyebrows. "Lucky you."

"The way he's been hanging on you all night, Dodson, it looks like he has more than mentoring on his mind," Frank said.

Jack looked at Jenny to gauge her reaction to Frank's comment. She wouldn't date someone ten years her junior, would she?
 

"No, thank you," she said. "He's a little too . . . how should I put this? . . . compulsive for me. He's the type of guy who would insist on putting a towel down during sex to protect the sheets."

They all burst out laughing. Jack was a little embarrassed. He pitied the lawyer; he knew no one at the table would ever be able to talk to him without thinking of her comment.

"I'll be back," Jenny said, holding up her empty glass to indicate where she was heading. Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her closer.

"Cool it with Frank, will ya?" he whispered so the others wouldn't hear.

"All in good fun, Jack. Not to worry." And then she said again, "I'll be back."

After she left, Frank came to Jack's side of the table to say goodbye. He placed his hand on Jack's shoulder and leaned close to his ear. "She's crazy about you, Hilliard. Someone better warn Claire."

Jack felt a blush rising. "It's a threesome, Frank, didn't you know?"

Frank laughed appreciatively. "Well, as Maria says, lucky you."

By the time Jenny returned from the bar, most of the lawyers at the table had scattered. Maria was still there, talking quietly to a woman from the Public Defender's office.

Jenny snapped her fingers as she sat down to break Jack's reverie. "What are you thinking about?"

Jack shrugged.

"The next election?"

"No." He waved to Maria as she and her friend left the table.

"I don't believe you."

"Jenny, why are you pushing this?"

"Because you could do it, and you know it." Her voice was low but insistent. "Didn't you see the look on Mann's face when I said your name? He knows you could do it, too, and it kills him."

In all the years Jack had worked in the DA's office, he had given only a passing thought to becoming
the
District Attorney. He'd always dismissed it, though, because Earl was so clearly that man. Jack had figured it would be at least ten years before Earl retired, before anyone would have to think about his successor. Anyway, as Frank had so bluntly pointed out, Jack—unlike most prosecutors in the state—was deeply opposed to the death penalty.  It was an obstacle that wasn't going away.
 

"I think I need another drink, too," he said.

Jenny followed him to the bar. "You'd be the perfect man, Jack," she said, her voice a little boisterous from the martinis she'd been drinking.

"You're crazy, Jen. And you're drunk."

As he stood at the bar trying to get the bartender's attention, she leaned in closer.

"You're only partly right. I'm drunk, but I'm not crazy." Jack smelled alcohol on her breath. It mixed with her perfume, a musky scent he'd noticed before. "Juries love you—your track record speaks to that. Earl would most definitely support you. What more could you ask for?"

Jenny shrugged her shoulders, lifted her glass, and raised it in a mock toast.

Jack laughed. "It's that easy, huh?" He put a tip down on the bar and turned away with his drink in hand. "Jen, you're forgetting something." He loved to prove her wrong; she was always so confident.
 

"Yes, Mr. Hilliard?" She raised her eyebrows, grinning back. She knew what he was doing.

"Would you vote for a prosecutor who didn't support the death penalty?"

Her grin disappeared, and despite her contrary position in the countless arguments they'd had over the issue, she answered without hesitation. "If that prosecutor was you, of course I would."

They stood for a moment, staring at each other. Jack instinctively reached up and moved a stray hair away from Jenny's face, but then remembered this wasn't Claire he was standing with.
What was he doing?
 

"Sorry," he whispered.

Jenny pretended not to have noticed. "Jack, you're a good man," she said, still serious. "You do what's right, what's good. You wouldn't be swayed by politics or by friendships. You have a moral code you live by, and God knows that's a scarce quality among the attorneys in this town. You'd make an excellent DA." She paused and furrowed her brow in thought. Then she laughed. "Drunk or sober."

Jack relaxed a bit, relieved that the smart-ass Jenny he knew had returned.

Maria approached them as they moved away from the bar. "There's a bunch of us going to the club downstairs in a little bit. I'm passing the word."

"Let's go. It sounds like fun," Jenny said.

"No, I've gotta get home soon."

She grunted in exasperation. "Come on, Jack. Your boss just made the biggest announcement of his career. He'll want to celebrate. You have a lot to celebrate, too. Don't be such a party pooper."
 

Jack sighed. He always had trouble telling her no. "Only if he's going."

They found Earl not far from the dais, as though he'd made the effort but hadn't been able to break loose from the lingering throngs wanting to talk to him.

"So what's the report from the home front?" Earl asked. He smiled at Jenny.

"Don't tell me you haven't spoken to anyone yet?" Jack eyed his boss warily.

"Yes, I've spoken to some of them, but I want to know what they're saying when I'm not there."

"It's all good, Earl, don't worry," Jack said.

"Actually," Jenny piped up, "their biggest concern is who's going to succeed you."

"Really?"

Jack knew exactly where she was heading. He carefully moved closer to her, not wanting Earl to notice, and stepped on her toe. She let out a little "ouch" and glared at him. Earl looked at her curiously.

"Just the typical talk, Earl," Jack said, trying to pretend he didn't know what Jenny's problem was. "They're wondering about their future, that's all. We came over"—he looked at Jenny—"to see if you're joining the group downstairs."

"Yeah, I'll be down as soon as I can break away. You guys go on ahead."   

The club was already jammed. The Thursday night happy hour crowd had hung around even after the price of the drinks had gone up, and now lawyers from the banquet upstairs had joined them, too. The music, some sort of '70s disco, was louder than it needed to be, and Jack wasn't sure he was in the mood to put up with it. He trailed reluctantly after Jenny, who'd worked her way through the mass of bodies to reach the bar. When the bartender turned his back to fix her drink, Jack laid into her.

"Jenny, what are you doing? You need to slow down."

"I'm thirsty." She tapped her fingers on the bar to the beat. She wouldn't look at him.

"So have a glass of water."

"Screw you, Jack. Can't I have a little fun? It's been a long time since I've had some fun. It's all work, work, work."

But Jack suspected work wasn't what she was talking about. He assumed she referred to her ex-boyfriend. Alex Turner was an adjunct professor from the university where Claire worked; Jenny had met him years before at a summer party in Jack's backyard. After living with Alex for several years, she had recently left him.

"You're going to catch a cab home, then," Jack said. "You're not driving."

"Fine." She reached into the side pocket of her skirt and pulled out money to pay for her drink. "Anything. Just leave me alone about the drinking."

Just then Earl came down, and Jack was relieved when Jenny found a lawyer from her firm to dance with, leaving him alone to shout over the music to some of the other prosecutors who had joined them. Earl didn't stay long, though; it was clear he was merely putting in an appearance for the sake of his loyal subordinates.

The dance floor eventually thinned out, and Jack spied Jenny each time she made a trip to the other side of the bar. He smiled to himself; she probably thought she was being inconspicuous. But he knew she was keeping an eye on him, too, because when all the lawyers he'd been talking to finally left, she reappeared at his side.

"Dance with me." She grabbed his hand and tried to pull him onto the dance floor.

"You're spilling your drink." He reached for the glass in her other hand and took it away.

"Come on," she begged. "Let's have some fun. I just wanna dance."

"I'm not a good dancer, Jen," he protested. "I step on toes."

She lifted her arms above her head and swung her hips to the beat of the music. Her eyes were closed and he knew she wasn't listening to him; the music had completely absorbed her. He watched her dance, a little embarrassed by her drunken display but drawn to it nevertheless. The camisole under her jacket had come untucked when she'd raised her arms, and he could see her flat stomach. Her hair, that luminous black hair that held such a tactile attraction for him, oscillated in waves behind her. Her movements were fluid, uninhibited.
Like a stripper on the East Side
, he thought. He glanced around the club to see how many other guys were thinking the same thing. His eyes met Andy Rinehart's. They both laughed a little and Andy waved his hand like a fan in front of his face. He had to get her out of there before she became the talk of the town.
 

"Come on, Jenny," he said, catching her by the waist in midgyration. "You've got work tomorrow. We need to get you home to bed."

She let her arms fall. Her face was inches from his and she stared at him, unwavering. "Well, that would be fun, too."

Her statement caught him off guard and his throat tightened; she had never said anything so directly sexual to him before. But then, she'd never been so drunk with him before.
 

"Where's your car?"

"In the garage," she said, still moving to the music as he led her out of the bar.

"
Which
garage?"
 

"The same one I always park in."

He sighed. "Across from the stadium?"

"Yep, but my keys are in my office," she said, giggling, as if somehow it was funny that she was in one place and her keys were in another.

Shit
. It had been more than eight years since Jack had set foot in Newman's offices, and he didn't relish the thought of doing it now.
 

Somehow he managed to get her across the street and into the lobby of her building without running into anyone. The ride in the elevator up to the twenty-third floor felt familiar, as though so many years hadn't passed since the last time he'd been there. Everything was the same, just as he'd remembered. The elevator looked the same—the mirrored walls, the chrome railing—even the midnight-blue carpet was identical.

His luck ran out when they stepped out of the elevator and into the firm's lobby.

"Jack! Is that you?" The voice boomed from down the hall to his left.

Oh, God, of all people
. It was his old boss, Steve Mendelsohn. What the hell was he doing here at this hour? Mendelsohn, together with Rob Kollman, was a co-chair of Newman's litigation department. Jack quickly reminded himself that he had been away from the firm for more than eight years, during which time he had become a successful prosecutor; he had probably tried more cases in the past year than Mendelsohn had tried in the last ten. He had no reason to be intimidated by this man anymore.
 

Jack forced a smile as Mendelsohn approached.