After Dark (16 page)

"Then you have other suspects?"

"Now, you know better than that. I can't discuss an ongoing investigation."

"I understand," Reynolds said abruptly, to let Geddes know that he was in no mood to play games. "I won't keep you any longer."

"Nice talking to you," Geddes said, just as Neil Christenson walked in.

"Well, well," Geddes mused, breaking into a grin. "If we needed any more proof that Abigail Griffen is guilty, we just got it."

"What proof is that?"

"She's hired Matthew Reynolds as her attorney."

Christenson wasn't smiling.

"What's bothering you?" Geddes asked, annoyed that Christenson did not react to his joke.

"I think we should move slowly with this investigation. Something just doesn't feel right to me."

Geddes frowned. "For instance?"

"There's Deems for one thing. He's the worst possible person we could have for a key witness, especially now with Reynolds defending. Can you imagine what a lawyer like Reynolds will do to Deems on cross? He has a terrific motive to lie. Griffen put him on death row, for God's sake.

And don't forget, Deems was the prime suspect before he waltzed into Stamm's office with his story."

"Good points, Neil. But think about this. You'll admit Deems is intelligent?"

"Oh, that's for sure. Most psychopaths are."

"Then why would he kill Justice Griffen with a bomb that is identical to the bomb he used to kill Hollins? Does that make sense? Or does it make more sense that someone who knew how Deems made the Hollins bomb, and who knew that the bomb squad would immediately connect the Griffen bomb to Deems, would use the bomb to frame Deems?"

"The point's well taken, Chuck, but I don't trust him. Why is he here?

Why would someone like Deems want to help the police?

"That's simple. He hates Griffen for putting him on death row. Revenge is one of man's oldest motives.

"And don't forget the metal strip and her alibi, or lack of one.

You don't buy that fairy story about the meeting in the rose garden, do you? Talk about leading someone down the garden path."

Geddes laughed at his own joke, but Christenson looked grim. "There's still the attack on the coast. Griffen said the man could have been Deems."

"If there was an attack. Remember what Sheriff Dillard told you when you talked to him yesterday. But let's assume the attack did take place. Does it make sense that Griffen would go off in the middle of the night alone, and meetsomeone in an isolated place, a week after someone tried to rape or murder her? No, Neil, this little lady is weaving a web of bullshit and a jury won't buy it any more than I do."

Christenson frowned. "What you say makes sense, but I still . . ."

Geddes looked annoyedo "Neil, I have no doubts about Griffen. She's guilty and I'm going to get her. I need an investigator on this case who's going to nail Griffen to the wall. If you feel uncomfortable working on this, say so. I can get someone else."

"It's not that . . ."

"Good, because I respect your work."

Geddes turned his chair sideways. He looked out the window.

"You know, Neil, I'm not staying in this job forever." Geddes paused.

"Gary Graham is not going to run for Attorney General after his term is up."

"I didn't know that."

"It's not public knowledge, so let's keep it between us, okay?"

Geddes swiveled back toward Christenson. He put his forearms on the desk and leaned forward. "If I put a top prosecutor away for the murder of a Supreme Court justice, with Matthew Reynolds defending, I can write my own ticket, Neil."

Geddes let that hang in the air for a moment, then he said, "When I make my move, I'm going to need good men with me.

Men I can count on. Do you catch my drift?"

"Yeah, Chuck. I hear you."

"It's not enough to hear me, Neil. I need your undivided loyalty. Do I have it? Are you going to give me one hundred percent on this?"

"I always give one hundred percent, Chuck."

Geddes smiled. "That's good, because I've just figured out how to bust this case wide open. Have a chair and hear me out."

Christenson sat down. Geddes leaned back and folded his hands behind his neck.

"I've always believed that you solve a crime by figuring out the motive behind it," Geddes pontificated. "Now, what was Abbie Griffen's motive?

We know the divorce would have cost her money, but she has a lot of money. So I asked myself, what other motive could she have had.") Then I thought about the way Justice Griffen was killed." Geddes shook his head. "That type of carnage tells me that this was a crime of passion.

The person who killed Justice Griffen hated him so much that she wanted to destroy him totally.

"Now, what breeds that kind of hate? Sex, Neil. Lust, jealousy. So I thought about the Griffens' divorce. Why were they splitting up.") It had to be sex. Either she was cheating on him or he was cheating on her. That's when I got my idea."

Geddes paused dramatically. Christenson was used to his boss's theatrics and he endured them stoically.

"Laura Rizzatti, Neil. Laura Rizzatti. It was under our noses all the time."

Now Geddes had his investigator's attention.

"Did you ever see her, Neil? I have. The Supreme Court clerks use the cafeteria in the basement of the Justice building all the time. I once had lunch with her and Justice Griffen. That's what gave me the idea.

Seeing them together.

"She was attractive. Very attractive. One of those full-bodied Italian girls with pale skin and beautiful eyes. I think the judge noticed just how good-looking she was." Geddes paused. "I think the good judge was fucking her."

"Now, wait a minute . . ." Neil started.

Geddes held up a hand. "Hear me out. It's just a theory, but it makes sense. Abbie Griffen's a good-looking woman, but she might be as cold in bed as she is in the courtroom. Suppose the judge got frustrated and started hitting on his clerk. The next thing you know, they're in the sack together."

"We don't know that."

"Don't we?" Geddes answered smugly. "I've already done a little investigating on my own. Before I buzzed you, I talked to Ruth McKenzie at the Supreme Court. She was Justice Griffen's secretary. I asked her if she was aware of any unusual occurrences involving Rizzatti and the judge around the time Laura was killed. Do you know what she told me? On the very day she was murdered, Laura came to the judge's office in a highly emotional state. Mrs. McKenzie couldn't hear what they talked about, but Laura looked like she had been crying and the judge was very upset.

Christenson thought about Geddes's theory and had to admit that there might be something to it.

"First Griffen's clerk is murdered, then Griffen," Geddes said.

"It's too big a coincidence, Neil. I think Abbie Griffen found out that her husband and Laura Rizzatti were having an affair and killed them both."

As soon as Matthew Reynolds hung up on Chuck Geddes he told his secretary to hold his calls, then he went upstairs to his living quarters. Dreams come true, he thought as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. Sometimes we do have our greatest wish fulfilled.

Matthew entered his study without even glancing at his chessboard and locked the door. The bright midday light illuminated the room. Motes of dust floated on the sunbeams. He took the manila envelope from the bottom drawer and spread the photographs of Abigail Griffen across his desk. The photos did not capture her essence. How much more beautiful she was in person. How perfect. And she was his now.

Chapter FOURTEEN

"You're awfully quiet, Barry Frame said as Tracy Cavanaugh turned off Macadam Boulevard onto the side street that led to the house where Robert Griffen died. It was a beautiful day and the top was down on Tracy's convertible, but Tracy was off in a world of her own.

"I knew him, Barry, and I liked him. He went out of his way to be nice to me after Laura was killed."

"And it bothers you to work for a woman who might have murdered him.

Tracy didn't answer.

"What if Mrs. Griffen is innocent? Matthew believes in her. If she's innocent and she goes to prison that's worse than dying.

When you're dead, you don't feel anything. If you're alive and living in a cage for a crime you didn't commit, you suffer every second of every interminable day."

"What are we supposed to be doing?" Tracy asked, intentionally changing the subject. Barry was tempted to push her, but decided against it.

"Now that the police have released the crime scene, Matt wants us to go through the house to see if we can find anything that might help Mrs.

Griffen."

"Didn't the police search the house after the explosion?"

"Sure, but they might have missed something."

"It sounds like a waste of time."

Barry turned toward Tracy.

"Matt doesn't consider any time spent on a case a waste of time. If we don't turn up anything, we can move on to something else. But Matt always asks, 'What if we didn't search and there was something?" I've seen some good results in situations where I didn't think a job was worth the effort and Matt made me do it anyway."

Tracy turned into the driveway. Matthew's car was parked in front of the house. He was sitting on the ground, his back against an old shade tree, his knees bent and almost touching his chin, looking impossibly out of place on the wide green lawn in his black suit, thin tie and white shirt.

Abigail Griffen drove up as Tracy was parking. Tracy studied their new client as Griffen got out of her car. She was dressed in a blue sleeveless blouse and a tan skirt, looking regal and selfassured in spite of the strain Tracy knew she had to be under. A woman who could take care of herself in any situation, a woman who was always in control. Tracy wondered how far this woman would go if she was threatened. Would Abigail Griffen kill if that was the only way to end the threat?

Griffen ignored Tracy and Barry Frame and walked over to Reynolds.

"Have you been waiting long, Matt?"

"I've been enjoying the solitude," Reynolds said as he stood up awkwardly while brushing dirt and blades of grass from his pants. "I'd like you to meet Tracy Cavanaugh, my associate. She'll be working with us. And this is Barry Frame, my investigator."

Abbie acknowledged them with a nod, but didn't offer to shake hands.

"Let's go in," she said.

The Griffen house had the musty smell of a summer home on the first day of the season. The doors and windows had been closed since the murder, trapping the stifling summer heat. Tracy felt queasy, as if there was insufficient air.

All the curtains were drawn and only a hint of sunlight filtered through them, giving the living room a pale yellow cast.

Abbie went from window to window pulling back the curtains to let in the light. Tracy stood to one side near the entrance and watched Abbie move around her domain. The living room was spacious with a high ceiling. A white couch and several highbacked armchairs faced a stone fireplace. To one side of the grate, a set of wrought-iron fire-placetools hung on a long, twisted black metal hook. As Abbie opened the last curtain, a ray of sunlight illuminated the rich greens and browns of a forest scene portrayed in an oil painting that hung above an oak sideboard. Then Abbie threw open a set of French windows. A fresh breeze rushed into the room. Just outside the doors were a patio and a circular metal table shaded by an umbrella. Beyond the patio was a rambling lawn with several large trees and a pool. The property ended where woods began.

"That's better," Abbie said. She turned slowly, taking in the room.

"Where would Justice Griffen have kept his personal papers?"

Matthew asked. "In here."

Abbie entered the den through a door at the far end of the living room and the others followed her. The room was windowless with dark wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with a combination of classics, popular fiction, history books, law books and legal periodicals. There was a Persian rug on the hardwood floor and a desk against one wall. A computer took up one side of the desk.

Abbie opened the desk drawers, but they were empty.

"It looks like the police were already here," Abbie said.

"I assumed they had been," Matthew answered as he looked around. "Do you have a safe? Something the police wouldn't have been able to get into, where Justice Griffen might have put something he didn't want anyone to see?"

Abbie walked over to a small portrait that hung in a space between two bookshelves and lifted it off, revealing a wall safe.

Abbie spun the dial and it opened. Matthew and Barry Frame crowded around Abbie as she reached in to bring out the contents. Tracy walked around the edge of the desk to try to see what Abbie had pulled out.

"Stock certificates, tax records," Abbie said. "I don't see anything unusual, Matt."

The front door opened. Abbie turned her head. Barry left the den and stepped into the living room.

"District attorney's office," someone said. "Please identify yourself."

"I'm Barry Frame, an investigator for Matthew Reynolds. We represent Abigail Griffen. This is her house and she let us in.

We're in the den."

A moment later, Barry reentered the room followed by Chuck Geddes, Neil Christenson and two uniformed officers.

"Hello, Matt," Geddes said.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Geddes."

"Mind telling me what you're doing here?"

"I'm Mrs. Griffen's attorney. This is Mrs. Griffen's home.

We're here at Mrs. Griffen's invitation."

"How did you get in and what are you doing in my house?"

Abbie demanded. Matthew put a restraining hand on his client's arm and stepped between Abbie and Geddes.

"I was about to ask the same questions," Reynolds said.

Geddes flashed a condescending smile at Reynolds. "I'll be glad to answer them. I opened your front door with a key that the medical examiner found in your husband's pocket, Mrs. Griffen, and I'm here to place you under arrest for Justice Griffen's murder."

Reynolds turned to Abbie. "Not another word," he said sternly. Then he turned back to Geddes. "May I see your warrant?"