After Dark (21 page)

Packard was fidgeting in his chair and Tracy noticed beads of sweat on his upper lip. She was surprised at how nervous he was.

"It isn't anything concrete anyway," Packard went on. "Not like a confession. It's just something you should know about Deems. I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

"Okay. Go ahead," Tracy said, curious to find out what Deems had done to scare Packard so much.

"Charlie Deems is crazy. I mean really crazy. He thinks he can do anything and nothing will happen to him. And the funny thing is, he's right. I mean, look at what happened with the case I handled. He tortures this guy Shoe, then he kills Hollins and his kid. The jury says death, but he walks away."

"Most criminals don't think they'll get caught."

"You don't understand. How do I say this?"

Tracy waited patiently while Packard searched for the words to explain why Charlie Deems terrified him.

"Charlie not only believes he can break the law with impunity, he believes he's impervious to any kind of harm."

"I'm not following you."

"He doesn't think he can be killed. He thinks he's immortal."

Tracy's mouth opened. Then she laughed out loud.

"It's not funny," Packard said.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand you. Are you saying that Deems thinks nothing would happen if I shot him?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"Oh, come on."

"I visited Charlie at the penitentiary when I was handling his appeal.

At some point, we got to talking aboutwhat steps he should take if he lost in the Oregon Supreme Court. I noticed he wasn't paying attention, so I tried to shock him into listening by talking about his death sentence. Charlie just smiled. He told me he wasn't worried about dying because he has an angel who protects him."

"An angel?" Tracy asked, thinking she had not heard Packard correctly.

"That's right. An angel. At first I thought he was kidding. I told him that with the stuff he'd done, the last thing he had was an angel.

But he was dead serious. He said his angel is a dark angel. Then he told me this story.

"When Deems was in his late teens there was this woman he was screwing.

An older woman. Maybe thirty-five. She was the wife of Ray Weiss, who was doing time for murder. Weiss was paroled. When he got home he beat up his wife because he heard she was cheating on him. She named Charlie as the guy.

"The wife had kept Weiss's handgun and ammunition in the house all those years. As soon as Weiss got the name, he loaded the gun and went looking for Charlie. He found him sitting on his front stoop. Weiss pulled the gun and accused Charlie of fucking his wife. Charlie denied everything. Weiss called Charlie a liar.

Then he shot him. Charlie told me he was sure he was a dead man. The bullet hit him right in the chest. But the thing is, it bounced off."

"It what?"

"The bullet bounced off Charlie's chest, just like in the Superman comics."

"But how . . . ?"

"I asked a ballistics expert about the story. He said it was possible.

The bullets had been sitting around all that time. Ten years. The powder could have gotten damp or oil might have seeped into it. Whatever the reason, Weiss was in shock. He fired again and the same thing happened. Charlie said Weiss's eyes bugged out of his head. Then he threw the gun at Charlie and took off running.

"Now, here's the scary part. Charlie told me that when the first bullet hit him, he saw the dark angel. She was dressed in a black gown that went from her neck to her feet. She was wearing sandals. He remembered that. And she had wings. Beautiful wings, like the wings of a dove, only huge and black. The angel loomed over Charlie with her wings spread out. When the bullet struck him, he saw a flash of light and the angel said, 'I'll protect you, Charlie."

"From that minute on, Charlie Deems has believed that he can do anything he wants and nothing can hurt him. That means he can't be scared off and he can't be stopped, once he sets his mind to something."

The story was so bizarre that Tracy didn't know what to say.

How did you deal with someone who thought he was immortal?

"Tell Reynolds to tread very carefully where Charlie Deems is concerned," Packard warned her.

"I will."

"Good. Now, I'll get you those transcripts."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. I'm all too glad to get rid of anything that reminds me of Charlie Deems."

Matthew Reynolds watched the light blinking on his personal phone line.

All calls to the office were handled by an answering service after the receptionist left, but the personal line bypassed the service. Few people knew his private number, but he had given it to Abbie.

Matthew picked up the receiver, hoping it was Abbie. He had not seen her for two days, but she had never left his thoughts.

"Matt?"

"Yes."

Matthew's heart raced.

"I remembered something. I don't know if it will help."

"Tell me."

"I shot a roll of film the day I was attacked at the coast. I forgot all about it in the excitement. When Jack drove me back to Portland, he packed up the car. He must have put my camera in the trunk. Then he brought my things in when we got to the rental house in Meadowbrook.

Your investigator must have brought the camera when he moved my belongings here. I just found it. The film is in the camera. I think I took some shots behind the cabin. There might be a shot of the shed where the dynamite was stored."

"Barry was at the cabin on Sunday. He looked in the shed and there was no dynamite. If we had an earlier picture of the shed . . ."

Matthew thought for a moment. "What make is the camera?"

"It's a Pentax 105-R."

"That could be a break. The Pentax date-stamps the negatives. That will prove the date the pictures were taken. If there is something useful on the film, Geddes won't be able to argue that the pictures were taken at a later date."

"What should I do?"

"Don't do anything. Leave the film in the camera. I'm going to send Tracy Cavanaugh to pick it up. I'll want the camera, too."

"Couldn't you come?" Abbie asked.

"I can't tonight."

"Oh."

Matthew could hear the disappointment in her voice and could not help smiling.

"I'm sorry. I'm handling an appeal in Texas. The man is on death row.

The brief is due in two days."

"You don't have to explain, Matt. I know you have other people who depend on you. It's just that . . ."

"Yes."

"Oh, I was feeling sorry for myself. You cheer me up, that's all."

"Good. That's the part of my job I like the best."

Abbie laughed. "Will I see you soon? I'm getting a little stir crazy."

"I promise. As soon as this brief is done."

Tracy brought the transcripts and a takeout order of kung pao chicken to the office as soon as she left Bob Packard. Deems's trial had lasted several weeks, so the transcript was twenty-nine volumes long. She was reading Volume III when Matthew Reynolds said, "I'm glad you're still here."

Tracy looked up from the transcript and saw Reynolds and the time simultaneously. It was 8:15. How had that happened? She was certain she had started reading at 5:30. Where had the hours gone?

"Mrs. Griffen just phoned me. We could be in luck. She shot a roll of film at the coast the day she was attacked. In the excitement, she forgot about it. I want you to drive to her home and get the camera and the film. Bring the film to a commercial developer first thing in the morning. I want a receipt showing the date the film was delivered for processing. Then bring me the camera."

"I'll go right now."

Reynolds turned to leave.

"Mr. Reynolds."

Matthew paused.

"These are the transcripts from Deems's trial."

"Ah. Good. I want a synopsis of everything you think will be of use.

Make certain you give me cites to the pages in the transcript, so I can find the information quickly."

"I'm working on it now," Tracy said, holding up a yellow pad to show Reynolds her notes. "Oh, and there's something Bob Packard thought you should know."

Tracy told Reynolds about Charlie Deems's dark angel. As she talked, she watched Reynolds's face show surprise, disbelief and, finally, a look of amused satisfaction. She expected him to ask her questions about Packard or Deems when she was done, but all he said was "That's very interesting, Tracy. Excellent work."

When Reynolds was gone, Tracy shook her head. She could never tell what her boss was thinking and he rarely expressed his thoughts. He acted like an all-wise and all-knowing Buddha who silently weighed the worth of what he heard but never let on what he was thinking until it was absolutely necessary.

During the pretrial motion to suppress evidence in the Livingstone case in Atlanta, Tracy was unaware of the direction his cross-examination was taking until the moment before Reynolds sprang his trap. Tracy had been very impressed by Reynolds's technique, but she had also been a little upset that he had not confided to her what he was planning.

When Tracy clerked for Justice Sherzer there were never any secrets between them and she felt as if she was part of a team.

Reynolds worked alone and at times made her feel like a piece of office equipment. Still, the opportunity to work with a genius like Reynolds was adequate compensation for her bruised feelings.

As she drove along the dark highway toward the Griffen place, Tracy realized that her feelings about Abigail and Robert Griffen had changed since her talk with Justice Kelly. The judge had cheated on his wife and to Tracy that was indefensible. She was also upset with herself for being so quick to conclude that Abigail was lying about her husband simply because she liked the judge.

On the other hand, Tracy had been around Mrs. Griffen enough to concur in Mary Kelly's opinion that Griffen was a cold, calculating woman who could easily have been frigid enough to drive Justice Griffen into the arms of other women. And the fact that the judge had been cheating gave Abigail Griffen a powerful motive for murder.

The Griffens' driveway had been resurfaced as soon as the police removed the crime-scene tapes, but here and there, on the edges, Tracy's headlight beams picked out burn marks and scarred asphalt. When she parked, Tracy saw Abigail Griffen standing in the doorway. Abbie was smiling, but the smile looked forced. Tracy wondered how long Mrs.

Griffen had been waiting for her near the front door. "It's Tracy, right?"

Tracy nodded. "Mr. Reynolds sent me for the film and the camera."

Tracy expected Abbie to be holding them, but her hands were empty. She did not see the camera on the hall table.

"Come in," Abbie said. "They're upstairs. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No, thanks. It's a little late."

The smile left Abbie's lips for a moment. "Oh, come on. I was going to pour myself a cup when you drove up."

Tracy was going to decline again, but Mrs. Griffen sounded a little desperate.

"Okay. Sure."

There were two settings on the kitchen table. Tracy realized that Abbie had been counting on her to stay. Tracy sat down. She felt uncomfortable. Abbie carried over the coffeepot.

"Do you take milk or sugar?"

"Black is fine."

Abbie filled Tracy's cup. "How long have you worked for Matt?" she asked nervously, like a blind date fishing for a way to start a conversation. Tracy got the feeling that making small talk was not one of Abbie's strengths.

"Not long," Tracy answered tersely, unwilling to have their relationship be anything more than a professional one while she still harbored doubts about Abbie.

"You clerked for Alice Sherzer, didn't you?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

Abbie smiled. "You looked familiar. I visited Robert at the court occasionally. He may have pointed you out. Did you enjoy your clerkship?"

"Yes. Justice Sherzer is a remarkable woman."

Abbie sipped at her coffee. Tracy sipped at hers. The silence grew.

Tracy shifted in her seat.

"Are you working with Matt on my case?"

"I'm reviewing the evidence to see if we've got any good legal motions."

"And what have you concluded?"

Tracy hesitated. She wasn't sure that Reynolds would want her to answer the question, but Abigail Griffen was no ordinary client. She was also a brilliant attorney. And Tracy was relieved to be freed from making small talk.

"I haven't reached a final decision, but I don't think we're going to win this case on a legal technicality. Do you have any ideas for a pretrial motion?"

Abbie shook her head. "I've thought about it, but I don't see anything either. What's it like working for Matt?"

"I like it," Tracy answered guardedly, not willing to discuss her boss with Griffen.

"He seems like such a strange man," Abbie said. When Tracy didn't respond, she asked, "Is he as passionate about all his cases as he is about mine?"

"He's very dedicated to his clients," Tracy answered in a neutral tone.

Abbie's eyes lost focus for a moment. Tracy waited uncomfortably for the conversation to resume.

"He used to watch my trials. Did you know that?"

There was no rhythm to their discussion and the statement fell into the conversation like a heavy object. Tracy remembered seeing Reynolds at the Marie Harwood trial, but she wasn't certain where Mrs. Griffen was going, so she didn't respond. Abbie went on as if she had not expected a response.

"I saw him more than once in the back of the courtroom, watching me. He would sit for a while, then leave. I don't think he realized that I'd seen him."

Abbie looked directly at Tracy when she said this. Tracy felt compelled to say something.

"What do you think he was doing there?"

Abbie warmed her hands on her cup. Instead of answering Tracy's question, she changed the subject.

"Does Matt like me?"

"What?" , The question made Tracy very uncomfortable.

"Has he said anything . . . ?" She paused and looked across the table at Tracy. "Do you think he likes me?"

All of a sudden, Abigail Griffen seemed terribly vulnerable to Tracy.