Character Witness (35 page)

''
I repeat, if she's so mediocre then why does Richard want her?'' Gerry pleaded now. Carl had worked himself into a fit and lost his guilt along the way. ''Just tell me, why would he be talking about her to the likes of you if she means nothing to either one of you? Carl, for the love of Mike, something is afoot that's much more than I can even imagine. I'm worried . .''

They weren't alone. The big, big men that Gerry had seen at the hotel all those weeks ago were now here, protecting 'hiz honor' from the like's of Gerry O'Doul, but Gerry didn't know it until one of them spoke.

''
Mr. O'Doul, the mayor is busy now.'' The taller one's voice was so low he seemed to pull it up from his toes. Gerry didn't move nor did he acknowledge the beasts behind him.

''
Carl, I'm sorry,'' Gerry composed himself and put up his hands in a sign of peace. He lowered his voice. He'd not intended to raise it in the first place, but everywhere he turned now there were questions. Kathleen's name was whispered and spoken and her attention taken by men who shouldn't have given her the time of day. He'd known something wasn't right from the first and tried to bury his concerns. Now they were screaming and he couldn't ignore them any longer. ''I've no desire to disrupt your working day. I would like to have a talk with you. I'm sure there is a plausible explanation for this interest in Kathleen; I'd simply like to put my mind at rest. Please, Carl. I would like ten minutes of your time.''

Carl Walsh was backed up against the window. He glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure his city was still there, behind him. He nodded to the large men who converged on Gerry.

''
Please, Carl,'' Gerry asked again and this time he sounded old. Even he heard it in his voice. The men put one hand each on his shoulder. They felt like weights. Gerry's resolve was quashed beneath those hands. ''Whatever the game, Kathleen will do you no good. She's not meant for the back rooms and the wheeling and dealing. Carl, you are Richard's good and dear friend. Tell him that for me. Just tell him that she won't live up to whatever expectations he has for her.''

One of those hands tightened on his shoulder again and this time Gerry didn't fight it. How could he? This was city hall.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kathleen swerved but the front tire of her car popped over the curb anyway. At an angle, she sat with one hand tight on the wheel; the other pressed the phone against the side of her head. She counted to ten.

''
Are you there? Michael? I'm sorry.'' Now she held the car phone to her ear with her shoulder, threw the car into reverse, almost lost the phone when the car clunked back onto the street. Finally she pulled parallel to the curb and turned the damn thing off. ''I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't get used to talking on this thing and this car is so much bigger than my old one. I don't even know why they gave it to me. A company car! Where am I going to go? And a phone? Who's going to call me? What clients am I going to take to lunch?''

She laid her head back on the seat, feeling completely ridiculous with all the trappings of Shay, Sylvester & Harrington's best and brightest and none of the responsibility. She listened to Michael make pitying noises. She didn't miss the underlying chuckle. He'd been-there-done-that, but at least he'd actually been the top dog. She sighed. ''Yeah. Yes. I think I'll hang up. I'll call you after I talk to Gerry. I hope he hasn't gone to bed. I'm so late.''

She listened. Michael absolved her of any social obligation to him with a few sweet words. Take care of Gerry. Spend some time with him.

Understand what
you've given up
.

She hung up, trying to ignore his subliminal and kindly finger wag. It was hard though. She'd been wagging that same finger at herself. The job wasn't what she'd imagined. There. She admitted it. Fourth seat on an environmental case. Fourth! She was the homemaker of the team, putting everything in order so that the big guns could eventually get up and argue the case. She'd been an idiot. She would have admitted that to Michael if he hadn't already hung up. She was just tired enough, just disheartened enough to admit it to Gerry, too, if she had the chance.

Sighing, she got out of the car and pushed the nifty new key chain that beeped before locking down the incredible hunk of gray metal. Two good men in her life and she'd disappointed both. Two good men who never said a word against her - either in disappointment or anger - and Richard Jacobsen was on the other side of the scale. A man who never said much to her anymore either. Pleasant when she did see him, there weren't anymore chats about Tom Mathis and his fine paintings, no more philosophical discussions in Jacobsen's private conference room about the challenge of law versus the bottom line. Wouldn't Cherie be laughing up her sleeve now?

Hoping Gerry wasn't going to do the same thing tonight, Kathleen started to walk up the flagstone path only to stop and look over her shoulder when she heard a bleep that sounded quite like the one her car made when the locks were being opened. Her car was dark, safe and sound. She looked up the street. A young, dark haired man in a suit looked back at her briefly before ducking into his green sedan. She was glad she couldn't see him clearly. She felt a wreck. He drove away moments later. Gerry's street was as silent as a tomb once again so she headed up the path. The sooner she talked to Gerry, who had been surprisingly insistent that he see her that night, the sooner she would be in bed with the covers pulled up over her head.

She took the three low rise steps to the oval porch, rang the bell and admired the house Gerry had lived in for over fifty years. Modest by comparison to its neighbors, it was worth a fortune. On the right side of Sunset, Gerry had bought the place for what most people now spent on a car.

Lost in her thoughts, Kathleen didn't know how long it had been since she'd rung so she rang again. This time she added a knock for punctuation. She peeked through the long leaded windows that ran floor to ceiling on each side of the wide front door.

She could see a snippet of the living room on the left and the dining room on the right. Both were straightened and clean. The foyer was empty; the flowers on the side table were fresh. She scanned the street. Nothing. Not even a sound. No dog barking in the distance, no maid carting out the trash. Lights burned behind elegant windows on homes set back from the street. Some were ringed by wrought iron fences, others set apart by meticulously cut hedges.

Kathleen's eyes flicked left to the trees and bushes surrounding that side of Gerry's house. Her eyes darted right to the driveway. She went that way. Stepping off the porch she walked across the manicured lawn, leaving her self-pity on the porch, replacing it with curiosity and just a dash of concern. Lifting the latch on the gate, she slipped through and headed for the back. It was a warm evening and Gerry had a soft spot for the night blooming jasmine. He could often be found in his garden, alone with his thoughts, surrounded by the jasmine's heavy perfume.

''
Uncle Gerry?'' she called, walking more slowly.

Knowing how easily her heels would sink into the sponge of the grass, she picked her way across the stepping stones that led to the patio. Deflecting the unease, she took note of all the normal things around her; the neat coil of hose, the garage door that was latched on the outside, the patio furniture that Gerry washed down every Saturday whether it was needed or not and, yes, the night blooming jasmine whose heady summer perfume lay heavy on her senses. She hesitated on the fifth paver and looked about, breathing deeply. Closing her eyes, Kathleen found she was smiling. Though children had never played here, though she had never set foot on this ground until she moved to Beverly Hills, Kathleen knew a truth beyond reproach: she was home. Nothing that had been done couldn't be reversed; decisions could be rethought. She'd share that with her uncle. He'd been waiting to hear that for a long time.

''
Gerry! Uncle Gerry!''

She pranced up the back steps. His shoes were by the back door, the polish sitting out. Always busy, that man. She knocked on the back door and her heart stopped. Instead of the hollow sound of a fist on wood, the door swished, opening onto a meticulously kept kitchen. Dread skittered out like a cat shut in too long.

Kathleen made excuses. The door was open because he rushed back in, forgetting a rag to polish those wingtips or new laces to replace the ones that were frayed. She would help him. They'd talk. It would all be okay between them. Or maybe the phone rang. He went back in and didn't close the door all the way. She'd wait, curled up in a chair in his office while he finished his call - unless it was personal. If that were the case, she'd make herself some tea and wait under the jasmine tree.

''
Uncle Gerry?'' There were a million reasons why the door wasn't closed and locked, not the least of which was Gerry O'Doul's belief that in his home he was safe. Kathleen stepped into the kitchen. A coffee cup and plate had been placed neatly in the drainer. There were no cooking smells as Kathleen expected. Gerry preferred to eat out or microwave soup. At his age, he was fond of saying, he didn't need much to fill him up.

Kathleen poked her head into the TV room. An old picture of her and her mother sat framed atop the television. A book was open on the table by the recliner. She caught the name of the author, Donald Tivens, and the visage of Uncle Sam in mourning on the cover. It felt like an omen. The television was off. She left the lights on.

A short hall connected a guest room and the master bedroom. Kathleen could see the edge of the guest bed, made up and waiting for friends who never came. Long dead or infirmed, Gerry was one of a kind, the last of a line. She turned the opposite way, opened her mouth to give him a head's up and then remembered the greeting Sarah Booker had given her in the mountains when she had been surprised. Not that this was the same situation. Still, once burned twice remembered. She walked slowly down the hall, glancing into a small room Gerry used as an office. Memorabilia, a desk, a chair but no Gerry.

''
Uncle Gerry?'' she whispered, and the words sounded like a child's quiet cry in the night. She hadn't meant to say anything until she knocked on the door but there it was, done now. No voice came back to greet her, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was there in his room. Only him. No one else. Heart sinking, Kathleen quickened her step, checked out the clothes laid on the bed, heard the sound of the shower and for one minute allowed herself to be relieved. But when she walked to the door of the bathroom her knees shook. When she raised her hand to knock on the door, her arm felt too heavy. She forced herself to rap.

''
Gerry?''

His name came out in three syllables. She knocked three times. She called again. Louder now. Then once more. That's when it sounded as if she was going to cry.

''
I'm coming in Gerry.'' Kathleen sniffled. ''You better be decent. I'm telling you, I'm not used to being in a man's bathroom.'' She tried to laugh but her breath caught and she put her hand to her mouth to keep the sob inside.

Swallowing hard, Kathleen's left hand lay on the hard, solid wood of the door, her right she used to turn the knob and push open the bathroom door. She knew there was no need to call anymore and no need to hurry.

Kathleen Cotter stood her ground and felt her shoulders slump. There were no thoughts in her head while she surveyed the scene other than to remind herself to be attentive. There would be questions. After that, there would be tears and self recrimination and sadness. But now, she needed to pay attention.

Gerry O'Doul's hand was slung over the side of the bathtub, white and lifeless. A fine spray of water shot through the partially open shower curtain making the tile slick where the rug didn't quite cover it. A white, fluffy robe was laid neatly over the toilette, a towel on top of that. A glass of something had stood on the sink top, she could still see a ring, but now it was shattered on the ground near the tub.

It took three steps to reach the tub and one quick movement to pull the shower curtain back then close it again. It took a second or two to do that, yet it seemed like an eternity. Kathleen concentrated on his face in those few seconds, looking for any sign of life. She had reached through the curtain and put her fingers to his neck praying for a pulse and knowing her prayers wouldn't be answered. At the other end of the tub, she reached for the faucet and held back. Someone might want to see everything as it was. She backed off, turned and crunched glass underfoot. Scotch. He'd been drinking Scotch but he hardly had a sip. The smell was slight and the entire contents of the glass seemed to be on the floor.

Perhaps he had felt it coming - the fall, the heart attack, the slip - whatever caused him to hit his head and die. Perhaps he had reached for the side of the sink to right himself and that's when the glass fell. It was the only thing in his whole, lovely home that was disturbed. Even he didn't look disturbed. He just looked perplexed and that, she supposed, wasn't a bad way to go. Better than her father who died with a scowl on his face. Her mother had turned hers to the wall, refusing to look at Kathleen, much less the world around her. Yes, perplexed was probably okay, Kathleen thought, as she stepped over the glass, walked to the bedside table, picked up the receiver and dialed 9-1-1 and asked for help.

Then Kathleen Cotter crumpled to the floor and tried very, very hard to breathe so that when she cried she would do it very, very well.

''
I'm sure he just lost his footing and hit his head. It happens all the time with the old folks. Their equilibrium isn't what it used to be. There isn't a thing you could have done about it.''

''
I could have been here sooner. He was expecting me sooner. I could have. . .''

Kathleen sniffled and tried to swallow but the thing in her throat was huge and wouldn't go down easily. The officer didn't have time to wait.