Defense for the Devil (36 page)

PALMER

34

“Of course,” Frank
muttered to the Things, “he couldn’t bring his kids into this mess.” He had known for days that John had a tough decision to make, but he had reasoned that he would simply put off his kids until after the holidays, after the trial was over, and then he and Barbara would take off for a delayed visit. He suspected Barbara had thought the same thing.

An awkward moment had come when she said that was enough work for the night, time to go home. Hesitantly Frank had suggested that she could move a few things over, use her old room upstairs, and she had looked distant and unapproachable. “Too much trouble,” she had said. He knew from past experience that she would not talk about it, not now, maybe never.

They were all as jumpy as cats, although at the moment the two cats on the floor looked about as jumpy as bricks. Thing One had rolled over on his back, all four legs sprawled out in impossible angles, and Thing Two was draped partly across him, playing dead. But until the fog lifted, until they knew something about what Palmer was up to, where his stooges were, what plots were being concocted behind closed doors, the people involved would be on edge, and Barbara would be over there alone most of the time.

On Friday afternoon Barbara, Shelley, and Frank were discussing the batting order of the witnesses; Bailey was waiting for their final decision, not bothering to take notes yet. He would be in charge of getting witnesses to court. Some of them, he had warned, would rather go fishing. Barbara’s phone buzzed and she crossed the office to get it; Patsy would not have put a call through unless she thought it important.

“Barbara,” Patsy said, “there’s a man on the line who said to tell you he’s calling from Vancouver, and that you want to talk to him. Do you?”

“Yes indeed. Thanks, Patsy.” She covered the mouthpiece and said, “Palmer.”

He came on the line and said hello when she said, “Holloway.” Frank came to her desk and she held the phone away from her ear for him to hear.

“Ms. Holloway, I understand the fog is lifting. I want to know if you intend to subpoena me if I set foot in your state. If you do, of course, I’ll stay on this side of the river, but I really have some business to discuss with Mr. Trassi, and this is an awkward situation.”

His voice, lilting, mellifluous, charming, sent a chill through her. He sounded almost amused.

“I won’t subpoena you,” she said.

“Mr. Trassi tells me I shouldn’t trust your word, but, Ms. Holloway, I do. I have given a good deal of thought to the various aspects of our dealings and I have concluded that you don’t actually tell falsehoods, although you may curl the truth around the edges a bit—but don’t we all? To demonstrate my trust, I’ll even tell you my travel plans. I shall drive down there with a companion, and register at the Hilton when we arrive. I have a reservation, of course. Then, after a bit of refreshment, may I call you again, to arrange for a brief face-to-face meeting? I find it helpful to talk in person whenever possible. Don’t you?”

“We can arrange to meet,” she said.

“Good, good. Has the fog lifted in your area? I understand driving can be difficult and slow in the present conditions. But never mind. We will drive slowly and with great care. Until later, Ms. Holloway. Tomorrow, possibly.” He paused, then very smoothly he said, “It may be late when we arrive. Would you mind if I call you at this number?” He gave Frank’s telephone number. “Yes, probably that would be best.” He hung up.

Frank returned to his chair near the ornate coffee table, and Barbara leaned back in her desk chair. “Well,” she said. “Well, well.” She was icy. He knew Frank’s number.

“I’ll wire you,” Bailey said.

“No way. He’s not a dope. He’d never fall for that. Did you notice that he didn’t say anything actually? Do you suppose he really trusts me to keep my word about the subpoena?”

“Maybe,” Frank said. “In any event, I doubt a subpoena would hold him if he wanted to leave. Then, safely out of the state, maybe out of the country, he’d fight it with a pack of attorneys based in New York.”

“Well,” she thought, rising, “back to work.” An hour later, after she had explained exactly what her game plan was, and which witnesses she wanted early and why, they were interrupted again. This time Patsy said Mr. Heilbronner was in the outer office.

Frank’s eyes narrowed, and he said to Shelley, “You and Bailey better head for your office. Carter doesn’t like an audience. I’ll go fetch him.”

Barbara felt the same anger that Frank had revealed. Those sons of bitches were bugging her telephone! When Frank left to bring Heilbronner back, she went to her desk and sat behind it.

Frank and Heilbronner came in, and she motioned toward the chairs. “Good afternoon, Mr. Heilbronner,” she said coolly. “What can I do for you?”

He looked taken aback at her tone. He sat down and crossed his legs, regarding her. Then he said, “We’re not tapping your phone, Ms. Holloway. His? That’s different.”

“In any event, it’s still my private conversation that got put on a tape somewhere.”

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Would you consider a wire?”

“No. What else?” The last thing she wanted was for the FBI to tape a private conversation between her and Palmer, she thought savagely.

“Ms. Holloway, from his comments, I take it that you’ve had dealings with Palmer before.”

“I’ve spoken to the man one other time in my life,” she said coldly. “And you probably know about that conversation. He wanted me to release Trassi.” She suspected that Palmer had used a secure phone for the first call; he had said too much not to have taken precautions.

“His remarks suggest there’s more than just releasing Trassi on his mind,” Heilbronner said. “What did he mean, you curl the truth around the edges?”

“Mr. Heilbronner, you have the records with our dealings concerning Maggie Folsum and Internal Revenue. You know very well that I had to request certain documents that ultimately came from Palmer, through Trassi. At present I am in the middle of a defense case, and I don’t have time to involve myself in your investigations.”

“I understand,” he said. “I would like a formal interview with you following your conversation with Palmer, however.”

“And I am at liberty to refuse your request.”

“You are, but it could be to your advantage not to do so.”

“Carter,” Frank said then in a conciliatory tone, “when we find out when and where she’ll meet him, we could let you know and you could drop in at the house for a glass of wine afterward. Christmas cheer, that sort of thing. Certainly not a formal interview, just a friendly chat.”

Heilbronner was watching Barbara; she shrugged. “That would be pleasant,” he said. “Yes, I’d like that.” He stood up. “I know you’re busy, sorry to interrupt. I’ll expect a call.”

Frank walked out with him.

When he returned alone, she demanded, “Why?”

“Because he knows where Ulrich and Stael are,” Frank said. “And God help us, we don’t.”

Palmer’s call came at eight that night. Barbara waited for the answering machine to take it, then picked up the receiver. “Holloway,” she said.

“It wasn’t a bad drive at all,” Palmer said. “In fact, the hills were quite lovely wreathed in vapor, very picturesque. I’m afraid it has closed in again, however. Perhaps we could meet at the reception desk at the hotel here at eleven tomorrow morning? Quite public and open. We can decide then where we can share a cup of coffee and have a quiet conversation. Is that acceptable, Ms. Holloway?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Very good. Don’t worry about paging me or anything. I’ll recognize you. Until eleven. Have a pleasant evening.”

“Eleven, Hilton front desk,” she said after hanging up. Bailey nodded. He would have his own crew on hand, she understood, and he would be there himself, but she really didn’t want to know the details.

Bailey had already reported on Palmer’s arrival, at six-fifteen, with a Ms. Fredericks, who Palmer had said was his secretary. He had a suite; she had a single room on a different floor. Palmer had met Trassi in the bar, where they had a short talk and a drink, then both had gone back to their own rooms, where they remained. Trassi had ordered dinner in his room for one; Palmer had ordered for two. Trassi had not yet removed anything from the hotel safe.

That night she dreamed she was driving a very large truck with more gears than she knew what to do with; she was driving too fast when a deer appeared on the road ahead. She manipulated gears, but the truck simply sped faster and the deer did not move. She groped for the brake pedal and couldn’t find it, then she got on the floor to search with her hands for the brake. She was speeding faster and faster, and ahead the deer gazed at her with luminous red eyes and did not move. She came wide awake, shivering, sweating. She was clutching her rock, the rock John had given her nearly a year ago.

She put it down on the bedside table and groped for the clock, turned it so she could see the hands. These nights she had been facing it away, not willing to register the time—two o’clock, three, four…. It was five after five. She got up to go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, wipe her sweaty face. Alan came to the hall almost instantly when she left the bedroom.

“It’s only me,” she said.

He withdrew, back to John’s apartment, John’s living room.

When she returned to bed, she again faced the clock away.

At eight Jory Walters relieved Alan. If Alan looked like one of the youths who always seemed to be hanging around at the mall, or riding a bike around town, Jory would be at home in a group of football linebackers. She had never heard him utter a sound that wasn’t in direct response to a question; he simply nodded that morning and settled down on the couch with a newspaper. He had brought hers up as well, and she settled at the table with coffee and her own newspaper, and they read in silence.

At fifteen minutes before eleven they left the apartment and Jory drove her to the Hilton. He drove around the hotel to enter the underground parking level, where he could pull up within a few feet of the back entrance. Another escort opened her door and hustled her inside swiftly, then walked by her side up the stairs to the ground level, past the many convention rooms, a large lounge with a dozen or more groups of comfortable furnishings, couches and easy chairs with only a few people occupying them, although a lot of people seemed to be drifting aimlessly about.

As they approached the reception desk, a man in a dark suit turned her way, then walked toward her. “Ms. Holloway, good morning. I’m Palmer.”

She knew he was fifty-two, but he looked younger, with curly auburn hair and blue eyes with a lot of crinkly smile lines, and very white teeth. He was trim, with a salon suntan. He didn’t offer to shake hands, but his smile was broad, as if he really was glad to see her.

“Good morning, Mr. Palmer,” she said, as pleasantly as he had spoken.

“Since the fog has come back so densely, and it is such a cold and dismal fog, I suggest we have our talk here in the hotel. Perhaps in the big lounge you passed on your way in. Or there’s a coffee shop, a little noisy and crowded, but it would do.”

“The lounge is fine.”

“Good. You pick the chairs, since I more or less picked the setting. Fair enough?”

She nodded, and led the way to a couch and chairs with a coffee table, situated almost in the center of the big room.

“Don’t you want to take off your coat?” Palmer said to Barbara. “I’m afraid this hotel, like so may of them, overheats the space terribly.”

She took off her raincoat, and he was at her side helping her instantly. Holding the coat, without glancing around, he motioned to someone. A woman strolled to them. “Ms. Holloway, Ms. Fredericks,” Palmer said. “She’ll be happy to hold your coat for you, and your purse, if you don’t mind. Not far away, and not for an instant out of sight, certainly. Just over there.”

Barbara shrugged and handed the woman her purse. She was blond, in her forties, and had on too much makeup. She was dressed in a severe black skirt suit, with shiny black boots to her knees. Wordlessly she took the coat and purse across the lounge and sat down.

Barbara sat down, and Palmer sat across a table from her.

“Your maid travels with you?”

Palmer shook his head, smiling. “Not even my secretary, just a private investigator I hired for the occasion. She assured me that she could tell if you had a wire on your person, something about earrings, or a necklace, possibly a lapel pin, or buttons. I trust her to know her business, but I feel I must ask anyway: Are you wired?”

“Of course not. Are you?”

He laughed. “No, my dear Ms. Holloway.”

“Mr. Palmer,” she said, “another time, when I am not engaged in a trial, perhaps we can meet over tea and crumpets and have a nice cozy conversation, but at present I really am quite busy. What do you want?”

“Tea and crumpets,” he said musingly. “My accent, of course. My mother would have tea and soda bread, and my father the crumpets. Irish and English, they fought constantly. I wanted to see you in person. Your photographs don’t do you justice. I’m afraid Trassi is not a very good judge of women; he described you as a dragon lady. I like dealing with women, personally. Charm and business do mix quite pleasantly. I want to retain you, Ms. Holloway. I pay extremely well, and the work would be negligible, but it would be comforting to know you’re on hand if needed. Perhaps for only a year, perhaps longer. We could talk later about renewing our relationship. One hundred thousand dollars for one year.”

She studied him thoughtfully. “You know I’ll turn you down, and then what? Subtle threats?”

“Yes, I know,” he agreed, smiling again. “I’m a bit fey, you see. A legacy from my mother, I imagine; she was never deceived in her life to my knowledge. What do you want, Ms. Holloway? Everyone wants something; everyone has something he or she wishes to keep. What do you want?”

“I want Trassi, Stael, and Ulrich.”

“I see. Suppose I hand you Stael and Ulrich.”

She shook her head.

“Do you have enough to get them on your own? I rather doubt it.”