Immoral (20 page)

“So you say, but it makes it much harder to put Graeme and Rachel in bed together, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, we have enough to do that,” Dan said. “This is a very sick client you’ve got, Archie. You’re not making yourself any friends in the community by taking the case.”

Gale buried his nose inside his glass of scotch, then took an imperceptible sip. “Yes, I’ve already gotten the usual hate mail and death threats. It’s ironic, don’t you think, people saying they’re going to kill me because I’m defending an alleged murderer?”

“You’re hardly on the side of the angels here,” Dan said. He was at the window now, staring at the Monday afternoon traffic on London Road. Then he paced back to the center of the room.

“Sit down already, you’re making me dizzy.”

Dan smiled. He drummed his fingers on his pockets. “Just wait, Archie. Just wait.”

“You do seem confident,” Gale told him.

“That’s because I’ve got Stoner nailed. I know it. You know it.”

“Oh, if I were you, I’d look into a few of my witnesses a little more carefully. You might find they have other stories to tell.”

A faint flicker of worry passed across Dan’s face and then was quickly replaced by a broad grin. “Damn, you are an old fox. You lie almost as well as I do.”

Gale chuckled. “High praise from you. But I’m not lying, Consider it a professional courtesy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, you can wriggle and squirm, but you won’t escape on this one. Your one chance was to get the case moved to another venue, and on that one, you lost. Hell, I don’t need to worry about putting Nancy Carver on the stand to say that Rachel told her she was boffing her daddy. The whole jury pool already knows. Not that I’ll admit that outside this room.”

“Yes,” Gale acknowledged, sighing. “I was disappointed about the change of venue. I suspect the judge knows the case should have been transferred, but I really think she wanted it herself. She’s a little like you.”

Dan bent down, dipping his fingers into a crystal bowl and scooping out a handful of mixed nuts. He sifted through them, sorting out a white chunk of Brazil nut, which he popped into his mouth.

“You’re right about that,” he said, as the nut crunched between his teeth. “In fact, you should know that I slept with Catharine.”

Gale’s eyebrows arched in surprise. He reached over to the end table and retrieved his Oban. “You slept with the judge? Isn’t that going a little far to win a case?”

“It was several years ago. She wasn’t a judge, and I wasn’t the county attorney then.”

“But she
was
already married, as I recall,” Gale said.

Dan shrugged and found a cashew from the pile in his hand. He ate it loudly without replying.

“I could ask for a different judge,” Gale continued.

“You could, but you won’t,” Dan said.

“You’re so sure?”

Dan nodded. “This won’t be your last case in front of Catharine, and I don’t imagine you want to be the one to air her dirty linen in public. Besides, you know you could do worse. Stoner will get fair treatment at her hands. More than he deserves.”

“And from what I know of your reputation, Daniel, your affair with her may work to my advantage,” Gale retorted dryly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Well, then, why tell me?” Gale asked innocently.

“You know perfectly well why, Archie. Now you can’t claim to be ignorant. I’ve given you reason to remove her, and you’ve declined. If you had discovered the affair after Stoner was convicted, you’d have grounds for a retrial.”

“True,” Gale said. “Although Stoner will never be convicted.”

“Come on, Archie. If I were you, I’d plead him. We’ve got Rachel’s blood in his van, on his knife, and at the murder scene—a perfect DNA match. You’ll never get the better of Dr. Yee on the scientific evidence. No one ever does.”

Gale shrugged. He had tangled with Yee many times. “Yes, if Dr. Unshakable says it’s the girl’s blood, then it’s the girl’s blood.”

“Put the blood evidence together with the evidence of an incestuous affair,” Dan added. “Plus, he has no alibi, and he’s a rich, smug son of a bitch. The jury is going to loathe him.”

Gale shook his head. He finished off his drink and pushed himself out of the chair with a groan. He smoothed his goatee. “Trust me, Daniel. You picked the wrong case to turn into a public circus.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning you and Bird Finch and the rest of the media may already have declared my client guilty, but that verdict doesn’t count. When I get done with the jury, they won’t even need an hour to acquit him.”

Dan flushed. “Because he’s got the great Archibald Gale defending him?”

“Because you have no case,” Gale said. “You don’t even have a body. You know the odds of a successful murder conviction without one.”

“It wasn’t an impediment with the grand jury,” Dan pointed out.

Gale snorted. “We’re talking about the real jury now, Daniel.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Dan said. “The jury’s not going to reward Graeme Stoner because there are so many places up here to hide a body. You can blow smoke, Archie—God knows you do it well—but the jury will draw the right conclusion when I show them the kind of man Stoner is.”

Gale approached Dan, towering over him, and put a fleshy hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Look, I don’t want to humiliate you in the courtroom. Why don’t we work this out now between the two of us? Drop the charges. Say there’s not enough evidence right now, and you’re waiting until you’ve got conclusive proof to make sure you don’t have to worry about double jeopardy. Stoner will leave town. His life here is over regardless. And then everyone forgets about this.”

Dan ate the last Brazil nut and dusted the salt off his hands. His eyes were cold and angry. He looked up at Gale and jabbed a finger in his face. “Don’t think you can intimidate me. Stoner’s life is over, all right. He’s going to spend the rest of it in prison. He’s a murderer, and I’m going to put him away.”

“You’re so sure he’s guilty?”

Dan groaned. “Come on, Archie. This is just us boys. Don’t tell me you think he’s innocent?”

Gale shrugged and didn’t reply.

“Well, I guess we have nothing else to say,” Dan told him. “I’ll see you in court.”

“Yes, indeed,” Gale said, still chuckling. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Gale strolled southward along the back street, avoiding the early evening crowds on Superior. For a large man, he walked briskly and athletically. When he saw the circular Radisson a couple of blocks to his right, he turned up the street, keeping an eye on the people around him as he neared the hotel. He drifted casually into the lobby and headed for the elevators.

This was always the risky part. Gale was a recognizable figure, and he worried that reporters from the Duluth newspaper, whose offices were only a few blocks away, might be hanging out over drinks in the hotel bar. He took the elevator to the seventh floor, got out, then retreated to the stairwell. He walked down three flights, took the elevator again, and this time got out on the eleventh floor. He glanced carefully down the corridor, then proceeded to the far end and knocked five times on the door of one of the hotel’s suites.

He saw a shadow pass across the peephole.

Graeme Stoner opened the door.

“Counselor,” Graeme said. “It’s always a pleasure.”

Graeme moved aside to let Gale in, then closed and locked the door behind him.

“Bird Finch is convinced you’re still in Minneapolis,” Gale told him.

“That’s good. Otherwise, the hotel would be under siege.”

Gale had succeeded in obtaining bail for Stoner, but he couldn’t go home. The publicity surrounding his arrest put him in danger, and even if he had been safe, he was no longer welcome in his own house. Emily had filed for divorce. His bank had also fired him, although Gale had helped Graeme win a lucrative settlement in return for his walking quietly away without a legal challenge.

“What’s the good word from Danny Erickson?” Graeme asked.

Gale chuckled. “As confident as ever. He wants to bury you, Graeme.”

Graeme shrugged. “That’s Danny boy. You know, we used to go out together now and then. I thought of him as a friend. But with Danny, friendship is important only as long as it is useful. Can I get you a drink?”

Gale shook his head.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind if I indulge,” Graeme said. He hunted under the bar and poured himself a glass of brandy, then situated himself in a comfortable chair by the window. The sky had turned to a deep blue twilight. Graeme was wearing a maroon golf shirt and pleated tan slacks. His laptop was glowing on a nearby desk. Gale asked him once what he did to pass the time, and Graeme told him he had increased his holdings in the stock market by 20 percent over the past five months. It was like a vacation for him.

Gale, still standing, studied his client. Even when Graeme called him on the day of the search, the man had been unemotional, calmly asserting his innocence and apologizing to Gale for talking to the police without his lawyer present. But, he claimed, he knew he was innocent and so had nothing to hide.

He wondered. It made no difference to the defense, of course, but morbid curiosity made Gale speculate on the truth. He had heard many liars in his day, and usually he could see through them immediately. Graeme was different. Either the man was sincere, or he was one of the most gifted liars Gale had encountered in his career. Unfortunately, he had always found that the better the liar, the more likely his client was guilty as charged.

Not that he couldn’t make a jury believe otherwise.

But which was it?

Gale had to admit to himself that the prosecution had a compelling circumstantial case. The evidence in the truck and the barn pointed directly to Graeme, even though there was nothing specific to link him to either location. And though the prosecution had nothing (so far as he knew) to prove a sexual relationship between Graeme and Rachel, the hints were tantalizing, maybe enough to sway a jury of stolid Scandinavians who didn’t approve of phone sex or promiscuous seventeen-year-olds. The truth? He simply didn’t know. He could poke holes in the prosecution’s case, and he had other suspects that the jury could readily believe were involved in Rachel’s disappearance. None of that cleared Graeme in his own mind.

He just didn’t know. It made him vaguely uncomfortable. He didn’t mind defending guilty clients, and he enjoyed defending innocent ones. Being in the middle was a new experience for him.

Graeme was smiling at him. It was as if he could read his thoughts. “Do you feel like you’re dancing with the devil, counselor?”

Gale took a chair opposite Graeme. “A totally different jury will have to decide who owns your soul, Graeme. Let’s worry about the jury in court tomorrow.”

“Touche,” Graeme said. “Well, what did you learn from Danny? Did you psych the poor boy out?”

Gale shrugged. “He’s got a pretty good case for a man without a body. And Daniel is good before a jury.”

“But not as good as you,” Graeme said.

“No,” Gale admitted easily. “He’s not.”

“See, that’s the confidence I’m paying for. But tell me honestly, what’s the outlook? Don’t spare my feelings.”

“All right,” Gale said. “The physical evidence is the heart of the case. It’s strong. And the publicity has been so vicious against you that much of the jury pool is likely to be tainted, regardless of what they say in voir dire. I’m afraid that most of them are going to walk in thinking you’re a perverted son of a bitch.”

“So what do we do?”

“Daniel knows the evidence only takes them to the edge of the cliff, and he wants the jury to stroll across the bridge to the other side. I want them to take a long look down and conclude the bridge isn’t sturdy.”

“A beautiful analogy,” Graeme said. “I assume there’s more.”

Gale nodded. “Then there’s the bogeyman theory.”

“I’ve always liked that one.”

“You should. It’s not enough to plant doubt as to whether you did it. I have to make sure the jury realizes there are plausible alternatives. If you’re the only game in town, they’ll convict, even if the evidence is shaky.”

Graeme finished his brandy and poured himself another from the bottle. “But you assured me we do have alternatives.”

Gale nodded. “I think so.”

In fact, Gale was unusually suspicious that either of the persons he planned to paint as a culprit might actually be guilty. But there was something in Graeme’s cool smile that disturbed him. He didn’t like the man.

“You won’t tell me what you’ve found, though,” Graeme continued. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Sometimes the less you know, and the less you tell me, the better,” Gale said.

“Well, then, give it to me straight. Do you think I’ll be free to move to Colorado in a few weeks, or will I be checking into a less comfortable hotel for the rest of my life?”

Gale eyed his client. “I’m not a betting man, Graeme. I don’t know if you’re innocent or not, and I don’t really care. But the fact is, it’s hard to prove a murder without a body, and in this case, I don’t think the circumstantial evidence will be enough. I think you’ll walk.”

“Even though the jury thinks I’m a perverted son of a bitch?” Graeme replied, smiling.

“We can get past that,” Gale said.

Graeme nodded, satisfied. “I’m delighted to hear it. But I can think of at least one person who will be bitterly disappointed.”

Gale could think of many people. “Who?”

“Rachel.”

Gale stared at Graeme. “So you think she’s alive.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“And the evidence in the van? The barn?”

“Planted,” Graeme said.

“To frame you?”

“Exactly.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed. “And why would Rachel want to do that?”

“She’s a complicated girl.”

Gale realized again how much he disliked that smile. Every time he began to convince himself his client was really innocent, that smirk slid onto his face, and the evil twinkle came and went in his eyes. “Why are you so sure? Couldn’t someone else have killed her and then framed you?”