Lassiter 01 - To Speak for the Dead (25 page)

I smiled at Nurse Rebecca Ingram, who sat quietly with her hands primly folded in her lap. "Did you see anybody else on the floor that night prior to eleven-fifteen?"

"Yes, as I told Mr. Socolow, sometime between ten-thirty and eleven, I can't remember exactly when, I was at the station by the elevators, and Mrs. Corrigan came up with a gentleman."

"Oh," I breathed, trying to keep still, inviting her to continue.

"Well, they must have come up the fire stairs because I didn't see them get off the elevator. But I looked down the hall and there they were."

"Did you speak to them?"

"Yes, I told Mrs. Corrigan they really shouldn't be up there then, but she said they'd just be a minute. Then they went into Mr. Corrigan's room."

"Alone, the two of them?"

"Yes, I returned to my station."

"Did you recognize the gentleman with Mrs. Corrigan?"

"No. He was very . . . very muscular looking. I could see that even though he was wearing one of those khaki jackets with all the pockets, like he was going on a safari . . ."

"A bush jacket," I helped out.

"Yes. Heavily muscled men have a distinctive way of 233

walking, kind of rolling side-to-side. And he was not too tall. Short, actually."

"Would you recognize him again?"

"I believe 90. I believe he was Cuban, kind of swarthy, you know . . . but I don't know. He could have been Italian or something." She blushed.

What a splendid break, what a wonderful witness you have handed me, Abe Socolow. A buck would get you ten the muscular, not-too-tall guy was Sergio Machado-Alvarez, the karate instructor, boat captain, and steroid freak who made a cameo appearance on the group-grope videotape and who bruised my ancient Oldsmobile with brutal efficiency. I made a note to have Cindy subpoena Sergio for the trial.

I continued, "How long were they in the room?"

"I don't know. I didn't see them leave. They must have gone back down the stairs."

"You were on the fifth floor, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do many visitors walk up from the lobby?"

Abe Socolow was fidgeting. "Counselor, I must object to that question. It's speculative and irrelevant."

"Save it for trial," I barked. "This is discovery, and it's my deposition, and if you're sorry you listed this honest lady as a witness, tough."

Socolow banged a fist on his green metal desk, sending a Styrofoam coffee cup flying. "Damn it, Jake, you know better than that! I never try to hide anything. Let the chips fall where they may. I'm only interested in the truth, and you can create all the red herrings you want, but I don't care who was in that room, only one person poisoned Corrigan."

I ignored him and turned to Nurse Ingram.

"Just one more question," I promised.

Socolow hissed at me, "You said that fifteen minutes ago."

I proceeded as if Socolow weren't there. "Nurse Ingram, did you check on Philip Corrigan between the time you saw Mrs. Corrigan and the gentleman enter Room five-twelve and the time of the patient's distress due to the aneurysm?"

"No sir."

Whoa. I had expected a
yes.
Another pleasant surprise. She continued, "I'm sorry, but I missed the eleven o'clock check. I was filling out reports. Next thing I know, at eleven-fifteen, the cardiac monitor is going crazy. He'd had the aneurysm. I called in the Code Blue, and he was taken to surgery. But as you know . . ."

"So," I began, disregarding my one-question promise, "as far as you know, Mrs. Corrigan and the gentleman could have been in Mr. Corrigan's room from ten-thirty to eleven o'clock or even eleven-fourteen."

"I don't know. I suppose. But I don't know why they would be. Mr. Corrigan was sleeping all evening. He was sedated, of course, after surgery."

"And the last time you saw him was ten-thirty, and he was sleeping peacefully?"

"Yes."

"After Dr. Salisbury left?"

"Yes."

"Then you saw Mrs. Corrigan and the gentleman?"

"Yes."

"And the next time you saw Mr. Corrigan, he had suffered the aneurysm?"

"Yes, I said that."

"No further questions," I said, regretting only that a
235

judge, a jury, and a gallery of spectators were not there. "Your witness, Abe."

If Abe Socolow's skin were any more sallow, he'd be quarantined for hepatitis. He started in without pleasantries.

"Nurse Ingram, as far as you know, Mrs. Corrigan and her guest could have left the room at ten-thirty-one?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"And Roger Salisbury could have come back in at ten-thirty-two?"

I let out a well-planned laugh. "Sure, and maybe Santa Claus came down the chimney at eleven-ten."

Socolow ignored me. "Answer the question," he ordered the nurse.

"Well, I would have seen Dr. Salisbury if he came up the elevator. But he could have come through the stairwell,

yes."

"Nothing further," Socolow said.

Abe Socolow had gambled, had rolled the dice. He wanted to place Salisbury in Philip Corrigan's room, black valise in hand. He risked our finding out that the widow and her friend were there, too. He lost. But now, how to use that knowledge. I knew where we wanted to go with it, if not exactly how to get there.

If the state intends to prove a homicide with circumstantial evidence, it had better show that the defendant had the motive, opportunity, and means to commit the crime. With Roger Salisbury the state had all three; his motive was to get Corrigan's money and wife; the opportunity was being alone in the hospital room with Corrigan; and the means were dangerous drugs and the ability to use them.

If you are defending an accused murderer who has the motive, opportunity, and means to commit the crime, you'd better have another suspect to toss to the jury. He can't be a phantom. Shadowy figures, unknown assailants without the motive to kill, get you twenty-five years to life. Or worse. To beat the charge, you need a suspect with a name, face, and social security number.

I had my suspect: Sergio Machado-Alvarez. Now all I needed was some proof.

THE CONTRACT

The phone call came three days after we filed our discovery with the state. We listed our witnesses and physical evidence, including a certain "videotape portraying a prosecution witness, the decedent, the defendant, and an additional party." I wanted to see if it got a rise out of Socolow. I don't know if it did. But the widow surely noticed.

"Mr. Lassiter," she purred on the phone.

"Mrs. Corrigan," I said.

"You have something I would like very much."

"You want my 1954 Willie Mays baseball card?"

"Don't toy with me, Jake," she said, impatiently.

"So sorry, that's what I thought you wanted me to do."

"And don't flatter yourself."

"Okay, a business call, you want an appointment?"

"I want to tell you things that you will want to hear."

"Let me guess. My eyes remind you of the Mediterranean at sunset." My witty repartee will never get me a table at the Algonquin or a guest shot on Johnny Carson.

She was quiet a moment, probably deciding whether to tell me to screw off. But she was after something, so she kept going. "If you'd stop being such a smartass and listen, you'd know I'm trying to help your client."

"Like you helped him by planting the drug in his house."

"Maybe I was just returning it to the place I found it. I'll tell you everything. Just bring me the videotape."

"What if I've made copies? A year from now I could blackmail you."

She laughed softly. "You're not the type. Besides, we'll sign a contract. You draw it up, that you've turned over the only copy. If you're lying, you could be disbarred, right?"

Right. She'd thought of everything.

"Tell me," I said, giving it my best Cary Grant, "how does a girl like you get to be a girl like you?"

"Practice," she said.

And all this time I thought that's how you got to Carnegie Hall. "Okay," I said, "I'll bring the cassette. There's only one. You'll make a statement exonerating Salisbury. I'll call Socolow. We'll need him and a court reporter to take your statement."

"No! Just you. Bring a tape recorder if you want."

I thought about it. Socolow might muck it up, talk her out of it, delay until morning. She was giving me the case on a silver platter. Either that or handing me my head. "Okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Not here. I don't want you in the house. Sergio might come by. Someplace else. You know where Shark Valley is?"

"What, the Everglades? I'm not in the mood for mosquitoes. Besides, it'll be nearly dark by the time we get there."

"You're not afraid of me in the dark, are you?"

I didn't trust her at dawn, dusk, midnight, or any time in between. And she might bring friends. "It's just a strange place to execute a contract, that's all," I said.

"There'll be tourists around, just no one we'll know. Meet me there in two hours. You'll have to prepare the contract and get going. I'll be on top of the observation tower."

I said okay, but I didn't mean okay. It made no sense, a meeting at Shark Valley. And by the time we got there, the tourists would be back at their hotels sipping six-dollar pifia coladas. But if she gave me a statement, admitted planting the evidence, Roger's case was over.

I was dusting off a briefcase when Cindy buzzed. "Hey boss, now the other Corrigan babe wants you."

"Say what?"

"Mizz
Corrigan," Cindy said, dragging out the name.

"What line?"

"No line. Here. The waiting room. Just dropping by, in a sweatsuit and black Reeboks, so says our sharp-eyed receptionist."

"Bring her back," I commanded.

"Black Reeboks," Cindy repeated. "Bet they're hightops, too."

When the oak door closed behind her, Susan gave me a 241

peck on the cheek. I grabbed her by both shoulders and brought her close. The kiss was straight on, slow and soft, and Susan half gasped and half sighed at the end of it.

"You charge by the hour for that?" she whispered.

"For you, a straight contingency fee."

She feigned anger. "You only want a third of my kisses?"

"No, I only want to spend a third of our time kissing."

"The rest talking?"

"That, too. It's good to see you, but I'm on my way out." I told her about the call from Melanie Corrigan, and she leaned against the windowsill frowning. Then she paced back and forth, her sneakers silent on the thick carpeting. Cindy was right. Hightops.

Finally she turned. "Don't go, Jake. It's a set-up."

"Maybe. And maybe I'll get a statement that will exonerate my client. I really don't have a choice."

"Then at least take the police along."

"The police work for Socolow."

"You're not going to give her the videotape." It was both a question and a plea.

"Tell me more about the tape."

"You've seen it," she said. "Nothing more to tell."

"When was it shot?"

"I don't know exactly. About two years before Dad died."

"Two years! What was it, a honeymoon cruise?"

"Actually it was right before Dad married her. Mom had just died. Dad took the
Cory
to the islands with Sergio as the captain, Roger and Melanie the guests."

"So much for a decent interval of mourning."

She turned away, an old memory dragging up the pain. "It's hard for me to be objective about Dad. He always

cheated on Mom, and that last year or so, when she was sick and he took up with Melanie, it was very hard for her . . . how cruel he was at the end. I can never forgive him for that. Never."

I didn't expect that tone, the bitterness toward her father. But something else interrupted the thought, something that wasn't making sense. "Roger told me he first met your father after he married Melanie."

"No. Salisbury treated both Mom and Dad. He definitely knew Dad before he married that slut."

"Strange he would lie about that." I stored the knowledge for later use. My mind is a warehouse of information like that, bushels of scrap paper filled with notes.

I told Susan it was time to grab the mosquito spray and head for the Glades. She drifted toward the door, blocking my path like a linebacker filling the hole. "What about the tape?" she asked.

I looked around on my shelves and grabbed a small cardboard box. "Maybe Melanie would like to watch
Cross-Exam-ining the Expert in a Product Liability Case."

"And you think that when she discovers what you've given her she'll consider it a big joke? She's dangerous, totally amoral, and capable of anything. She could seduce you or kill you. To her, it wouldn't make the slightest difference."