Sawyer, Meryl (26 page)

"A postponement will help you. People have already forgotten
the details of the crime. Our latest survey shows only sixty-seven percent of
those polled think you're guilty. As time goes on the percentage will drop.
You'll get a better jury."

"You're saying justice has been sacrificed on the altar of
strategy and tactics. I suppose that's the system and I have to live with it,
like it or not."

Mitch didn't respond to her outburst. There was a moment of
silence before he spoke again. "Royce"—Mitch's voice had that low,
intimate pitch that never failed to send an electric charge through her body.
But this was no sexy come-on. She braced herself for more bad news—"Paul's
taking a closer look at your friends and Wally."

Once she would have angrily denied any of them could be guilty,
but now, after hours of lying awake at night, mulling over the situation, she
wasn't sure. Could she trust anyone? Not when her future—her hopes, her
dreams—were at stake. She had to know the truth. Who hated her enough to
destroy her? .

"Mitch," she said, thinking he'd soon be home. Obviously
she had no self-control where he was concerned. The only solution was to put
space between them—"I want to go home."

"Let's keep our relationship quiet until after the
trial," Paul told Val as they sat on the sofa in his house. He didn't add
Mitch had cautioned him several times about employing a suspect. He knew Mitch
was right, but he couldn't help himself.

"Okay." Val snuggled closer, smiling seductively.

Not again? They'd made love twice tonight. He'd like to spend time
here in front of the fire, sipping wine and talking. He needed to find out what
was behind Val's insatiable appetite for sex. Undoubtedly, it was rooted in her
troubled marriage. He'd waited for Val to talk about it, but now he could see
he was going to have to force the issue.

"I was married for ten years," he began. Perhaps if he
told her more about himself, she'd be more comfortable sharing her problems
with him.

"What happened?" Her dark eyes examined him intently.

"Our marriage had been dead for several years. Even if I
hadn't been brought up before Internal Affairs, it wouldn't have lasted. And it
was my fault. My job was my life back then—until I found out how easily I could
lose everything." He gave her a blow-by-blow account of the drug bust that
had gotten him into trouble.

"Who took the missing money?" she asked.

"One of the other officers took it. He had a kid with
leukemia and was strapped for cash. You have no idea how tempting it is seeing
bundles of bills bound for the evidence locker when you make diddly-squat. You
think: Who'll miss one bundle?"

"Didn't you tell anyone?"

"Nah. I felt sorry for the guy. If my kid was dying and my
insurance ran out, I might have taken the money. Anyway, I couldn't prove anything,
so why drag a guy before IA when he already had enough troubles?" He gazed
at her, encouraged by her compassionate expression. She really cared about him.
It wasn't just sex.

"Darling, I'm so sorry," she said, genuine emotion in
her eyes.

"Tell me what happened to you, Val," he said, but she
hesitated and he could see the pain was still great. "Don't you know I
love you? I can't make you happy unless I know what you need." He hadn't
meant to blurt it out like that, but it worked.

She smiled fondly at him. "My father was a cold, domineering
man, and my mother never wanted children, but I was always close to my brother,
David. Very, very close. I was stunned when I found out my parents—and
Davids—had kept Trevor's affair a secret... for years."

"You didn't suspect your husband had a lover?"

"No. I was pretty naive when I got married. The only
marriages I could use to compare were my parents', which was a cold
relationship, and then Royce's parents—just the opposite. No one could miss how
much they loved each other. I used to hang around because they all were so
happy. My marriage was somewhere in between my parents' and Royce's.

"You see, I was so happy having my own home that I didn't question
our relationship. I confess I lorded my marriage over Royce and Talia. They
were so competitive. Always searching for Mr. Right, but I'd found him."

Mmmm, Paul thought, not the first time someone's mentioned how
competitive Talia and Royce were. He'd checked out Talia and found nothing.
Maybe he should take another look.

"Then Royce moved to Italy, and Talia began dating some
questionable characters. I spent my time with Trevor, and my brother was around
constantly, which was great because we'd always been close.

"It didn't dawn on me that there was someone else until the
last year we were married and I realized how seldom we were making love."
She studied the wine glass in her hand, running her fingertip along the rim in
endless circles. She gave him a shy smile. "Sex with Trevor was never like
it is with you. You want to hear something funny? I knew it the moment I met
you."

He recalled the first night they'd made love. More than once she'd
said: "I knew it."

"The next time Trevor claimed he was working late, I followed
him." Her words came slowly, almost against her will. "I caught him
in the act."

Paul put his arm around her and drew her close. "It happens.
Put it behind you."

She gazed at him as if she had more to say but couldn't bear to
say it. Her lashes were dewed with unshed tears, and Paul was astonished at the
rush of jealousy that hit him. Did she still love her husband, or was it just
the lingering hurt?

"Trevor's lover was my brother David."

In the uneasy silence that followed the bombshell, they couldn't
meet each other's eyes. Jesus Christ, what a mess! Did he have what it would
take to bring her out of this? He loved her, but would that be enough?

Wally escorted Royce up to Mitch's back door. Jenny had sprinted
ahead and stood, leash in her mouth, on the steps. These late-night walks had
been comforting to Royce, a break in the lonely hours when she saw no one
except Jenny. But now Wally was leaving on a special assignment and she'd be
alone.

"I found out more about Mitch," Wally said quietly.
"Every year he puts a lot of his income into a bank in the Cayman Islands."

"Really? Why would he do that?"

"I'm not sure. He's been doing it since he began
working."

"There must be a fortune in there by now."

"That's the interesting part. I had a buddy at Bay Area
Savings make a call to check funds."

"You didn't. If the bank calls Mitch, he'll go
ballistic."

"Don't worry. I had my friend cover by saying he'd made a
mistake with the account number. The Caymans are like Switzerland—no names,
just numbers. Anyway, I found out there's less than a hundred dollars in
Mitch's account."

"Where did the money go?" she asked.

"Somewhere Mitch doesn't want anyone to know about. It's
going to be hard to find out, but I have a contact who'll help me."

"Don't bother. What could this possibly have to do with
me?"

"It took thousands of dollars to buy the coke they found in
your apartment. All the other suspects' money is accounted for—with the
exception of Mitch's."

"He wouldn't stoop this low," she protested. Mitch was
direct, honest, and often cruelly sarcastic, but he'd never lied to her. Even
at her father's funeral when Mitch had apologized, he'd admitted he was the
sole reason the DA's office had gone ahead. He could have blamed someone else,
but he hadn't.

"Remember, he's using a phony birth certificate," Wally
reminded her.

"Something happened when he was young. He's a runaway... or
something." She didn't add that she'd tried to question Mitch about his
past over the weekend. But he'd cut her off.

With mixed emotions she said good-night and went into Mitch's
house to work on the computer. Her purse was sitting on the kitchen table and
the portable telephone inside it was ringing. She dashed to answer it; the
phone was her only connection to her friends.

"How's tricks?" It was Talia.

"The same." What could she say? She couldn't talk about the
trial. She never saw anyone. Then she remembered some good news. "I talked
to my editor-in-chief today. He's had lots of mail protesting because I'd
stopped writing my column."

"Are you going to be writing again?"

"No. I don't feel the least bit funny these days." When
had she last laughed? The night of the auction. The night her whole life had
changed. "So, what's new with you?"

"Nothing, really," Talia said, and Royce could almost
see her: midnight-brown hair as sleek as mink and the withdrawn expression in
her dark eyes. This wasn't going to be good news. "I have to learn to
confront things, to tell the truth—no matter how painful."

Royce eased herself into a chair. What now?

"I'm going out with Brent tomorrow night." Talia's words
came out in a breathless rush. "He called and said he's lonely."

That jerk doesn't know thing one about lonely. How well she
remembered sitting in jail—waiting. Afraid. Hoping to hear from Brent. What had
she ever seen in him? She thought about Mitch and wondered if he'd called while
she was out. He always called around midnight when she was loneliest.

"Royce, are you there?" Talia asked. "Don't be
angry with me. I'm going out with him only to convince him not to testify
against you."

"I'm not angry." Surprisingly, she wasn't, but she did
wonder about Talia's motives. Did she love Brent? Had she loved him all along?

"I've got to do what I can to help you, Royce. I can't live
with myself if I don't do something," Talia said, but Royce couldn't help
wonder if she was sincere.

After Royce hung up, she heard a knock at the back door and
answered it, expecting Paul or Gerte. Instead she saw a teenage boy dressed in
clothes so baggy that a dozen of his friends could have gotten into them with
him. His Giants cap was on backward, revealing dusty-brown hair and a
smattering of pimples on his forehead.

"Where's Mitch at?" the kid asked, his tone insolent.

He obviously knew Mitch, so she motioned for him to come in. If
Oliver got out again, she'd spend half the night hunting for the blasted cat.
"He's away on a case. I'm house-sitting for a few days."

She didn't quite know how to explain her presence, but a warning
bell cautioned her. Mitch didn't want
anyone
to know where she was.
"Are you Jason?" She remembered his voice from the calls on the
answering machine.

"Yeah." His eyes narrowed. "You stole those
diamonds."

"I was framed." Why was she defending herself?

"That's ba-a-ad, man."

They stood staring at each other until she realized how late it
was. "It's late. Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"Nah. It's some conference day. I was jus' in the hood and
saw the light. I thought Mitch came home."

In the neighborhood? She didn't challenge him. This wasn't a
neighborhood you cruised. And he couldn't have seen the light unless he'd come
up the back alley, which was the closest route to the corner bus stop. She
motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen.

"I wanted to talk to Mitch. He's my big brother, ya'
know."

She was familiar with the Catholic Big Brothers. Underprivileged
kids. Perhaps Jason was in trouble. "Can I help?" She forced a joking
note into her voice. "I know a lot about trouble."

He shrugged, seeming ill at ease.

"Want a Coke?" she asked, anxious to make friends. All she
needed was for Jason to tell someone she was staying at Mitch's. She could just
imagine what Tobias Ingeblatt would make of that tidbit.

He nodded and she opened the refrigerator, thinking, not for the
first time, how odd of Mitch to keep little else inside except Cokes and jars
of hot salsa. The freezer was even more of a mystery—bags of frozen spinach and
two pizzas.

They sat at the table and she got him to talk, sort of. His mother
was expecting a baby. "The man," who turned out to be his stepfather,
was happy. And so was Jason, even though he wouldn't admit it. He hated school
but was "zoning out" there every day so he could go to Big Brothers'
camp.

"I'm gonna ride a horse and learn to water-ski," Jason
informed her. "Mitch can't ski, and he's never been on a horse. Hell, he
can't even ride a bike."

"Really?" It suddenly occurred to her this kid with a
chip on his shoulder the size of Alcatraz knew Mitch better than most people.

"He don't even skate." Jason drained the can.
"That's what happens when you're a runaway, you miss out on the good
stuff."