Splicer (4 page)

"They took you upstairs again?" Rusty’s lawyer asked. Rusty didn't answer right away. He still couldn’t believe he was in jail again.

"Koz thinks that sending me into lockup with a bunch of hard cases will soften me up. Told me they would
clean my fucking clock
quote, un-quote. He's a sweetheart."

"His tune hasn't changed." Jayne pushed her hair over her right ear. "You OK?" she asked simply, opening her leather folder. She was wearing a silky-looking dark green blouse and faded jeans. It was a question she might ask any one of dozens of her criminal clients.

"I'm scared. I'm pissed off." Rusty checked these thoughts off with his fingers, as if he was going through inventory. "I'm working my way through disbelief and into depression...”

"You look like you're holding up." There was no smile, just the guarded look of a big sister - or a parole officer.

"I cover up well. It's an old sales trick I learned." He ran his fingers through his hair and sat up. "I almost hate to say this, but I missed you".

"Why do you hate to say it?" She had her hand in her brief case, eyes down.

"Because with you, the only way I get to see you is when I’m arrested."

She shook her head, her eyes dark. "Rusty, this is no date. And this is definitely not going to be a walk-in-the-park." She rubbed the back of her neck. "People are calling this an
assassination
. As if a head of state was murdered. Last time you
sidestepped
the machinery - this time it’s on course and tracking. And if you haven't noticed already, this is one of those cases that are getting everyone's juices flowing. I've already fielded two calls from international news services. GeneFab is big internationally. A lot of political interest. This just may be the media feeding frenzy of the decade."

Rusty didn't remember her being this serious before.

"I really hope you have an alibi for where you were on Wednesday night so we can keep this short and sweet," Jayne said. Rusty flinched. Jayne paused. "What about your wife? She with you?" Jayne didn't like the look she was getting. A frown passed over her features.

Rusty hesitated. "Shay and I have been separated ... I hate that word. Sounds like something you do to a dairy product. We've been
apart
for about a year. And I guess if you're apart for a year, that's as good as being
unattached,
right?" Jayne still looked unconvinced. "We don't live together anymore."

"Sorry."

"That's O.K!  Another decade or so and I'll be over it. By the way, Quinn sends his regards."

Jayne raised an eyebrow, wrinkling an all but perfect forehead.

"Quinn?"

"He called me this morning. Wanted to know if I was all right. Whether I needed anything. Like a gun to shoot myself." Quinn used to be Jayne's boss, head partner of the biggest criminal law firm in the country.

"How did he find out about...?"

"Shay. My ex. Quinn's the other side of that
split
equation I was trying to avoid, if you haven't guessed already."

Jayne waited, not comprehending.

"My ex-wife and Quinn are an item, as they say in the gossip columns." Jayne whistled softly. "We're very adult about it though. Nobody is suing anybody or threatening anyone. I've conceded to the little guy. Like that's a big surprise."

She shook her head. "You're not kidding, are you? You know that I no longer work for Quinn?" Something was worrying her.

"Of course. You left his firm right near the end of my first trial. It's got nothing to do with the case. In fact, it has nothing to do with
lawyers
. She has expensive tastes. She tires quickly of macaroni and cheese. That’s all it is. Impoverished defendants don't fit into her lifestyle."

"You're trying to make light of this. You're not bitter?"

"Is that a motive?" Rusty sat back and crossed his legs. "Sorry. Not funny. I'm nearly recovered on the subject of Shay. See? I can say her name without weeping. It’s just Quinn that bothers me. Why did he call me? Does he feel guilty?"

Jayne thought for a moment. "Quinn's Quinn. Has a huge practice, partners coming out of the woodwork. Imported monkey wood by the way is about a six hundred dollars a two by four." Quinn had a thing for monkey wood. His office reeked of it.

"Are we talking about the same guy? Jayne, I wish him all the best of luck in his legal career. I just wish he'd stop rubbing himself in my face every couple of weeks."

Rusty slapped the table in frustration and looked across the room. Jayne jumped slightly. Several tables over a longhaired youth was arguing with a fat attorney who turned to look in Rusty's direction. "Sorry. Just wanted to see if this was a bad dream. Looks like it's not." He picked up and rubbed his hand. "So how are things at Osgood & McEwan?"

"You mean
McEwan
& Osgood
. Very busy. In fact, I'm far too busy to take your case and do it justice."

Rusty's mouth fell open slightly. "No pun intended. Maybe you should consider Quinn. He likes the limelight." She smiled apologetically and tapped her fingernails on the worn arborite table top, noting the scrawled graffiti on the desk, some of it there since the 70's. "But I'll help you now with your bail hearing. Get you out of this place before you start to make friends." She was looking for a reaction from him, any kind of reaction that told her he couldn't possibly have done it. This shouldn't normally matter, but in this case, it might.
She looked into his eyes, which he held without turning.

"Rusty," she started carefully, "they're saying that this was the worst possible time for Ludd to die. He was about to launch something at an industry trade show that would be the biggest thing since the personal computer. It would create thousands of jobs. Make everyone, including the government, billions." Rusty glared at her. She noted again that there was nothing special about his looks, but she was struck by what some might call his plain Irish determination. Despite his unruly hair and disheveled appearance there was strength there. He wasn't going to make this any easier for her.

"They want this thing to be over. Your case. And fast. As you know, fast isn't good."

Rusty shook his head. "Fast sounds perfect. But I don't believe it. I've seen this cranky justice thing in motion and it's not pretty. We'll still be strategizing about this case three years from now."

"Not if you have an alibi."

"You just said you wouldn't represent me."

"If I'm going to help you find representation, a little background would help."

Rusty shrugged. He wasn't happy. He felt he was being shopped around.

"Well?" she asked.

"You mean my non-existent alibi?"

"Don't tell me you were alone on Wednesday night?"

"That's my life now. Basically me and myself."

"Where?"

"I share an apartment on Hudson."

"Roommate?"

"She's a nurse. She works nights."

"And you work fast."

He looked like he had tried to answer this question before many times. "She's just a friend. Isn't this the 21
st
Century? A time where a guy can have a female buddy?" She looked down and wrote neatly in a leather-covered legal pad. "Looks like you don't buy it. Let me try again. We have separate rooms. I've known Beth for years and believe me, she needs me like a hole in the head."

His lawyer still didn't look convinced.

"OK! She's gay. She left her husband and I make a convenient cover. And because we have different schedules, we hardly see each other."

"You don't understand," she said. "I wish you were part of a threesome or a foursome that night. Or a goddamn orgy. The more collaboration, the better. Did you call anyone?"

"I wish I had. I wish I would have picked up the phone and called ABC
Prime Time Live
and asked to speak to Sam Donaldson. But, I was watching a movie and I have this thing about not being disturbed during a movie ...”

"I remember. Too bad. What was the movie?"

"You've got to ask that?"

"Sooner or later someone will."

"Great. Slam dunked by fate again. Listen, I'm a big fan of the classics. You know, Jimmy Stewart, Kate Hepburn, Myrna Loy... "

"You were watching
The Philadelphia Story
?"

"I wish. This night of all nights, I decided to rent something...different.  The title was not that memorable. I think it was called something like
Motorcycle Mama's from Hell.
"

Jayne frowned. "Did you have popcorn?"

"Is the prosecutor going to ask me this? Are they going to check stomach contents?"

"It goes to an old story that everyone learns in law school." She tried again. "Did you have popcorn?"

"Redenbacher’s. Salt, no butter. So what's the story?"

"It's always the little lies that catch people up. Not whether they did the nasty deed or not - but what shirt they were wearing that day. What they had for breakfast. Did they have popcorn or not while they watched the show? People tend to have a hard time remembering the little details they make up as they go along. Easy to trip them up in front of a jury. I prefer butter. Lots of it."

"You don't look like the 'lots of butter' type."

"High metabolism. Now, right off, we've got an alibi problem. Ludd's death was placed at between 8:00 to 9:00 PM on Wednesday night. And you can't corroborate where you were. See any neighbors?" He shook his head. "No?  Damn. Well - think about it. Now we have to deal with the evidence!"

"Evidence?"

"What do you know about Ludd's murder?"

"From what I've heard on the radio, he was found in his car at the President’s Club. They didn't say how he was killed."

"They withheld that."

"How'd they get around Kozak?"

"Kozak?"

"Yeah. He seems to have a pipeline to the local press. He's always got his face on the front page. They must be all over him for the details. A whole street full of reporters attacked me as they were stuffing me into the back seat of the police car."

"Christ! That can't be a coincidence. Did you say anything stupid?"

"Probably. It's too late to change my basic nature."

She looked him in the eyes and shook her golden curls at him. "I missed the news. They can use anything you say, Rusty. You know that. "

"You're saying I should wrap my coat over my head like those other bozos? I didn't do anything. "

"Since when does that have
anything
to do with
anything
?"

"I love the law."

"If Kozak is up to his old tricks again, Dimbrowsky will have an aneurysm."

"Dimmy again?" Rusty put his head down on the interview table. Dimmy was the nickname of Walter Dimbrowsky, one of the cities most aggressive prosecutors. The same prosecutor involved in Rusty’s previous fraud case. "This is déjà vu from hell. I might as well just surrender now."

"This is a very serious case you have yourself involved with. This is Murder One. That means this case will receive heavy attention from more than just the Crown Prosecutor, or the press or from the Homicide Division. And you are definitely a celebrity now as well.  So I think it's time to give some serious thought as to how you want to defend yourself.  And please don't ever call Ludd an asshole in public even if it was completely true. He's an icon to most people. Better loved than Mickey Mouse."

"Defend? Jayne, I'm just a guy trying to get his life back to normal. I'm a rookie salesman on probation for God's sake. First week on the job, they haul me away. I live out of one bedroom, all my worldly possessions fit in the trunk of my car. I'm just a guy who's having a hell of a time escaping the shadow of Jeffrey Ludd. It's like he's toppled over and fallen right on top of my life. This is crazy. I can see them suspecting me because of that 'theft of company secrets' case a few years ago ... and our obvious love for each other, but how the hell do they get away with arresting me for murder?"

"They have evidence."

"Evidence?" Rusty's face turned the color of skim milk. "That's ridiculous ... what evidence?"

"It's not a lot. But they've got Ludd's day calendar from his office computer." She pulled out a copy of the arrest report and scanned it with a gold Cross pen. "And just an hour or two before they placed the time of his death, you apparently both had dinner together."

Kozak and Otter had known each other for a decade and worked Homicide as a team for a little over two years. Koz was thinner now. And Otter knew why - the old guy just wouldn’t eat. Otter could put away five donuts a day easily while his partner sipped black coffee, his ten-year-old suits hanging off his bones.

Otter tried to act like nothing was coming down
but he was a cop for Christ sake
. And by the end of a shift he would be sweaty with frustration.
But what could he do?
He respected Koz, admired his determination. That he even gave a shit after 24 years on the force was a miracle of will. Add to that a struggling ticker that required a nitroglycerine pill every time a siren went off, and what have you got? A .38 in the mouth on Saturday night after a twelve pack of Moosehead beer? Or you contain it and just patiently wait for the big one? How did the guy hold up? What kept him going? It sure as hell wasn't the coffee at
Donut Heaven
.

"You act like you know this guy Redfield?" Otter asked, chewing on a honey cruller.

Kozak swallowed hard, his mouth full of coffee and blueberry compote. Otter was so happy to see him eat he forgot what a bad mood he was in. "I was in Vice. We arrested Redfield and an associate for possession and fraud a couple of years ago. The other perp, Grieves, the one that Rosenblatt mentioned, got two years."

"And Redfield?"

"Walked. Dimbrowsky let him be excused. They don't call him Dimmy for nothin'."

"Dropped, eh?"

"Like a warm kidney stone."

"Any idea why?"

"Yeah. Probably wanted McEwan off his back. She was tearing him a new one and for some reason he didn't feel he needed a backup."

Otter sipped his coffee, his eyes on Koz who once told him he sounded like a sump pump that needed service. "I know Dimmy. He could use two. Is this the famous McEwan from Quinn?" asked Otter.

"Not anymore. She's gone over to a smaller pack of weasels. Partner now. Still eats them alive, but at two-fifty an hour."

"Something to look forward to," mused Otter.

Kozak sat up like he just got a little adrenaline rush. Otter hoped it was the muffin. "You know, some lawyers on cross, like Quinn, they're tough. But they still have a tee off date on Sunday with the judge, so they fade and draw a little. McEwan, she don't play golf. She don't play period. Had a tough childhood, I hear. Likes to take it out on everyone. Quite an experience, bud. And no charge."

Otter was rubbing crumbs off the lap of his suit pants. "Tough time where?"

"Father was a drunk. The worst kind. A rich lawyer drunk. All very tight with the board room boys. Mother disappeared when McEwan was a kid so they charged the old man with second degree. Surprised the shit out of him. I guess he figured he had the system licked. They never even found the body but the first jury said guilty anyway. They appealed and he was acquitted. Then they re-tried him again. That time he got life. At this point he gave up. Tired out is my guess. He died about five years later. A massive heart attack in prison. Kids ended up with the grandparents. And she comes from a big family, mostly boys. Two of them are lawyers too. And they all love it. Must be in the genes.

“She doesn't look it, Otter.  Doesn't look like someone who belongs with hookers, pushers and petty thieves, but she's definitely in her fucking environment, as they say."

"They don't exactly say it that way," said Otter.

"Close enough, pard."

Otter looked around at the afternoon coffee crowd. He recognized a couple of street cops from downtown and nodded in their direction. "So Dimmy quits Redfield and gets two years on Redfield's partner. That about it?"

"Christ I was bored to tears. Tons of evidence. Printouts of programs, circuits, all kinds of shit with
GeneFab
's name on it. Ludd freaked when saw it. He figured they just had some program of his, but it turned out they had a copy of every scrap of paper in his whole goddamn company. Case bogged down in all that garbage like a D50 Cat in a field of muskeg." He laughed, which was followed by a bout of coughing. "Some of the so-called evidence was a
Dungeons and Dragons
game. Made Tony look like a complete fool. You know Tony Hopper from white collar? He had his day with McEwan, all right. It turned out the suspects were on contract, which meant they had a right to have copies. Ludd kicked himself for that."

"What do you mean, Ludd?" asked Otter, growing sleepy despite having just downed two cups of coffee so strong it could descale a commercial hot water tank.

"Ludd was the plaintiff. He thought Redfield and Grieves might be trying to start up a new company or something. He was worth millions, but he was still a cheap bastard. He made a deal with Redfield and Grieves when he hired them to save costs by making it look like they were just on contract. That screwed us in court on the documents case."

"They weren't technically employees then?

"Nope. This guy Grieves was smart. He had all the angles figured out."

"Those brainy types give me hives."

"I can see why. Envy's an awful thing."

Otter shook his head. "You’re a funny guy, Koz. Happy to be your straight man. So Grieves is a freaking master criminal genius. What about Redfield?"

"Took the stand. Told the judge he knew nothing. Judge looked sympathetic.  Dimbrowsky finished the trial without Jayne the Pain riding over him. And he won - which he needed badly. Hadn't won a case in over a year. Our Dimmy was in a bad slump."

"Sounds like a deal was made."

"Cheer up! You'll get your turn with her. And at the rate this thing is going, soon."

"No shit, Koz. It sounds like a deal."

"Deal. Schmeal. Who cares?” He tapped on his partner’s wide forehead with his index finger. Otter winced. "Anybody home?"  Kozak knew it was a waste of time. Otter wasn't the type to let it go.

"But, Grieves! What did he think about it?  Did he feel screwed around?  Did he hold a grudge? Did anybody check the guy out?"

"Grieves checks in with his parole officer every week like a good boy. White Rock, British Columbia. Home of the yuppie. He's in his environment too. Probably using his computer to steal corporate secrets over the Internet. Anyway, I say who cares? What are you, deaf?"

Otter held up his fists and punched his partner lightly in the shoulder. Under the material, the arm was as thin as a green twig. "Smile when you say that, Koz."

Kozak was getting a cigarette ready. "I'd love to, but I left my dentures in the car." He winced then, some internal pain stabbing at his insides and Otter dropped the subject. He was thinking that though it was a cop’s biggest fear, it was infinitely better to just buy it quick in some grimy back alley. And it certainly wasn't outside of the scope of possibility.  It never hurt to think positive.