The Undertaker's Widow (12 page)

“And?”

“He stopped inventing excuses to avoid getting in the sack with me.”

“So you think he broke it off with Fargo?”

“I'm not sure, but Lamar seemed like a loving husband again.”

“Do you think Riker is aware of the affair?”

“I have no way of knowing.”

Garrett made some notes on a pad. Crease waited patiently. When Garrett stopped writing, the lawyer said, “Why don't you tell me how you met Lamar?”

“I was a policewoman in Portland and there was a
burglary at one of Lamar's mortuaries. I interviewed Lamar while I was conducting my investigation. He was charming in an old-boy sort of way. Very gallant. After the official part of the meeting, we drifted into small talk. Then I left.

“The next day, Lamar left me a message at work asking me to call him. I thought it had something to do with the case, but he wanted to take me out for dinner. I turned him down. I knew he was married. He was also a witness in a police investigation.

“About six months later, we arrested the perp who'd broken into the mortuary. He was an addict looking for something to sell for a rock of crack cocaine. I dropped by Lamar's office to let him know that the case was wrapped up and ended up at dinner with him.”

Crease drifted off for a moment as if she were reliving the moment.

“Lamar was a charming bastard,” Crease said with a small smile. “By the end of that dinner, I was hooked. See, I'd never had much. My father just took off about a year after I was born and my mom cleaned houses to put food on the table. I got through college on scholarships and waiting tables. The most money I'd ever seen was what I was pulling down as a cop. And here I was dining in elegance with a man whose pinky ring cost more than my mother made in a good year.”

“Didn't the age difference bother you?”

“It's a funny thing. I never thought about the fact that he was almost thirty years older than me. He was a big bear, and so full of life. Lamar knew all the right things to say, too, and how to make you feel important. We spent most of that dinner talking about me. He had me believing that our backgrounds were pretty similar. You know, poor boy makes good, which was pretty much bullshit,
since
Lamar's daddy owned two funeral parlors when he died and Lamar's mother never worked
a day in her life. Still, Lamar could make you think he was a sharecropper's son who rose from poverty.

“He also gave me a taste of how things could be for me if I continued to see him. There was the limousine, the waiters in tuxedos, his jewelry and the estate.”

Crease spaced out again and Garrett could see her thinking about that good time with a man she loved and would never see again. It made Garrett feel sad. Then Crease laughed.

“What's so funny?” Garrett asked.

“I was just remembering Lamar. You know he looked like a redneck hick with his cowboy boots and string ties, but he was smooth. When he asked to see me again, I didn't hesitate.”

“Did the subject of his marriage ever come up?”

“He was the one who raised it. I don't remember how he did it, but I left that first dinner with the impression that Lamar thought that the second Mrs. H. was as dull as a dishrag, while finding me intellectually stimulating.” Crease stared directly into Garrett's eyes. “That part was one hundred percent accurate. Mary Lou is a dim bulb. I know why Lamar was attracted to her. I've seen pictures of her during the Miss Oregon swimsuit competition. But I'll be damned if I know what they talked about outside of bed. Lamar was very smart. Country smart. I challenged him in a way no other woman ever did.”

“What happened after the first dinner?”

“There were more dinners. They were wonderful. We talked and talked. Around the third time we met, Lamar took me back to his estate. Mary Lou was in New York on a buying spree. I suspect he sent her there to get rid of her for the weekend. I was bowled over. I'd never been inside a house like that before. That was the evening I made up my mind to marry Lamar. And it wasn't just the house or his money. I want you to understand
that. I wanted those things, but I wanted Lamar more. I was fascinated by his intelligence, his energy …”

Crease trailed off, as if she had suddenly remembered that Lamar was dead and gone and all that energy and intelligence was now part of the void.

“Was that first evening at his estate the first time you slept together?”

“Yes.”

“I get the impression that you two were good in bed.”

“I thought so. That's why my antennae went up when Lamar started making excuses. At his age, he couldn't have sex as often as he used to, but he was pretty game whenever we made love.”

“How did Lamar feel about your career?”

Crease's smile faded. “At first, my being a cop fascinated Lamar. I think it was a turn-on. But soon after we were married, he began complaining. Deep down, he wanted a traditional wife. Someone who looked good, had dinner waiting on the table when he got home and spread her legs whenever he was horny. He found out fast that I wasn't like that and never would be.”

“What happened when he made this discovery?”

“There were a lot of hard words at first. Then I hit him straight on. I asked him if he wanted a partner or a doormat. I told him that we could be something together, but I made it clear that I wasn't going to lose my identity in order to make him happy. For a while, it was touch-and-go.”

“But he came around?”

“He came around. And when I told him I wanted to quit the force to run for the legislature, he was my biggest supporter.” A tear formed in Crease's eye and trailed down her cheek. Crease squared her shoulders. “He changed for me and he was always there for me. Damn, I miss him.”

Garrett studied her new client. Crease's display of emotion seemed genuine. That did not mean that Crease was not a murderer, but it made Garrett, who was a cynic at heart, reserve judgment. She looked at her watch.

“We're due in court soon, so this is enough for now. Henry told you about my fee?”

Crease nodded. “I'll have it to you by tomorrow.”

“Good. My secretary will give you my retainer agreement.

“Now, I know you've been a cop, so you have a good idea of what is going to happen as a result of these charges, but I want to spell it out for you. Your life is about to become a living hell. There's no other way to put it and I don't believe in sugarcoating the facts for my clients.”

Garrett paused to judge how Crease was taking what she was dishing out. The senator was tense but alert.

“Bail will be the big problem. There is no mandatory bail in a murder case, but Riker is going to have to convince the judge that his case is very strong if he wants you held with no bail. If he succeeds, you'll be locked up with the type of people you used to arrest. I don't have to tell you what that will be like. The good news is that I think we've got a real shot at keeping you out of the pokey. And I mean completely out.

“That doesn't mean your life will be normal. The vultures of the press will be circling you twenty-four hours a day, and they won't have the slightest interest in your political views. You'll also find out who your real friends are.”

Garrett leaned forward. She reminded Crease of the gargoyles she'd seen perched on the Notre Dame Cathedral the first time Lamar had flown her to Paris.

“I have some advice. Most clients aren't tough
enough to follow it, but I think you are. Whatever has happened has happened. No matter how much you would like to you cannot change the past, so do not dwell on the murder of your husband. That's my job. That's why you hire an attorney. So you can go on with your life and let someone else do the worrying. I'll be doing enough for the two of us.”

Garrett looked at her watch again and stood up.

“Stanley Sax, the presiding judge, is a friend of mine and he's got integrity. I talked to him this morning. He's set a special arraignment for ten-thirty. Your case will be the only one on the docket and we'll be taking up bail at the same time you're arraigned. That's unusual in a murder case, but this case is unusual because of the impact your incarceration would have on the primary. You'll plead not guilty. The press is going to be there in full force, so sing it out loud and clear. Then go back to campaigning and let me do my job.”

Richard Quinn was studying a brochure from the Bay Reef Resort on St. Jerome when his secretary told him that Stanley Sax was on the way over from presiding court. The brochure showed a white sand beach, azure waters and clear blue skies. The hotel was new and he and Laura had a room with an ocean view. There was a casino, a huge pool, a four-star restaurant, water sports, tennis and more. Lately, Laura seemed excited about their week in paradise.

Quinn set down the brochure when Sax rapped his knuckles on the doorjamb.

“Come in, Stan,” Quinn said cheerfully. “What's up?”

Sax did not return Quinn's smile. He dropped into a chair on the other side of Quinn's desk.

“I'm here to make your day.”

“Oh?” Quinn answered cautiously.

“I know you're not scheduled to move into the homicide rotation until next month, but something has come up and I need you. Ced Riker has indicted Ellen Crease for the murder of her husband.”

“What!”

“That was my reaction, too. He went to the grand jury yesterday. Crease is represented by Mary Garrett. Garrett called me to request an expedited bail hearing and I agreed because of the impact on the campaign if Crease has to sit in jail for a week while we schedule a hearing in the normal way. I'd like you to handle the case.”

Quinn saw the brochure from St. Jerome in his peripheral vision. He owed Stanley Sax, but Quinn was counting on the week alone with Laura as his best chance to jump-start their ailing marriage.

“I can't do it, Stan. I've agreed to speak at a seminar in two weeks on St. Jerome. Remember? Laura's coming with me.”

“That won't be a problem. I've scheduled the arraignment and the bail hearing for ten-thirty today. You take care of the hearing and I'll handle any emergencies while you're away.”

“I don't know, Stan. This is a pretty big case for me to take on for my first homicide.”

“Let me tell you something, Dick, every death penalty case is too big for any of us to handle. Only God should be deciding who should live and who should die, but we're stuck with the job.

“Now, it's true that you'll be under a spotlight in Crease's case that would not be shining on you if the defendant were some junkie lowlife. If you make a mistake,
everyone in the country will know about it. But that won't make a difference to you. Want to know why?”

Quinn just stared at him.

“I know you, Dick. I know how conscientious you are and I know that you punish yourself for your mistakes much harder than anyone else can. That's why I want you on this one. You won't let yourself screw up. You'll make certain that both sides get a fair trial.”

Quinn's bailiff pressed a button under his desk in the courtroom and a light on the desk in Quinn's chambers flashed bright red to let him know that both sides in
State v. Crease
were in the courtroom. Quinn slipped into his judicial robes and opened the door that led directly to the bench. As he stepped through it, the bailiff rapped the gavel, commanded everyone in the packed courtroom to rise and announced that the Honorable Richard Quinn would be presiding over the docket. Quinn noticed several members of the press in attendance and saw the lights of the TV cameras that were shooting through the glass in the courtroom doors.

“You can be seated,” Quinn said as soon as he had taken the bench. Cedric Riker remained standing, but the deputy district attorneys who accompanied him took seats on either side of the prosecutor. One deputy was a black woman and the other was an Asian male. They looked young and nervous.

Riker looked anything but nervous. He was dressed to kill and hungry for every second of publicity that this case would bring him. Quinn was willing to bet that Riker had held a news conference in the corridor. Speaking with the marble and polished wood of the courtroom as a backdrop lent authority to Riker's words and made
him look good to all the voters who listened to his sound bites on the eleven o'clock news.

Seated at the other counsel table were Mary Garrett and her client. Garrett was wearing black with a pearl necklace. None of Garrett's associates were at the counsel table, though Quinn suspected that there were one or two in the audience in case of an emergency. There were no lawbooks in front of Garrett, either. Quinn had heard that Garrett had an encyclopedic knowledge of the law and was known to give accurate volume and page cites to cases in the law reports from memory. She had already delivered a concise and expertly written brief on the bail issue to Quinn's chambers. Quinn was impressed by Garrett's ability to pump out a brief of such high quality on such short notice.

Ellen Crease sat quietly beside Garrett. She was dressed in a gray business suit and a cream-colored silk blouse. Aside from a pair of small diamond earrings, she wore no jewelry. Quinn's eyes rested on the defendant for a moment. It was hard to avoid looking at her. Crease was not classically beautiful, but even dressed in a conservative business suit, she exuded an animal sexuality that attracted and held a man's attention.

“Mr. Riker and Ms. Garrett, Judge Sax has assigned
State v. Crease
to me. However, I want to make counsel aware that I will be speaking at a legal seminar in St. Jerome in two weeks. That means that I will not be in Portland for approximately one week. During that time, if there are any emergencies, Judge Sax will take care of them. Is that a problem for counsel?”

Both lawyers answered in the negative.

“Good. Now, Mr. Riker, as I understand it, we're to hold an arraignment and bail hearing this morning.”