I pulled into the office parking lot with a squeal of brakes, headed straight into my office and slammed the door shut. After tossing my tote onto the nearest chair, I paced back and forth.
I had been so sure that I was on the right path in structuring my defense. Now this. Lloyd not only had been paid off, he had also been paying off the murder victim.
Open-and-shut case for the prosecution while all I had was a string of suppositions and dead bodies.
Who was I kidding? I wasn’t up to this mess.
My door opened and Nicole strode in. “The staff said you looked like a sick dog slinking in, and I guess they were right. What’s wrong?”
“This.” I spread my hands. “Me.”
Nicole coolly sat in the chair and crossed her legs. “I’m sorry. It’s a little late in the day for me to interpret disjointed sentences. Could you please elaborate?”
“My being in this partnership. It’s a sham. I’m a sham.”
Nicole’s brow rose. “What brought on this bout of self-pity?”
Hurt slashed through me. “Gee, thanks. Sorry to have burdened you and Carling so much.”
Nicole’s eyes flashed blue fire. “Grow up, Kate. We’re your friends, not your nursemaids.”
“I’ve never asked either of you to carry me.” Pride stiffened my spine, indignation iced my voice. Self-preservation was paramount.
“No, but you’ve got to learn to trust in yourself again. So what if your taste in men sucks big time? Join the club. But you’re letting your past affect your professionalism.”
She rose, walked over and took my hands. “Carling and I didn’t become your friends because you were the perfect Palm Beach debutante. We’re your friends because you’re smart and hardworking and have a heart of gold.”
My throat tightened and tears formed.
“What’s got you so off balance?”
“Lloyd Silber was being blackmailed by Grace Roberts. She found out that he was being paid off for construction delays.”
“That’s a bump, not an unmitigated disaster. Blackmail is only a motive for murder. It doesn’t mean Lloyd killed Grace.”
“But I’m not sure I can defend him if he’s guilty.”
Nicole squeezed my hands before releasing them. “Kate, while an innocent client is a pleasant bonus for a defense attorney, it’s not the most important thing.”
“What is?”
“Justice.”
“But—how can we serve justice if our client is guilty?”
“Remember the story of John Adams representing the British soldiers accused of shooting the colonists?”
“Yes.”
“He believed the soldiers had certain rights.” Nicole smiled. “If one of this country’s forefathers thought the protection of the accused was paramount to the pursuit of justice, then—”
“How can we do less?” I nodded.
“For every person who is guilty, somewhere out there’s a person who is innocent, who needs our help to keep the system honest so he or she will have their fair day in court.”
“Criminal Law One-O-One,” I said.
“Exactly.”
True, but did I buy into that concept hook, line and sinker? Nicole looked at me expectantly.
I drew in a deep breath. “Okay, I see your argument.”
“But not fully convinced?”
“Not totally, but I’ve got plenty to think about. Thank you.”
Nicole gave me a hug. “Welcome to the hood, Kate. Attorneys don’t grow old. They drop dead at a young age from worrying.” She crossed to the doorway. “Catch you later.”
Sitting behind my desk, I leaned back in my chair. Was justice a black-and-white concept or were there gradients of gray? If so, how did an attorney ever find the right path without being trapped in a quagmire of uncertainty?
For comfort I wrapped my fingers around the locket containing my grandparents’ pictures.
Always I had envisioned Jonathan Rochelle as being a pursuer of the pure form of justice, but had he actually been more a realist like a John Adams? Able to set his personal opinions aside in order to preserve another’s rights?
I frowned. The reporter Jim Grabkowski had said my grandfather had been investigating a rumor of a fixed trial. A man had been convicted, but Jonathan Rochelle had sought the truth, no matter what the cost. Could I do less?
Did I have the strength to do more?
I could hear Aunt Hilary’s voice as clearly as if she were standing in front of me. “Rochelles never waiver, Katherine. We always do our duty.”
Talk about guilt trips. The Rochelle brother and sister team knew how to work in tandem—even if the former was dead.
I straightened, pushed up the sleeves of my silk blouse, and grabbed a stack of mail to review. Time for moping was over. It was time for action. I had a client to notify that I was still on the case.
During the next hour, in between calls and dictation, I drove the staff crazy by sticking my head out every fifteen minutes to check on whether a fax had arrived from Jim.
Murphy’s Law of bathrooms: if you go, the fax will come. As soon as I left the ladies’ room and walked toward my office, I spotted the paper lying on the fax tray. I rushed over and snatched up the blurred photograph. A half sigh, half giggle from the receptionist warned me Gabe was in the building even before she greeted him.
Hormones warred with the attorney in me and the latter won by a narrow margin. I studied the photograph of the woman, probably mid-thirties at the time of the shot. I let out a sigh of frustration
“What’s wrong?” Gabe leaned against the wall next to me.
This time the female side of me came out on top and I surreptitiously sniffed the masculine scent that was all Gabe. Deep inside me desire stirred.
Get a grip, Kate, I ordered. It’s only been…
Nine hours and forty minutes.
Boy, was I in trouble.
“Kate?” Gabe nudged me. “What’s wrong? You have the strangest expression on your face, like you just stuck your finger in a socket.
Small wonder. It wasn’t every day it occurred to me that the mere presence of a man could unsettle me.
Focus. Time is of the essence. I cleared my throat and held out the sheet.
“Ever hear of a reporter by the name of Jim Grabkowski?”
Instantly Gabe’s expression became inscrutable, but he shrugged a shoulder. “Who hasn’t? What has he to do with the case?”
“Jim had the court beat at the time my grandparents disappeared. He investigated the scandal but turned up empty. However, he recalled having a picture of Jonathan’s judicial assistant and faxed it to me.”
“So?”
“According to him, Shirley is now a drunk on the streets. But her picture…” I waved it. “She’s so ordinary. If a movie director needed a background shot with extras, she would be your woman. Not ugly, but not pretty. No distinguishing marks other than a mole by her left eyebrow, dark eyes.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “She’s going to be hard to find.”
“I’ll look for her but not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” Gabe wrapped his arm around my waist and drew me close. I swear my partners Carling and Nicole must have been standing in their offices, their ears pressed against the doors, for at that moment they both chose to appear in the hallway.
“Hey sport,” Carling greeted him with an all-too-brilliant smile. Nicole followed with a more sedate greeting.
Gabe winked at both of them but didn’t release his hold on me despite my wiggle.
“Ladies, I need a favor.”
Nicole lifted a sardonic brow. “Looks like you already have all the favors you need.”
My face felt so hot that the overhead smoke alarm should have been wailing.
“Not nearly enough,” Gabe said. “I have a lead on the Winewski ‘downfall’ case. The wife of the man convicted for the storeowner’s murder is still alive.”
I twisted around. “Then I need to go with you.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s Cuban, old Cuban. If I show up with you, a non-Hispanic, she’ll clam up. She lives in Port St. Lucie so I need someone to keep an eye on you until I get back.”
Carling’s green eyes gleamed with speculation. “Sure, Gabe. We haven’t had a girls’ night out in a while. I’m sure we have loads to talk about.” Her pointed smile reminded me of a panther bearing down on helpless prey.
“Great. I should be by your place around midnight.” Gabe turned me around, gave me a furnace-blast of a kiss and then walked away.
As the sound of the front door slamming shut echoed, Carling and Nicole folded their arms in unison.
“Katherine Rochelle,” said Nicole, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”
I thought about my options and decided to make the best of the limited one. “Tonight is ‘Thursday on Clematis.’ How about dinner at one of the street restaurants?”
While my friends gave me the third degree, I could at least hunt for my grandfather’s assistant.
Chapter 15
Shrugging into my jacket, I left my office and walked toward Carling’s. Time to get this girls’ night out started. I spotted a piece of paper lying under the receptionist’s desk and bent to pick it up. The fax machine was forever overshooting its tray. I froze, staring in disbelief.
The document was a receipt slip for the picture of my grandfather’s secretary. At the bottom of the sheet was a confirmation the fax had been transmitted to a number that was not our office’s—thirty minutes after I had received the original.
I heard the swish and creak of the restroom door and stood up. Jennifer Acosta, our new receptionist, appeared, clutching her purse and patting a curl into place. She looked toward her desk, saw me holding the paper and blanched.
“Jennifer—”
She spun and ran down the hallway leading to the parking lot.
“Hey, come back here!” I yelled.
Naturally, Jennifer paid me no heed. The back door slammed. I ran outside only to watch her careen away in an old Chevy. In frustration I picked up a small rock and aimed it at the tailgate of her car.
Carling and Nicole came rushing out. “What’s wrong?” Carling asked.
I showed them the fax. “Jennifer made a copy of the picture and faxed it. I found this on the floor.”
Nicole’s brows furrowed. “I gather you didn’t ask her to send it to someone.”
“No.”
Carling folded her arms. “Damn. I guess we’ll have to fire her ass. Good, cheap bilingual receptionists are so hard to find.”
My lips quirked. “I guess so.”
“Really, Carling. The issue is why Jennifer did this.”
“I think that’s obvious, Nicole,” I said. “She was paid. The issue is how long has she been working as a hired spy in our office?”
“Get out! A spy?” Carling was incredulous.
Certain pieces of the puzzle clicked together. I paced back and forth. “Look, it makes sense. Remember when my briefcase was grabbed in the parking lot?”
“What has that to do—”
Nicole snapped her fingers. “Someone wanted your file notes.”
“Exactly. When they failed again after breaking into my house—”
Carling’s voice rose. “When did that happen?”
“Shortly—”
She grabbed me. “And why didn’t you tell us?”
“Being shot at and buried alive plus being nearly blown to smithereens somewhat superseded in importance a break-in,” I commented wryly.
Carling hugged me before turning. “Come on. We can’t let Jennifer get away.”
I stopped her. “It’s okay. I know where she’s going.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” I turned and went back inside to get my tote and car keys.
Nicole was the first to follow. “Do you want to clue in your poor befuddled partners?”
“Not now.” I glanced at my Gevril watch. “I’ll meet you at Joey’s Bar and Grille in an hour.”
Nicole grimaced. “Can’t we eat at Ramone’s? The food’s better there.”
But not its location, I thought. Joey’s was the latest eatery trying to survive on the Olive and Clematis. The restaurant would afford a clear view of the entrance to the alley that ran between Banyan and Clematis.
“Another time. I’m dying for a cold burger.”
“And warm beer,” Carling added with a grin. She would be a happy camper wherever there was a large screen TV with a game on.
“If I must,” groused Nicole.
“You must,” I said as I headed out.
I took the Royal Park Bridge into Palm Beach, driving north along Country Road past The Beach Club before turning into a long curving driveway. After being cleared by a security guard, I pulled in front of a mansion created by an architect who had aspired to be another Mizner but never had obtained any recognition beyond Palm Beach. Still, its clean, masculine lines mirrored its owner.
I got out of the Jag, resisting the urge to kick the tire of the Chevy parked beside me. I strolled up the stairs and smiled at the butler who opened the door. “He’s expecting you in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Ramon.” I went through the special foyer and entered the second room facing the Atlantic.
My godfather Paul stood by the French doors. A few feet away was Jennifer, looking pale and apprehensive.
“Hi, Paul. Has your paid flunky been filling you in on the latest details of my investigation?” I brushed my lips against his weathered cheek.
“Now, Katherine. Don’t be upset with me.”
I was damned if I’d show him how angry I was. I sat in the nearest wingback chair. As the guilty parties remained standing, I was afforded the unique position of being judge and jury. I braced my elbows on the chair’s arms and bridged my fingers.
“Why would I be upset, Paul? How did you think I’d react seeing your phone number on the fax? Didn’t you trust me to do my job?”
My godfather gestured to Jennifer. “Thank you, Ms. Acosta. My aide will pay you. Your services are no longer needed.”
She nodded stiffly. “Thank you, Judge.” She avoided looking at me as she left.
Paul sat in the chair across from me and leaned forward. “Katherine, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. I never meant for you to know. But you have to understand. Your aunt and uncle were frantic for you. You’ve been through so much that they didn’t want to see you hurt any more.”
“Spying on me was the solution? Really, Paul, you expect me to buy that?”
He spread his hands. “I thought if I could keep Hilary and Colin apprised of your movements, of your progress, that I could give them peace of mind.”
I resisted the urge to chew on an antacid tablet.
“Having a man steal my briefcase is peace of mind?”
He had the grace to grimace. “I’ll never forgive myself for that or your house being broken into. The aide I first gave the assignment to totally overstepped all limits of reason. I’m afraid he had seen one too many crime dramas. When he told me what he’d done and the thugs he had paid, I was the angriest I’ve ever been. To risk my Supreme Court appointment for such tawdry actions.”
Paul reached out and took my hands. “On my honor, Katherine, I’ve dealt with the matter. And if I ever find out who’s behind the attacks on you, I’ll deal with them as well.”
For a split second I envisioned myself being in a TV show about a crime family where the head of the family has just ordered a hit. I suppressed a shudder at my hyper-active imagination.
“I swear. Jennifer only sent me your calendar so I could keep track of your appointments. Her sending me that picture was on her own initiative.”
“That’s rich.” My tone was as brittle as aged glass. “Now everything’s supposed to be all right again?”
“No.” Paul slightly sho
ok my hands. “I can’t undo the mistake.”
“Mistakes,” I corrected.
For a moment I thought the expression in his eyes hardened, but then he smiled. “Mistakes,” he agreed quietly. “Blame my foolishness on wanting only the best for you because I love you like my own daughter.”
No fair. Destroying a good outrageous mad by pushing my buttons. But then again, Paul hadn’t been a top-notch attorney and judge by being a poor politician. He knew the right things to say.
I nodded.
“Forgiven?”
I managed a weak smile. “Working on it.”
“That’s all a foolish old man can ask.” He kissed my forehead.
“You’re hardly old.”
“There are days when I am and this is one of them.”
“No more interference?”
“No more,” he promised. “I have to say, I’ve been really impressed.”
Praise from a man of his stature was golden. “Thank you. That means the world to me.”
He gripped my elbow as I stood. “I think you stand a real chance of getting Lloyd off. I wouldn’t be surprised if the prosecutor tries to work a deal with you on a lesser charge. I suggest you discuss the possibility with your client ahead of time so he can be thinking about it.”
“Thank you, I will.”
Paul escorted me to the door. “Please be cautious, Katherine. I know Hilary isn’t good about expressing her feelings, but she does care.”
I never doubted my aunt cared. It was the things she cared about that I disputed. However, I didn’t argue with my godfather. His loyalty first and foremost had been to my family.
“I’ll see you, Paul. Good luck with the appointment.”
Heeding the speed limit this time, I drove back over the bridge to West Palm Beach. Parking in one of the city garages, I walked along Olive to Joey’s. Twilight had taken some of the edge off the heat so Carling and Nicole were sitting at an outside table.
I slipped into the cushioned chair, flagged down a waiter and ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio.
“Well?” Carling asked as she shot a look over her shoulder at the TV inside. “Who’s the culprit?”
During my ride here, I had already decided not to tell my friends about Paul’s involvement. I knew how important the Supreme Court appointment process was and how tight the scrutiny continued to be. While I could trust Carling and Nicole with my life, I had no right to extend that trust on Paul’s behalf.
Courting Danger Page 19