OUTSIDE THE CHURCH, Breger I and took a slow walk in the graveyard. I weaved among the tombstones reading the now familiar names. Breger examined this stone, stared at this flower, this path, searched the cemetery as if it were a crime scene. While I stood among the graves, the harrowing lines of a dead poet rang in my ears.
“A white Camaro ran me down on a rocky road outside Henderson, Nevada,” I said finally to Breger.
“I read the police report when I was out there.”
“And it was a white Camaro with Las Vegas plates that was ticketed for speeding on the night before Hailey Prouix’s murder.”
“I thought you’d find the coincidence interesting.”
“Who is he, this Dwayne Joseph Bohannon?”
“Just a guy from Henderson.”
“Who works at the Desert Winds nursing home?”
“That’s right.”
“Let me guess. Long, scraggly blond hair, bad skin, worse teeth, scratching his arms like he’s got the mange. A lovely young man in every respect. Bright, too. Goes by the name of Bobo.”
“Cutlip’s toady.”
“That son of a bitch,” I said. “That vampire.”
“I met with Cutlip in Vegas. Bobo, too, standing behind the wheelchair. Followed some bank payments to the Desert Winds and found Cutlip. I asked the basic questions, showed him the picture of the corpse, had him identify his niece. He broke down when he saw it, and then his anger flared. A hard case for sure, but I didn’t find him evil.”
“Neither did I, actually, but my partner sensed something. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll make a call to my contact in Nevada. Have him ask Cutlip some tougher questions.”
“And what will that get you? You might shake him up a bit, but if he suspects he’s a suspect, you won’t get very far. He’s a tough old bird. He’ll clam up, shed crocodile tears over his niece, claim ill health, deny everything. I know, I’ve seen him do it. Better to leave him alone.”
“Then maybe I’ll ask my contact to give Bobo a roust.”
“Bobo killed her. It seems clear now, doesn’t it?”
Breger merely looked away.
“He killed her. And I’ll tell you something else: He’s the mystery man in black rushing out of the house. He was inside looking for something, and when the Forensic Unit technician showed up, he rushed out and beat her all to hell. With his hands scratched up like they were, you couldn’t see the bruises from the beating. But he’s the one.”
“It’s possible.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“I told you.”
“What about you convincing Jefferson to drop the case?”
He shook his head.
“You’ll at least tell him what you heard.”
“Jefferson wants evidence or nothing. What I heard is not evidence.”
“What more do you need?”
“Facts, maybe. Proof. If my guy grabs a confession out of Bobo, I’ll talk to Jefferson, but I can’t without that. You’ve raised a lot of questions, but there still aren’t many answers, including the big one. Cutlip may be a murderer, he may have killed Jesse Sterrett fifteen years ago out of jealousy or hate, but why would he send Bobo off to kill Hailey? Why would he want her dead?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Maybe when you find an answer we can do some business. But I’ll tell you flat-out, Carl, without a confession Jefferson is going to stay on after your boy to the end, that’s just the way he is. And the way the trial is going now, it looks like he’s going to get him.”
“I’ve been making some headway.”
“Some,” he said. “But not enough to overcome the fingerprints. Not enough to overcome the motive. Not enough to overcome the fact that only your client was in that house. And it doesn’t help you blaming some mystery lover for the crime if you think Cutlip did it.”
“A lawyer’s got to lawyer.”
“That’s the problem with you guys. A surgeon’s going to cut, a hunter’s going to shoot, a lawyer’s going to lie. I’ll make the call to my contact. If Bobo says something interesting, I’ll give it to Jefferson, who has to give it to you under Brady. That’s all I can do.”
“And if Bobo gives you nothing?”
“Then start gathering character witnesses for the sentencing phase, because you’ll need them.”
“You’ll tell me what happens in Vegas?”
“I’ll tell you.”
I stood in the cemetery, thinking things through. I thought of the trial, what had happened already, what still needed to be proved. I was at a loss. What could I do? How I could raise the level of doubt?
“Detective,” I said finally, “I might need a favor.”
He didn’t say anything, he just stood there with his shoulders hunched as if waiting for the weight of the world to drop down upon him.
“There might come a moment when Troy Jefferson gets sputteringly angry at something I do, and he’s going to come to you for some additional proof.”
“Same old same old.”
“When he does, this time I want you to whisper something in his ear.”
“Go ahead.”
“Just one word.”
“Go ahead.”
“Will you do it?”
“I’ll consider it, maybe, depending on the word. And in exchange.”
“In exchange for what?”
“Your phone logs.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t go there.”
“That’s the deal.”
“I’m asking for one little thing, one word in his ear, just one word.”
“I understand what you’re asking. And it is not any little thing.”
“The logs aren’t even mine to give up. It’s up to the client.”
“Talk to him. Tell him that’s the deal.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Let’s go, we’ve got ourselves a plane to catch.”
“You have no idea what you are asking.”
“Oh, I have an idea,” he said. “I have plenty of an idea. Yes I do.”
And I believed then that he did.
44
“AND YOU think this bastard, Hailey’s Uncle Larry, actually killed her?” asked Guy as the two of us sat alone in the gray lawyer-client conference room in the county jail. I had just told him everything I’d learned in Pierce, the whole ugly story.
“I think he sent his lackey, Bobo, to kill her, yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any idea?”
“Maybe she threatened to take away the money he needed for his luxury nursing home. Or maybe he was sick of his luxury nursing home and wanted the insurance money for a new stake. Who knows? It could be anything. But he did it.”
“What can we do about it?”
“I don’t know. There’s a chance maybe this Bobo will turn against him. There’s a cop in Nevada that’s going to get him alone in a room and ask some tough questions.”
“And if that gets us nothing?”
I didn’t say anything. I kept perfectly still and waited.
“What do we do, Victor? What do I do?”
I waited some more, and then I said, “I have an idea, but it’s risky.”
“What is it? Tell me.”
“If it doesn’t work, it will blow up in our faces.”
“Go ahead, Victor. What is it?”
I leaned forward and clasped my hands on the table and told him what I would have to do and then what Breger would have to do and then what Jefferson would have to do and then what I would have to do.
“Jesus. That’s all you could think of, that risky Rube Goldberg contraption of a defense?”
“It is, yes. And the thing is, the trial’s gone pretty well for us so far. Our gambit with the headphones worked out great. I think the possibility that someone else might have entered that house and killed Hailey has come alive for the jury. I think we have
a pretty decent chance of winning this thing outright, without the risk. We’ve created a suspect, the other lover, and I think we’ve created enough of a hole in the prosecution’s case for the jury to find both opportunity and motive. Our argument at the end of this case will be as strong as I could have hoped.”
“Are you guaranteeing an acquittal?”
“No, I can’t guarantee a thing, you know that, but we have a decent chance.”
“I don’t want to hear about chances. I need to get out of here.”
“But there’s something else. You know how they keep asking for my phone records and I keep refusing and the judge keeps upholding my refusal based on attorney-client privilege?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the whole plan only works if Breger does his part, and Breger will only do his part if we offer up, in exchange, my phone records.”
“So?”
I stood, walked to the narrow window to look upon another wall. This is why I had come alone, why I had left Beth at the office to work up some motions. “Guy, they want to know about the phone call you made to me on the night of the murder.”
Guy stared at me for a moment, thinking of that night, that horrible night, thinking of what he had done when he stepped out of the tub. “Oh,” he said.
“They have questions about that call that haven’t been resolved by your own phone logs.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I haven’t asked you this yet, but it’s time. Why hasn’t the phone call you made to me shown up on your phone records?”
“I was flustered. I was scared. I…I couldn’t remember your number.”
“So what did you do?”
“I used Hailey’s phone. The red phone. It was right on the table by the bed.”
“Why her phone?”
“Because…because I…because…”
“Guy?”
“Because your number was on the speed dial.”
I didn’t say anything, I didn’t need to. Outside, it was a sunny fall day, one of those days that remind you of the summer that passed and foreshadow the end of the coming winter. It was a lovely day outside, but a brisk chill had descended into that hard gray room.
“You didn’t think I would check it out?” he said. “You didn’t think I would find out who it was, Victor? I gave myself over to her completely, sacrificed my family, my integrity, my very soul on her altar and yet she was sleeping with someone else. You didn’t think I would do whatever I needed to learn who the bastard was? I spied on her, I followed her, I listened in to her conversations. She was wily, I got nowhere. But then the phone appeared and one night, when she was in the Jacuzzi, I checked out the speed dial, and there were the numbers, some totally foreign, but the first two, the first two strangely familiar. One was your office, Victor, one was your home. I think by then she wanted me to know, that was why she left out the phone. I think she was using you to tell me that it was over. You were her get-out boy, the excuse to break up with me, like she would have found a get-out boy for you when your time came. And you want to know something? By the time I found out, I wasn’t even angry at you. I felt sorry for you instead, sorry that you had fallen into her web.”
“Guy…”
“So who would I call when I found her dead? Who could understand even some of what I was feeling? Who could I trust? Only you. And in my panic I knew where to find your number with just the touch of a button.”
“Guy…”
“So that’s why I used her phone.”
“I’m sorry…”
“No you’re not.”
He was right, I wasn’t.
“And neither am I,” he said.
“Then why did you keep me on as your lawyer?”
“First you were just there and I was desperate. Then I thought it through. There’s nothing to do in here except think. I analyzed the case, the evidence, I put on my most dispassionate lawyer mind-set and came up with a strategy. The strategy I came up with, the one that made the most sense, was to blame the other lover. That’s why I kept suggesting it. But I couldn’t have that other lover just walk into the courtroom and take himself out of the case by providing an alibi, like being at home when I called. I needed to make sure that never happened, and as far as I could see, there was only one way.”
“Keeping me on as your lawyer.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re a son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“I’d say we both are, Victor.”
And what could I say to that? He was right, absolutely, we were both sons of bitches, and we had both been played for fools. We had each been made part of whatever strange journey was mapped out by Hailey Prouix and, truth be told, each of us was thrilled to our bones to be taken along on her ride.
“So what should I do?” I asked.
“About the uncle?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe this Booboo guy will turn on him.”
“Bobo. Maybe.”
“But it won’t be that easy, will it?”
“No.”
“What’s he like, the uncle? Have you met him?”
“Yes, I have. He’s a hard man.”
“And he killed Hailey.”
“I think he did.”
“But we don’t want them looking at your records, do we?”
“No, we don’t.”
“It could ruin us both.”
“That’s right.”
“It makes a lot of sense to play it out just like it is and let him get away with it.”
“Yes, it does.”
“He’s old, dying, only a few pathetic years left in some nursing home. We should just let him be.”
“All right.”
“But we won’t, will we?”
“It’s your choice.”
“We need to do something about him, if he killed her.”
“It’s your choice.”
“She used us, she used us both. When I first saw her on the mattress, bloodied and gone, when I first saw her, I was devastated at my loss. My loss. But I’ve been thinking about her, what she lost. We just can’t leave it like that. Whatever she did, she didn’t deserve to die. Whoever was responsible for killing her should pay. That’s what I think.”
“All right.”
“Do you think you can pull this off?”
“I’ll try.”
“You better do more than try, Victor. If all you do is try, I’ll be here longer than I could bear. Don’t just try it, Victor. Do it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Do it. And when that murderous bastard gets close, rip out his heart.”
Part Six
The Gentle Dance
45
SO FAR it had been an ordinary sort of trial. Troy Jefferson was trying to make it seem a simple case of murder. I was complicating things, flogging my theory that the unnamed, undiscovered, unscrupulous lover had done it on the sly. Jefferson and I were in pitched battle, but we kept our interchanges formal, using the polite vernacular of the courtroom. The judge was refereeing with dyspeptic fairness. The jury was relatively attentive. There had been a few bold moments, a few comic interludes. The prosecution felt confident, the defense felt hopeful. All expectations were that it would play out as it had begun, one theory battling the other, decided by the jury as it mostly ignored the instructions of the judge and reached its verdict. So far it had been an ordinary sort of trial, but things were about to change.
Leila Forrest was in the courtroom that day, she was in the courtroom every day, standing by the man who had fled from her at first opportunity. I would have liked to have seen a little spite out of her, a little anger, but instead she sat behind Guy with concern etched on her face. Yes, it is always useful to have the loyal wife sitting behind the defendant, and in other situations I would have designed it just so, but not this time. I hadn’t asked that she sit there, like an ornament for the defense. I wasn’t even sure it was helpful. But there she sat, and in the breaks she and
Guy talked quietly to themselves, maybe about the children, maybe about the past, maybe, God help her, about the future.
She had sat still with a stone face as her father testified, trying to bury the man who had married his only child and then deserted her. It was strong testimony, hard testimony, it made Guy look very bad, until I asked the question “How much did you make last year?” Such a rude question, and objected to, of course, but it was allowed, and the number was staggering, and the point was made: Guy was in line for a huge amount if he had stuck it out with his wife. Enough to make Guy look the fool for leaving, yes, a fool for love. But a man who killed for money?
The judge had not yet entered the courtroom on this day, so it wasn’t only Leila who was waiting. Behind the prosecution table sat the stolid figure of Detective Breger, along with his partner, Stone. Stone sneered at me with her smile. I caught Breger’s eye and signaled him I wanted to meet. He stood and left the courtroom. I followed.
“Any word on Bobo?” I asked when we had found a private nook in the hallway.
“He has disappeared. Flown. My coming out there was apparently enough to spook him.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Have you spoken to your client?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He says you’re being a hard-ass.”
Breger didn’t answer, he simply smiled.
“But he agreed. We’ll let you look at the logs, but only after.”
“After?”
“That’s right.”
“After what?”
“After it all plays out.”
“You mean after the trial? What good is that for me?”
“No, before the end of the trial, but after what happens today plays out. When I tell you what I want, you’ll understand.”
“And if it doesn’t play out like you expect?”
“We still have a deal.”
Breger closed his eyes. “I can live with that. What’s the word?”
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