"A regular coffee with cream. Thanks."
In the land of grande lattes and vente cappuccinos and assorted chais, she sees he appreciates her simple request.
He returns with one cup and hands it to her. "I have enough trouble sleeping at night," he explains, answering a question she hasn't even asked.
"'There's no pillow so soft as a clean conscience.'"
With an amused grin, he watches her take her first sip. "Is that so?"
Rebecca shrugs. "It's a French proverb."
He laughs again. "Where'd she find you?"
"Who, Mr. Hilliard?"
"I'd rather you call me Jack. 'Mr.
Hilliard' makes me feel like I'm your dad."
"Okay. Where did who find me, Jack?"
It sounds so unnatural coming out of her mouth. He's always been "the DA" to her.
"Ayanna Patel. Who else?"
The use of the alias reminds Rebecca that she's playing a game with someone much more experienced at it than she is.
She suspects it was his way of telling her he knows more about Jennifer Dodson than she ever will.
"My communications with Ms. Patel are confidential."
"You're aware that's not her real name?"
"Yes. And I also know why she chooses to use an alias."
"Well, not exactly. You know the reason she gave you."
He holds her gaze until she relents and looks down at her coffee. She has no idea where things stand between him and his ex-mistress. The two women never
discussed the DA. For all she knows, ex-mistress is the wrong term. She doesn't even know if he's aware of the previous surveillance.
His phone rings. Muttering "Excuse me," he pulls it from the inside pocket of his coat. Anyone else and she would have walked away right then, but she figures the DA has no choice but to be
perpetually on-call. She's impressed when he doesn't answer. "Sorry about that," he says, replacing the phone. She nods to let him know she took no offense.
"Mr. Hilliard, why did you want to talk to me?" And why did I agree?
He frowns, she assumes, from her
reversion back to his surname.
"I'd like to know why she hired you."
"What makes you think she did?"
"Well, I saw you together in the bar, and you're a little young to be an old friend. Why else would she be hanging out with you?"
She notices how others in the coffee shop recognize him and then glance at her. He seems not to care. If she hadn't seen him in the garage that night four years ago, and then sitting on the stoop outside Dodson's house the next
morning, she would think he's always as cool as he appears to be now. " If she hired me, you know I couldn't answer that question. It would be an egregious breach of duty. But I will tell you this: she didn't."
One eyebrow goes up. "Really? Why?"
"I have a conflict."
He leans back and rests one arm along the back of his chair. He still has on his overcoat, and he wears it well. Perhaps it's simply an expensive brand, but on a prosecutor's salary, she doubts it. She suspects anything looks good on him. She really wishes she'd stop idolizing him.
He's just another man.
"What kind of conflict?" he asks.
She shakes her head. "You're used to having your questions answered, aren't you?"
"It's what I do."
"Well, I'm not on the witness stand and I have no obligation to answer. In fact, my obligation is to her, to not answer. I would think you'd respect that."
"I do. She chose wisely."
Her curiosity gets the better of her.
"Maybe you should ask her."
"I don't trust her."
The blunt, obviously honest remark stuns Rebecca, and confirms that he knows nothing of Lee's report. "Why not?"
He tilts his head as if to say, Oh, come on.
She sets her cup on the table next to her and leans forward. "But they dropped the charges against her. They convicted her boyfriend. You testified for her!"
His expression softens as he looks away. She sees in his eyes the same thing she saw in the garage. He's still wild about Jennifer Dodson. Even if he did forsake her, he's a married man smitten by a woman he thinks is a murderer and it's killing him.
"I testified against him. Some people like to interpret that as testifying for her.
But she wasn't on trial." As he talks, he avoids her eyes. He watches the other patrons in the coffee shop, he stares at the floor. It's almost as if he's talking to himself. "And as I'm sure you know, subsequent to that trial, information came to light that calls into question whether the charges against her should have ever been dismissed. And now that her
boyfriend gets a new trial—"
"What do you mean?"
"You haven't heard? The appeals court granted Alex Turner a new trial."
She hesitates, lets out a helpless sigh.
How could she have missed that news?
And why didn't Jennifer Dodson mention it? Probably because she feared that if Rebecca knew, she wouldn't have agreed to meet. "I know you're the DA and you probably know things that are never made public, but you don't really think she had something to do with that woman's murder, do you?"
Finally he looks at her, his startling blue eyes narrowed in accusation. "I don't know. Did she?"
As strongly as she wants him to know what he so desperately wants to hear, she can't tell him. Not without betraying the confidence of several people. Even if she could get beyond the ethical implications, she senses Dodson had her own reasons for not showing him Lee's report. Who knows what consequences Rebecca might wreak if she opens her mouth?
No, the information is not hers to disclose. Sharing the report with Dodson back then to help her defense was bad enough, even if Rebecca meant well, but telling the DA now what she knows merely because she has some silly idea about the two of them being star-crossed lovers and she wishes, just once, star-crossed lovers could have a happy ending
. . . well, that's something else entirely.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hilliard, but I can't help you." She rises and reaches for her coat. To her dismay, he rises, too, and holds it while she slips her arms in. She doesn't want him to be nice to her. "If you think I know something that will help the State bring her to justice, by all means, subpoena me. If a judge orders me to speak, I guess I'll have to decide then what to do. But—"
She stops talking when she realizes he's not listening. His eyes are focused intently on the screen of a laptop at the next table.
She turns to look, too, but catches only the words BREAKING NEWS before
the laptop owner closes the lid and rises to throw away his cup. When the DA returns his attention to her, his face is flushed and he's clearly agitated. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Is there something wrong?
Is something happening?"
He stares at her as if he'll find the answers on her face. "Can I ask you one more thing? Did anyone, anyone at all, know about your meeting with Ms.
Patel?"
"No. Why?"
He shakes his head. "It's nothing." An awkward silence follows; whatever he saw has him extremely distracted. "Listen, about what you said . . . If you get subpoenaed, it won't be my doing. I have no say what happens in that case."
She nods and he offers his hand. She shakes it and thanks him for the coffee.
"My pleasure. Thank you for your time, Rebecca."
He says it pleasantly, but her ears hear something else entirely.
Thanks for nothing.
Jack hangs back in the coffee shop for a few minutes to give the young woman a good head start. Once he's confident she's gone, he steps outside onto the sidewalk where he won't be overheard and returns Earl's call.
"Are you anywhere near my office?"
Earl asks before Jack speaks. Jack knows he means We need to talk and he'd rather not do it over the phone.
"No, I'm in Clayton. What the hell's going on? I just sa
w something on the internet about Jenny." He scans the intersection for familiar faces as he talks.
"I got a call from Gunner a while ago.
I tried to call and warn you but it went to voicemail. They've received a tip that she's back in town and they want to talk to you."
Jesus. Fearing his legs will give out under him, Jack collapses on a nearby bench.
"He says if you cooperate, he's willing to do it all off the record. But if you don't come in voluntarily, all bets are off."
Jack tries to make his brain fastforward through all the possible scenarios of how they know whatever they know, but he can't concentrate.
"Jack?"
"Sounds like I'm being blackmailed by the police chief."
"I think he'd say persuaded. If I were you, I'd consider myself lucky they didn't just pick you up without advance notice.
He's trusting you won't try to warn her."
"Does his tip include information that I've seen her? Or is it limited to the fact of her being around?"
"He wouldn't get that specific."
"Even if I 'cooperate' as he says—
though I'm not sure exactly what that means to him—my name will still get drawn into it. If it hasn't already."
"Most likely. And there's another problem, too, one we both knew could arise. I can't represent you during the questioning. Dodson was my client first.
There's no way to get around the
conflict."
"Earl . . ." Jack sighs. Earl's right; they did both know this could happen. Jack simply hoped it wouldn't. "I don't trust anyone else."
"I can give you some names."
Jack gives a bitter laugh. "Oh, believe me, I know the names."
"You need to have someone with you when he questions you."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. A man who represents himself has a fool for a client, right?" He bends over and rubs his forehead. Fuck. "I'm screwed."
"Can you convince her to come in for questioning on her own? That's the only way I see to spin this in your favor."
Can he? And more importantly, if he thinks he can, will he, knowing what he now knows about the letters?
"I'd try myself," Earl adds, "but I don't think she'd listen to me. More
importantly, I don't want to do anything to jeopardize my ability to represent you on Celeste's charges."
"Call him back and tell him I'm in a meeting or something. Tell him I'll talk to him, but you have to buy me some time.
I'll see what I can do."
"Do you know where she is?"
"Maybe." He glances in the direction of the Ritz. "Just buy me some time, Earl.
I'll call you back soon."
He ends the call before Earl argues or questions him more.
As he walks back to the hotel, he calls Information for the number of the front desk.
"I'm trying to reach a guest there, Ayanna Patel?" he says once connected, using his best I'm just a clueless caller voice.
"She told me her room number, but I seem to have misplaced it."
"One moment, sir." After a pause, the operator adds, "That's Room 312. I'll connect you."
He hangs up before the connection is completed.
Jack stands outside Jenny's room. He wonders if she's seen the news, and whether she'll open the door once she knows it's him. He wonders if she's even in there.
He covers the peephole and is
reminded of when she did the same to his hotel room door at a Bench and Bar conference the summer he first ran for DA. Her gesture then was a playful one; his now is far from playful.
He knocks with his other hand.
Nothing.
He knocks again. When she still
doesn't answer, he calls the hotel a second time and asks to be connected to Room 312. She picks up but doesn't say anything.
"Let me in."
"I don't know what you mean."
She thinks I brought the cops. "I'm alone.
You have my word."
She laughs bitterly.
"Je—Ayanna, look, you either trust me, or you sit in there and hope I don't guard the door while I call Gunner. I'd say only one of those two options is good for you right now."
After a moment of silence, she says,
"Remove your hand so I see it's you."
He does as asked. He hears the
deadbolt turn and then the door opens.
She no longer wears the sari. Instead, she's back in her gold sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt so oversized that the sleeves cover all but the tips of her fingers. Her hair is loose but uncombed.
He sees a spent tissue clutched in one hand. When he meets her angry red eyes and sees the dried tears on her cheeks, his heart feels as if it's ripping apart. He fights it, tells himself it's all an act.
She yanks him in and slams the door closed. Before he speaks, she pushes the flaps of his coat open and frantically begins to frisk him.
"What are you doing?"
Ignoring his question, she roughly pats his chest and stomach and then slips her hands under the coat to the sides of his waist and his back. He pushes her away when she goes for the crotch of his trousers. "Stop it! What are you doing? "
"Are you wearing a wire?" she demands, and moves in again to check his pants legs.
He steps back. "No, of course not!"
She doesn't follow, but she screams,
"How could you? You told me you believed me!"
"It wasn't me. I just heard from Earl that they received a tip. I don't know how but it wasn't me."
"You're a liar! You left your brother's house and went straight to Gunner, didn't you?"
"No, I—"
"You think because you heard one half of a conversation that you've got it all figured out!" With open palms, she pushes against his chest. "You have no idea how wrong you are! You have no idea what it would mean if they lock me up again! You think the system—"
"Jenny, calm down." He grabs her shoulders. "You're hysterical."
"Let go of me!" She wriggles out of his grip. "You told me you believed me!" she says again, but at least she's not hitting him.
"I had nothing to do with it."
"Then why are you here, Jack? Huh?
Tell me. If you're not leading them straight to my door" —He simply shakes his head at her mocking his words— "then what are you doing here? Tell the truth for once.
Did you cut a deal? Me in exchange for your charges being dropped?"
Go to hell, he wants to say. The truth, he wants to say, is that he can trace the reason for every lie he's ever told back to her, one way or another.
Yet even as they exchange glares, each assessing the other, each trying to read meaning into what the other has left unsaid, another truth is dawning on him: He won't do what he came here to do. No matter what she might have done—even if she's been lying to him, even if everything has been an act, even if she murdered Maxine Shepard—he won't try to talk her into turning herself in. And he won't lead them to her door. He simply isn't capable of handing her over to the system and hoping justice is served.
He lowers his voice and says, "They want to question me about you and they're threatening to take it all public if I don't come in willingly." Instinctively, he almost reaches for her hands but stops himself. "You need to leave. Right away."
The anger on her face is replaced by shock as she understands what he's saying.
"But—"
He covers her lips with the tips of his fingers. "Don't say anything. Just listen."
She nods, but her eyes fill with tears. "I have to tell them the truth, so when I tell them I don't know where you are, I need for you to make sure it is the truth. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Okay, okay." She quickly surveys the room as if calculating how long it will take to gather her belongings. "I don't know where to go. They're bound to look for me at Brian's again, and this time they'll look harder."
"How much time do you need?"
"I don't know." She swip
es at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "Twenty minutes?"
If his heart ripped at seeing the evidence of past tears on her cheeks, seeing them fall fresh is breaking it wide open. He looks away, forcing himself to ignore it all, and reaches for the doorknob. She grabs his arm, but her actions are gentler now.
"Jack, please don't tell them about the letters." Did she just confirm his suspicion that she sent them to herself? "I can't tell you why, not now, there's no time, but please promise me that."
" Now is all we have, Jenny. If there's something you want me to know, you need to tell me. If I contact you again, it will be at their request." He hopes she understands the unspoken warning. "And you can't contact me, either," he adds. "If you show up in a tunnel again, they'll be watching."
"The letters," she says quietly. "Please, just promise me you won't mention the letters."
Open the door. Open the door and leave.
"Good luck, Jen."
And somehow, he opens the door and leaves.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ON HIS DRIVE BACK downtown, Jack
calls Earl from the car.
"Let Gunner know I'm ready to talk, but it has to be at my office. If I walk into the police station right now, all hell will break loose."
In typical Earl Scanlon fashion, the response is a brief "I'll meet you there"
and the conversation is over.
Jack expects the press to be waiting on the courthouse steps. Sure enough, the cameras have already been set up and the reporters are poised with microphones in hand. As he pushes through, they
bombard him with questions.
"Mr. Hilliard, were you aware Jennifer Dodson had returned to St. Louis?"
"Do you know whether she returned to town because of the recent appellate court decision in the Shepard murder case?
"Has she contacted you?"
"Have you seen her?"
"Does she plan to defend herself against Alex Turner's insistence that she is responsible for Maxine Shepard's murder?"
"Does her return have anything to do with the rape charges against you?"
Keep No Secrets Page 27