Another faint smile. “Sorry, I’m not about to let you trip me up twice.”
The cat stretched, jumped to the floor and meandered to the door, where it began meowing loudly. Dr. Markley rose and went to let him out.
“You sound as though you might have been there yourself,” she said.
“In therapy?”
“I was thinking more in terms of assertiveness in relationships.”
“Ah, that.” The doctor was perceptive.
“It’s not an uncommon problem. For women anyway.”
Too bad I couldn’t afford a professional visit. Given my history of failed relationships, I could probably have used some help.
“You mentioned that Lisa’s headaches were a manifestation of emotional pain. What sort of emotional pain might—”
“That was a possibility we were exploring,” Dr. Markley said evenly, “not a certainty.”
I backed up and tried again. “Were you making progress?”
She sighed. “With the headaches, no. If anything, they’d become worse the last few weeks.”
“But there was progress of another sort?”
“Lisa had a high level of unexplained anxiety. I had her keep a diary of thoughts and feelings associated with the headaches. I thought that might help unlock the source of her anxiety. The fact that the headaches were becoming more frequent might have indicated that we were close to finding the underlying cause.”
“What kind of underlying cause are we talking about?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you have any theories?”
There was the barest beat of hesitancy; then she shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t.”
“What about the diary? Was there anything there that might shed light on her death?”
“Lisa never showed me what she wrote. It was purely to trigger her own thinking.”
“So she might have written about something that was bothering her? Something that ultimately led to trouble?”
“She might have.”
“Did Lisa ever talk about Philip Stockman?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“I understand she had some reservations about going ahead with the wedding. Was that part of what you were exploring?”
Dr. Markley smiled. “I told you,” she said, “I can’t reveal a patient’s confidences.” Her tone was firm but not brusque.
“Not even if they point to a motive for murder?”
“Philip Stockman adored Lisa.”
“How do you know?”
She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I guess I don’t know for sure. Only what Lisa told me. But she gave him no reason to be angry. I doubt he was even aware of her ambivalence.”
“She called off the wedding,” I said.
“She postponed it. That’s different than calling it off.”
Dr. Markley was the expert, but it seemed to me that the distinction wasn’t so clear. “Do you have any idea why she would have canceled her Friday evening date with Stockman?”
She shook her head. “Lisa may have simply preferred an evening alone.”
“What about Wes Harding — did she ever mention him?”
There was a moment’s hesitation during which Dr. Markley’s gaze once again settled on the garden. “I’m sorry,” she said, biting her lower lip. “I’ve already said more than I should.”
“Lisa’s dead, Doctor. I understand your desire to protect her privacy, but don’t you think finding her killer takes precedence?”
“I do, absolutely. But there’s nothing I can tell you that will help.” She folded her hands in her lap, thumbs pressed together. Her eyes met mine. “I’m as disturbed by Lisa’s death as anyone. Maybe more so. I know therapists aren’t supposed to have favorites, but we do. I imagine lawyers feel the same, so maybe you know what I’m talking about. Lisa and I clicked from the start. Believe me, if I had knowledge that would help find her killer, I’d use it.”
<><><>
It wasn’t until I was back in the car, playing the conversation through in my mind, that I thought to wonder if Dr. Markley had revealed more than she’d intended. I remembered her brief hesitation at the mention of Wes’s name. Her assurance that she had no information that would help find the killer. Did that mean she had faith the killer had already been found?
But if she had information that implicated Wes, why would she withhold it?
Chapter 13
I got back to the courtroom just as the clerk was finishing the swearing-in of a new witness.
“Who’s that?” I whispered to Sam, sliding into the chair to his right.
“Harlan Bailey. He works at the auto shop with Wes.”
I glanced to the end of the table where Wes sat, arms again folded across his chest, his mouth and jaw tight. It was the look he’d worn all morning, but I sensed an undercurrent of uneasiness that hadn’t been there earlier.
“Why’s he testifying?”
Sam shook his head. “Beats me. I don’t like the feel of it. His name was added at the last minute.”
“What does Wes say about it?”
“That the guy’s an asshole and a twit.”
“Helpful. Anything else?”
“Nothing worth repeating. How’d you make out with Dr. Markley?”
I started to whisper a response but stopped when I felt Judge Seaton’s eyes on us. He glared in our direction for a few seconds longer, cleared his throat and, point made, turned his attention back to Harlan Bailey, who was explaining his association with Wes.
I scribbled a note for Sam. There’s no chronic pain group. Lisa was in therapy. Phone call remains a mystery. Let s talk later.
Sam groaned and Seaton glared again.
Curt addressed the witness. “Now then, Mr. Bailey, I’d like to draw your attention to Wednesday, August sixth. Were you working at the auto shop that day?”
“Yeah, I work Monday through Friday every week. Sometimes on Saturdays, too. It depends.”
“And was Wes Harding also at work that day?”
“Yeah, he was.”
“This was the Wednesday before Lisa Harding was killed, is that correct?”
Sam stood to object.
Curt held up a hand. “Sorry; let me rephrase that. How can you be certain of the day in question?”
“I know it was the sixth because my mother called that morning before I left for work.”
There was a titter from the back of the room. Seaton ignored it.
“And how does this phone call make you certain of the date?”
“It’s her birthday. She calls me every year, before I get a chance to call her. Then complains that I never remember.”
This time the chortling was more widespread. Seaton, himself, worked to keep a straight face.
“So, on Wednesday, August sixth, you and Wes Harding were both at work. Did Lisa Cornell come to the shop that day?”
He nodded.
“You’ll have to answer ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ ” Seaton instructed, “so the court reporter can record your response.”
Bailey nodded again, then amended it to a “yes.”
I glanced down at Wes, who hadn’t moved. His face was turned away from me, but I could see the muscles in his neck tighten.
“Was Lisa Cornell a regular customer at the shop?” Curt asked Bailey.
“I don’t think so. I’d never seen her anyway.”
“How can you be certain then that the woman at the shop was Lisa Cornell?”
“I took her MasterCard at the register. I noticed the name because Lisa is my mother’s name, too, and it being her birthday and all, it seemed kind of funny. Then I saw Ms. Cornell’s picture in the paper after she was killed. I recognized her even before I checked the name.”
“Did you have occasion to talk with Lisa Cornell the day in question?”
“Not really. I told her about the name coincidence, gave the little girl a lollipop. We keep them there at the register for anybody who wants one, but that was about i
t.”
“Was there any interaction that you’re aware of between the defendant and Lisa Cornell?”
“I don’t know that you’d call it interaction, exactly. Wes had been out in the shop. He walked into the office to pick up a work order. Lisa kind of smiled at him and made this shrugging gesture with her shoulders.”
“And what did you understand that to mean?”
Sam stood. “Objection, calls for an interpretation.”
“Overruled.”
“Your Honor, Mr. Bailey is not an expert in reading body language.”
Seaton glowered. “Overruled,” he said again, more forcefully.
Bailey looked to Curt, who nodded. “It didn’t mean anything,” Bailey said. “She was just being friendly. Seemed like a real nice lady, not all caught up in herself like some.”
“After Lisa Cornell smiled at Wes, what did he do then?”
“Right then, nothing. He just walked past her like she wasn’t there. But later, as she was leaving, he called her a bitch.”
Curt feigned shock. “But all she’d done was smile at him.”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
Curt’s brow furrowed. If he’d been playing to a jury he’d have scored big. He wasn’t, but with the press there in full force he’d accomplished almost as much.
“Did the defendant make this comment to Ms. Cornell’s face?”
“No, we were standing at the register. He’d come back to pick up part of the work order he’d missed, and I was finishing with the MasterCard authorization.”
“Can you remember his exact words?”
“Well, he kicked the wastebasket with his foot and said . . .” Bailey looked at the judge.”This involves some strong language.”
“That’s allowed, if it’s an accurate quote.”
“Well, after Wes kicked the wastebasket real hard, he called her a fucking bitch. He said it kind of under his breath, but the words were clear. So was his tone.”
“You’re sure he was talking about Lisa Cornell?”
Bailey nodded, then glanced at the court reporter and changed it to an “absolutely.”
“Wes’s reaction surprised me,” he explained, “because the woman seemed so nice. I asked him if she’d caused trouble before. Some customers do, you know, and we like to keep track of them.”
“What did Wes say then?”
“That it was personal.”
“Did he elaborate?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. You could tell he was in one of those moods where you didn’t want to mess with him.”
“Objection,” Sam said. “Your Honor, the witness needs only to answer the question. I ask that the last part of his response be stricken.”
“There’s no jury here,” Seaton said, sounding annoyed at the interruption. Then, addressing Curt, he asked, ”You want to ask the witness why he didn’t inquire further of the defendant?”
Curt posed the question; Bailey repeated what he’d said about Wes’s mood.
Seaton’s message had come through loud and clear — let’s not get caught up in technicalities.
Curt finished up with a few additional points, then turned the witness over to the defense. Sam stood, hesitated, then passed. “No questions at this time,” he said.
<><><>
“This was not a stellar day for us,” Sam grumbled later, over beer. We’d gone straight from the courthouse to Ollie’s.
“You didn’t expect Seaton to dismiss, did you?”
“No, but I didn’t expect to get slammed in the face, either. Not only does the prosecution have physical evidence linking Wes to the crime, now they’ve managed to connect Wes to Lisa Cornell. You realize they’ve set the stage for establishing motive. They’re going to deliver the jury a tidy package.”
“I imagine we’ll be able to pick at the ribbons a bit.” Sam ignored my attempt to be reassuring.
“And then, as if that weren’t enough, this woman from Lisa’s group turns out to be a phantom lead.”
“The group part anyway.”
“Dr. Markley had no idea who might have called Lisa?”
“None. She doesn’t do group therapy at all, and she hadn’t put Lisa in touch with any of her other patients. Dr. Markley was reluctant to reveal details from her sessions with Lisa, but I got the feeling she really had no clue about the call.”
“It’s gotta be important. Maybe someone wanted to make sure Lisa would be home that night.”
“If there really was a call.”
Sam squinted at me, perplexed.
“She might have used the phone call as an excuse to get out of her dinner date.”
“Just made it up out of thin air, you mean?”
I nodded. “Of course, to a certain extent that only begs the question. We don’t know whether Lisa simply felt like spending a Friday night away from Stockman, or whether there was something she intended to do instead.”
“Something that ultimately led to her death.” Sam stared glumly into his beer. “We’re on a backward roll here, Kali.”
“Still, if she was going to invent an excuse, why not say she had a headache or something? Why come up with a phony call from someone in a support group that doesn’t exist? It makes me think there might be something there yet.”
Sam signaled the waitress.”You want another?” he asked me.
“I’ll switch to Coke.” I like beer, but a little goes a long way. And the house wine at Ollie’s comes out of a gallon jug that’s usually been open for months.
“I think Lisa might have mentioned Wes’s name to Dr. Markley,” I said after the waitress took our order. “When I asked the doctor about it she hesitated, then sidestepped the question by saying she couldn’t discuss details.”
“After listening to that Bailey fellow today, it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“What did Wes say? Did you ask him?”
“I asked. He didn’t say diddly. Claims he was speaking about women in general, not Lisa specifically.”
The waitress brought our drinks. Sam raised the bottle to his lips. “What we’ve got here, Kali, is kind of a mishmash. One of those cases where there’s no clear defense strategy. We’ll cross-examine prosecution witnesses, question reliability of evidence, chip away at their case and harp on the fact that the police failed to pursue other avenues, but it would sure be a heck of a lot better if we had some ammo of our own.”
“You mean like an airtight alibi and another suspect with motive, means and opportunity?”
“I’m not greedy. I’d settle for one of the above.”
“Well, unless there was someone hiding under Wes’s bed that night, we aren’t going to get an alibi.”
“You’d think that a neighbor, a passing car, someone would have seen or heard something at the Cornell place.” Sam pressed the beer bottle to his temples. “You’ve talked to all the neighbors?”
“Most. A couple of them I haven’t been able to reach. I’ll give you the list of names.”
“And what about this homeless fellow; you’ve checked with him?”
“I’m trying.”
“Good. It’s just wacky enough, it may lead us somewhere.” He frowned. “The other-guy defense is always a good one. You’re working on that, right?”
“Right, but we haven’t exactly struck gold.”
“I’ve got experts going over the lab reports, crime scene photographs, that sort of thing. I’m hoping we’ll be able to show that the prosecution is making some mighty big leaps.”
I nodded. It was standard defense strategy. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not.
“I’ll follow up on this Bailey fellow. I’d like you to keep looking into Lisa’s background. I know she was a real sweetheart and all, but no one’s so squeaky clean you can’t find something of interest. Look for anything — drug use, gambling, sex habits, relationship with the ex. Hell, maybe she had ties to some devil worship sect that practiced ritual child abuse.”
I thought of
the women on the courthouse steps who’d said the same thing about Wes. “That’s not funny, Sam.”
He lowered his beer bottle and regarded me with unexpected seriousness. “I’m not trying to be funny,” he said. “I’m trying to save a man’s neck. A man who happens to be the son of a very good friend.”
I returned his gaze. “I’ll look into it,” I told him.
But I wouldn’t necessarily like it. Trash the victim was not my favorite defense.
Chapter 14
Tuesday morning I decided to pay a visit to Ed Cole, the attorney handling the probate of Lisa Cornell’s estate.
The phone book listed his office as being on the main road through Hadley. After several passes through the center of town I found Cole’s office, finally, in a strip mall at the outer edge of the business district. It was conveniently sandwiched between the Nu U Aerobics Studio and a Baskin-Robbins ice cream store. Cole’s name was stenciled on the glass door in gold lettering, directly above a sign that read PUSH.
I pushed, and found myself stepping into a field of green and blue shag. The walls were paneled in dark wood — the kind that’s sold by the sheet at Home Depot. A vinyl couch of faded orange stood by the door, and across the room was a heavily cluttered desk. Behind the desk, typing away laboriously with two fingers, sat a man. At least I assumed it was a man. The only part I could actually see was the top of his head — a ring of curls crowned with a shiny bald spot.
“Let me guess,” he said, without raising his head. “You’re pregnant.”
My breath caught halfway to my lungs. My clothes were feeling snug, but I hadn’t considered that possibility. I glanced at my midsection, afraid of what I might find there. “I think it’s more what I’ve been eating,” I told him.
Finally he looked up, and then blushed right to the circle of smooth flesh at the top of his head.
“Oh, gosh,” he stammered, “I thought you were Tina, my secretary. She’s been feeling, uh, indisposed these last couple of days. She had a doctor’s appointment this morning and I just, uh, assumed that you were her.”
He looked stricken. I hastened to reassure him, but sucked my stomach in all the same.
“Are you Ed Cole?” I asked.
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