“Sounds like you knew her fairly well.”
“Reena and I stayed with her for a short while after we were married, and Anne would come to L.A. every couple of years. In fact, we left Lisa with her when we took that short four days of a honeymoon by ourselves.” He laughed without humor. “Lisa and Anne must have really hit it off.”
Ron checked his watch. “Anyway, I never meant to bend your ear like this. It’s just that I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression about Reena.” He tried something that looked like it was supposed to be a smile. “I know how you attorneys operate, and I wouldn’t want you to do anything that might hurt her further.”
I found his concern for Reena touching. I also thought to wonder if it was really the reason behind our meeting.
Chapter 18
The alarm rang at seven the next morning. I reached over and turned it off, fully expecting to roll out of bed a minute or so later. When I opened my eyes a second time it was past nine, and the jangling was coming from the telephone. Groggy and blurry-eyed, I rolled over to grab the receiver but succeeded only in knocking it onto the floor out of reach. I scrambled out of bed and picked it up just as the answering machine kicked in.
“You weren’t still in bed, were you?” Sam asked when the line had cleared.
I grunted.
“Sorry. I thought for certain you’d be up by now.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and pushed the hair out of my eyes. “So did I.”
“Late night?”
“In part.”
What had done me in wasn’t so much crawling into bed at 2 a.m. It was the endless stretch of time between then and the hour when my mind finally stopped churning.
“You want to get some coffee and call me back?” Sam asked.
“It’s okay; I’m awake. I’ll put water on while we’re talking. ”
By then I’d made it to the kitchen and was already filling the kettle. Loretta and Barney sat on either side of my feet, patient and hopeful.
“How was the trip to L.A.? Did you find Lisa Cornell’s diary?”
“No diary, although her stepfather said he’d look through the boxes of stuff they packed from her house.” I checked the dogs’ bowls; neither was empty. “Forget it, guys. Coffee’s not your thing.”
“You got a guy there?” Sam asked.
“I was talking to the dogs.”
“Oh.” A short pause. "Isn't Loretta a girl?"
"Guys is an expression, Sam. Slang."
While the water heated, I filled Sam in on my trip. Once again I found myself caught up in Lisa’s story, intrigued by facets of her life I’d never suspected. The more I learned about her, the more of a puzzle she became. Of course, I’d only heard her stepfather’s version of things. Having been an errant daughter myself, I knew that family matters were always open to interpretation.
“The drug angle might be worth pursuing,” Sam said. “A lady with a coke habit could make enemies pretty easily. Even if she was only hooked on pain killers or tranquilizers, it would give us an opening.”
“Lisa’s stepfather was talking about her behavior in high school. To my knowledge, there hasn’t been a hint of drug involvement recently.”
“Maybe that’s because nobody’s looked.” Sam’s tone was huffy.
I pulled a mug out of the cupboard. “All right. I’ll check into it.”
“And see if you can find out anything more about the family. You want my opinion, the dynamics there are rife with possibilities.”
“For the soaps maybe.” The morning was warm, the air in the kitchen close and stale. I opened the back door and discovered the air outside was fresh but even warmer. The heat hit me like a blast from an open oven. Loretta and Barney wasted no time retreating into the relative cool of the dining room.
“Lisa Cornell’s mother must have been plenty irked to discover she’d been cut out of the will,” Sam pointed out.
“Assuming she knew she’d been in it in the first place.” I decided stale was preferable to sweltering and shut the door again. “Myra had an interesting observation.” I told him her theory about Amy.
Sam’s groan was tortured.
“What’s the matter?”
Because I was holding the phone with my shoulder while measuring out the coffee grounds I missed part of his answer. The only words I heard clearly were “skin flicks.”
I moved the receiver back to my hand and held it firmly against my ear. “What was that again?”
“What I said was, that among the items seized by the police from Wes Harding’s residence were a couple of skin flicks. I just got the updated list yesterday afternoon.”
“No one’s trying to make a case that he’s a Boy Scout, Sam.”
“The thing is, one of the films is about a woman and her daughter.”
“So?” I started to pour water through the coffee grounds.
“The daughter’s a little older than Amy, and the woman’s dark rather than fair, but it’s kind of interesting, the parallels.”
“Sam—”
The other thing,” he said, cutting me off, “is that they both wind up dead.”
I set the kettle back on the burner. My heart was pounding, but my thankfully my brain was working fine. "That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No, but the prosecution’s going to make it into something, you just wait. This is going to be a jury trial, remember. Folks around here aren’t going to think much of a man who watches that sort of filth.”
“What’s the matter, Sam? Sounds like you’re getting spooked.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I got reason to be spooked. Hell, the DA’s got what’s practically a textbook case, and we’ve got zip.”
“It’s not a textbook case, and you know it. There’s no murder weapon, no witness, no confession, no motive.” This was a reversal in roles, me bolstering Sam, and it made me nervous. “You’re not giving up, are you?”
His response was quick and unequivocal. “Not in a million years.” Then he sighed. “I’m just frustrated, is all. Everything is ten times harder when you’ve got a personal interest in the case. Jake calls me every night, wants to talk strategy and evidence. Half the time he drifts into a rambling soliloquy about Wes’s childhood and how nothing’s ever gone right for him. It gets me wound up in a way I wouldn’t be otherwise.”
That was understandable. "Remember your heart condition,” I warned. “Stress is one of the things you’re supposed to avoid.”
“And how’s a body supposed to do that?” he groused. “Stress isn’t something you can politely decline, like a jelly donut.”
“You haven’t done so well along those lines, either.” I half suspected Sam took his doctor’s orders as an invitation to battle. “Try not to fret over it. We’ll pull together a case. A good one.”
“Question is, will it be good enough.” Sam’s voice was throaty. He sounded tired. “Why don’t you go see Wes today, find out what he has to say about this latest development. And see if he has any bright ideas about where we should go next in terms of a defense strategy.”
<><><>
The new jail, constructed only five years ago, is one of few air-conditioned county buildings. That’s no small perk on a sweltering summer’s day, but it wasn’t enough to put me in a charitable mood. Wes didn’t appear to be in any better humor. It was obvious from the outset that my visit wasn’t the highlight of his day.
After we’d gone through the handcuff routine with the guard Wes slouched down in his chair, crossed his arms and eyed me suspiciously. “You here with good news or bad?” he growled.
“What makes you think I have either?”
“I’m pretty sure you didn’t drop by for a social visit.”
I eased my chair back from the table, wishing I’d found a polite way to remain standing. The posture of authority comes easier to me when I’m on my feet. I wished, also, that I’d given more thought to how I was going to conduct the interview. Wes Harding had a way of throwing off
my normal rhythm.
“Well,” Wes said, pulling on an earlobe, “let’s make it snappy. You’re eating up my hour in the exercise yard.”
“You’ll have plenty of opportunity for that in the years ahead.”
A faint smirk. “Only if you don’t do your job and get me off.”
I rose and stood behind my chair. It may have looked ridiculous, but I felt better. “I could do my job more effectively if you’d participate in the process a bit.”
“That so?” He rocked his chair backwards. “You forget it’s my body here behind bars, my neck in the noose. I kind of feel like I am participating in this whole experience.”
“I think you know what I mean.”
He turned away to glare at the wall. “Try getting yourself locked up,” he mumbled. “You’ll get a fine, hands-on education in participation.”
Despite the air-conditioned interior, my skin was warm. I could feel my blouse sticking to my back and shoulders. While Wes’s eyes were diverted, I reached around and tugged at the neck.
His gaze slid back and fixed on a spot just over my left shoulder. “So, what is it you want from me?” he asked.
“Why don’t you start by telling me about those videos the police seized from your place. The ones that are triple X-rated.”
The eyes flicked to my face and held there. His mouth twitched in a deliberate, bad-boy grin. “You want the play-by-play description, or just the plots?”
“How about the one with a mother and daughter? How long have you had it?”
“That make a difference?”
“It might.”
“I can’t remember how long. A couple of years probably.”
“You watch it often?”
“Nope.”
“You want to try and be a little more specific?”
Wes shrugged. “What’s the big deal here? I’ve got some films that aren’t exactly Mary Poppins. I’ve probably got a copy of Playboy and the Marquis de Sade around the house, too. None of that makes me a killer. I don’t see the connection.”
“The DA will find one. And even if it doesn’t make a lot of sense in your mind, it just might in the jury’s.”
He pressed the knuckles of one hand into the palm of the other. “Then it’s a fucking, stupid system.”
“Maybe, but it’s the system we have to work in.”
Wes said nothing.
“Couldn’t you at least have warned us about the videos? Sam asked you if there were going to be any surprises. You didn’t tell us about Harlan Bailey and you didn’t tell us about the films. Makes me wonder what else you haven’t told us.”
“I didn’t think they were important. Hell, they aren’t even mine.”
They aren’t?”
“I’m keeping them for a friend.”
“Which friend?”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh. That’s the reason I’m keeping them. If the guy’s wife finds out, he’s in big trouble.”
“It can’t be bigger than the trouble you’re in.”
“I told you, the videos have absolutely nothing to do with the murders.”
“But you’ve watched them?”
“Some of them.”
“How about the one with the mother and daughter?”
“Yeah, once. It’s not really my kind of thing.”
“You watch it recently?”
Wes looked at the ceiling, tapped his foot, then rocked forward so that his body was halfway across the table. “Listen Ms. Big-Shot Attorney, you may have a fancy degree and all, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
I stepped back. He was probably right. I was less inclined than Sam to see the importance of the tapes. I wasn’t so sure Willis would see it either.
“Who’s Kathy?” I asked, switching trees.
Wes swallowed. “Where’d you hear about Kathy?”
“From Pammy.”
His expression relaxed. “Oh.”
“Who is she?”
“A friend. From a long time ago.”
“Girlfriend?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Is she the reason you hold women in contempt?”
A puzzled expression. “Where’d you get that?”
“Your comment to Harlan Bailey at the shop. The way you explained it to Sam, you were talking about women in general when you called Lisa Cornell a bitch.”
Wes started to say something, then stopped. Closed his eyes for a moment.
“So,” I said, “are you going to tell me about Kathy or not?”
“There’s nothing to tell. It’s been over for years.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He shrugged. “We went out for a while, then we didn’t.” There was a trace of bitterness, then a quick recovery. “You’re really coming out of left field today, you know that? First the damn video and now this. Why don’t you quit wasting time and get on with preparing for trial?”
“Whose idea was it to stop going out?”
He hesitated, then said, “Hers.”
“Where’s Kathy now?”
Wes gave a brittle half-laugh. “You aren’t going to like this.”
“Try me.”
“She’s dead.”
I folded my arms. “Not stabbed, I hope.” It sounded crass, and I regretted it the minute the words were out.
“She died of a drug overdose,” Wes said. Although I’m sure he tried, he couldn’t keep his voice from faltering.
“Were you with her?”
Wes’s face hardened. He stood and leaned across the table. “You listen, and listen good. I may not be a prince in a three-piece suit. You know, a guy with a Rolex watch and a Harvard education. But I’m not the lowlife you think I am either.”
"I–"
“And I’m not guilty of murder.”
I stepped back a bit but held his gaze. “Then quit stonewalling and face facts. The police have physical evidence linking you to the crime. You’ve got no alibi. You’ve got a co-worker who will testify that you made hostile remarks about Lisa Cornell. You won’t explain any of it to us in a way that will allow us to put a favorable spin on it. And now we discover that you’re addicted to pornographic snuff films. You tell me what the jury’s supposed to think.”
Wes’s eyes narrowed but he made no response.
“You’d better hope that Willis doesn’t find out there’s a dead ex-girlfriend in your past.”
Wes straightened, shoved his hands in his pockets. The muscle in his jaw worked furiously. We glowered at each other in silence, until, finally, I turned away and crossed to the wall at the rear of the room. Wes Harding was a most exasperating client.
“It would be nice,” he said with tight control, “to think there was someone who believed me. Someone who believed in me.”
“Your family does.”
Wes laughed hoarsely. “My dad maybe.”
“And Pammy.”
“Yeah, and Pammy. But not my own attorneys.”
“We weren’t hired to believe in you; we were hired to defend you. That’s what you should be worrying about.”
Wes sat again and stretched his legs out straight. The orange overall pants ended well above his ankles. “Let me tell you the way I see it,” he said. “Sam’s a straight-ahead kind of guy. He doesn’t really care whether I’m guilty or not. He’s got a job to do and he’s going to do it. But with you, it’s a different story. You do care. And you’re having trouble convincing yourself you’re on the right side.”
“You want me off the case?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just telling you what’s going on here, why you get in my face the way you do.”
“I get in your face,” I replied, “because I’m trying to do what I was hired to do. You’re the one pushing for a speedy trial. Most defendants want to drag it out, give their lawyers ample time to prepare. Two months is difficult under any circumstances. It’s especially hard when we don’t get any help from you.”
“I’ve been trying to
help,” Was said levelly. “You just don’t like my answers.”
“You’ve got the last part right.” I capped my pen and snapped my notebook shut. Enough was enough. It was almost like he was trying to keep us in the dark.
I was halfway to the door to call the guard when a thought struck me. I turned to face Wes. “Are you protecting someone, is that what’s going on? You’re taking the blame, risking your freedom and maybe your life, rather than tell the truth and implicate a friend?”
Wes chewed on his cheek for a moment. “You think I’d do that?”
“People have done it before.”
“Yeah, but do you think I'd do something like that. This is John Wesley Harding we’re talking about, remember? The rotten apple, the town bad-ass, the guy who can’t do anything right.”
I folded my arms and looked him in the eye. “You might.”
“This is a real kick,” he said, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “Almost worth the price of admission. Ms. Fancy Attorney, one-time Latin scholar and high school valedictorian thinks that bad dude Wes might, just might, have a sliver of good hidden somewhere deep inside. The frog prince.”
I wasn’t going to get sidetracked. “So, are you protecting someone?”
Wes rose, pressed his knuckles against his open palm and regarded me through half-closed eyes. “I hate to rain on your parade, sweetheart, but if I had any idea who the killer was, I’d talk. Loud and fast.” He dropped his hands. “Now, if we’re finished, I’ve got only a few minutes left before my time in the yard is up. At the very least I’d like a quick peek at the sky.”
On my way back to the office I sifted through my conversation with Wes Harding and found myself as frustrated as I had been initially. But I also found myself glancing frequently, and without meaning to, at the cloudless blue sky above. It stretched across the horizon like taut silk and filled me with an odd, unsettling melancholy.
<><><>
Myra was sitting cross-legged on the office floor, papers spread out around her. She was singing under her breath, keeping rhythm with the bobbing of her head.
“What are you doing on the floor?” I asked, although I had a pretty good idea. The desk was so cluttered, you’d need a degree in archaeology to make your way through it.
Evidence of Guilt Page 16