Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Praise
BOOK ONE - Twelve Years Ago: Tamara
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
BOOK TWO - Eight Years Ago: Susana
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
BOOK THREE - Six Years Ago: Alice
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
BOOK FOUR - Three Years Ago: Deirdre
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
UNFIT TO PRACTICE
PROLOGUE
MOTION TO SUPPRESS
INVASION OF PRIVACY
OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE
BREACH OF PROMISE
ACTS OF MALICE
MOVE TO STRIKE
BY PERRI O’SHAUGHNESSY
Copyright Page
Dedicated to
Brad and Fritz
In memory of
Katherine G. Wright of Owego, New York
and
Rhoda Snedecor of Dallas, Texas
Through me you pass into the city of woe.
—Commedia, Dante
HIGH PRAISE FOR Perri O’Shaughnessy’s previous Nina Reilly novel MOTION TO SUPPRESS
"[A] GRIPPING LEGAL THRILLER ... A
DELECTABLE MYSTERY.... A HECK OF A
READ."
—San Francisco Chronicle Book Review
"A LIVELY DEBUT... THE PLOT IS A REAL
PUZZLER, WITH TWISTS DIABOLICAL
ENOUGH TO TAKE TO COURT."
— The New York Times Book Review
"MOTION TO SUPPRESS DELIVERS!
Suspense, plot twists, and legal thrills make this
a real page-turner."
—Darian North, author of Criminal Seduction
"MOTION TO SUPPRESS IS NONSTOP EXCITEMENT! O’Shaughnessy combines the mystery of a masterful whodunit with edge-of-the-seat courtroom drama, and mixes in plenty of riveting psychological intrigue. The portrayal of the glitz and the underbelly of the casino world is top-notch and the characters are finely drawn."
—Jeffrey Deaver, author of Praying for Sleep
"MOTION TO SUPPRESS DRAWS YOU IN ON PAGE ONE AND NEVER LETS YOU GO. Perri O’Shaughnessy writes about the law with authority, and in Motion to Suppress, she has created two strong, sympathetic characters and placed them in a fast-paced, compelling plot that will keep readers turning the pages into the wee hours of the morning."
—William Bernhardt, author of Double Jeopardy
"This courtroom drama maintains a swift pace ...
a Roman candle of a novel that just may rocket
O’Shaughnessy to pop-lit fame."
—Publishers Weekly
"AFTER READING THE OPENING CHAPTER OF MOTION TO SUPPRESS, I GENUINELY COULDN’T PUT IT DOWN. Perri O’Shaughnessy has done a masterful job of presenting both a battered wife and refugee lawyer. The Lake Tahoe setting rings true, and the only aspect of the book I found hard to believe was that this is a first novel."
—Jeremiah Healy, author of Rescue and Act of God
"A FAST-PACED LEGAL THRILLER.
All the ingredients for a best seller are present in this
first novel. "
—Library Journal
Once again, our grateful thanks to Nancy Yost and Marjorie Braman.
BOOK ONE
Twelve Years Ago: Tamara
On the other side of Tamara’s locked bedroom door, her mother was pounding and yelling again. She yelled often, most often at Tamara, but when she was loaded she also yelled at Tam’s father, who had an unpredictable, violent streak Tamara had learned to avoid. She guessed her mother used alcohol to stand up to her bully of a father, and also, in the same way Tam did, to create a more tolerable reality, so she understood the attraction of being bombed. That didn’t make finding her mother passed out on the kitchen floor after one of her periodic binges any easier to take, though.
Lately, things seemed worse around the old burg. Two weekends in a row now her mother had gone on a bender, and her father’s response had been to tear through the house, breaking up most of the dining room one evening.
"Okay already, I’m putting it out right now." She took another long drag on her cigarette, and blew the smoke at the doorway. Her mother, temporarily placated by her words, retreated, probably to get another drink. Tam sat on her bed, trying to build her strength up for the battle to come, the one she thought of as her standard Friday night war. Her parents never wanted her to go out, but she was eighteen and had a right and they knew it. Still, she had to convince them, stormtrooping her way through a barrage of questions, arguments, sometimes tears. Oh, God, it was hard living at home. She couldn’t wait to have her own place.
Which brought up another depressing issue, her lack of money. She was flunking math and geology in school, something her parents didn’t know yet, but they would soon. Maybe then they’d let her get a job. She knew they were holding on to this old college dream for her, one she’d given up a while back, along with her dreams of staying forever with the first man she’d ever really loved. Life had taken an unexpected turn for her, and she discovered right away that she liked not knowing what came next. She liked pissing into the wind like a man, and seeing which way it blew, without caring who or what it hit.
She took a deep breath, stuffed her last bills into her pants pocket, and unlocked her door. She grabbed her rabbit coat. That was a must. A storm was coming. The windchill made the temperature feel like zero degrees all around Tahoe tonight, the radio said. She really ought to wear her down jacket; that kept her warmer. But not tonight, no, that wouldn’t do, would it? She needed her favorite coat tonight.... She put it on and smiled, ready for anything the evening had to offer, as she walked downstairs to confront her parents.
She nursed the old pickup slowly along the slick Pioneer Trail to Manny’s, pulling into a parking spot right by the front door. She was still going over the evening’s fight in her mind. No matter how nice she was, no matter how hard she tried, they hated everything about her. They wanted her chained to the old person she was a long time ago, their baby girl, forever. They hated the way she looked, the clothes she wore, that "ratty" coat. They hated her attitude. They hated everything she said, trying to talk over her, afraid to listen, afraid of what they might hear. She couldn’t go on like this!
Shake it off, she told herself. Don’t let them totally burn you out. She tried an old trick, rewriting the evening into a silent conversation with her parents that ended better, with everyone civilized and normal, and her like any other girl just going out for a few hours to have a little fun, but it didn’t work tonight. Their words stung. Their anger hurt. She sat in the car, letting her own anger flare up and burn for a few minute
s, until she started to feel the deep winter of the outside creeping into her car. She walked into Manny’s without looking around and sat at the bar, ordering a gin for a quick, clean buzz. They didn’t even bother to check her fake ID. She’d left the house a little early. The fun started later; meanwhile, she intended to kill an hour or so sitting in a dark corner, just her and Mr. Alcohol for company.
"Hey, Tam!" said a voice across the room.
Oh, no. She turned to look, spotting Michael and Doreen across the room. She gave them a wave and turned back to her drink. It would be Michael. He was like a black cat crossing her path, a curse on her. Maybe if she ignored him they’d leave her alone.
They approached, Michael eager as a racehorse after the starting shot, Doreen trailing miserably behind.
"Mind if we join you?" he asked, sliding his jeans onto a stool beside her and ordering a beer. He winked at her, and sat as close as he could without touching. Doreen stood near them both, looking unsure about where to put herself. Tam ordered another drink and put it away as fast as she could.
Michael launched into a monologue about what he’d been doing lately. When he noticed she wasn’t listening, he switched gears and started pebbling her with questions. He’d heard about her troubles in school. She’d always been smarter than any of them, and was certainly the best looking of them all. What was going on? And what was the story with this new dude she was seeing, huh? Was it true this was the man to see if you had it in mind to get wasted?
She didn’t feel like getting involved in his song and dance, and she told him so. She didn’t know what it was with him, but any attention from her just made things worse. He seemed to think she was bored, so he talked faster and more vehemently, probably just trying to get her interested in what he was saying, but he made her nervous and jumpy, and she didn’t need that. He kept after her, picking and picking, jealous of the mystery boy he thought she might be meeting tonight, and unable to lose the topic, like a parakeet that knows only one word and shows it off day and night until you go bonkers.
Sick of him, she tossed her beer in his face. He closed his mouth, looking hurt, his lip trembling like a baby’s.
While Doreen mopped him up, she went to make a phone call. It was late enough.
She went to pay for her drink and had one more brief fracas with Michael while Doreen stood by, looking disgusted. He apologized. He wanted them to be friends. He insisted on paying.
Fine, let him. She was down to her last few bucks. She left without saying good-bye.
The truck balked at first, but finally started. She headed up the highway toward the turnoff, then tackled the unplowed road in four-wheel drive. A bright moon cast shadows over the road, lighting the way. She pulled off the road and checked her watch. It was time.
Glad to have her warmest boots on, she slipped and slid up the trail to their rock. Her friend would meet her there.
But he was late and there was nothing there, except the moon and the shadows that moved in the wind. Nothing there, she told herself. But as the minutes ticked by, and the darkness settled around her like a freezing shroud, she thought there might be something. She felt eyes, even though she couldn’t see them. She felt afraid. She thought about leaving, but that would wreck everything. She needed something from him to keep her going, just this once. This would be the last time.
She would give him one more minute.
1
BLUE MOUNTAIN AIR, THE CRUNCH OF BOOTS ON snow, a deep breath, and one long last look at the snow-laden evergreen forest around her—Nina Reilly walked into the court building with lips as cold and blue as the Tahoe winter, entering the Superior Court arena for the first time since she had left the hospital.
She had a nice, peaceful preliminary injunction hearing, with some interesting legal issues, a civil case, the kind that gets decided on the paperwork, on the intellectual arguments she had thought, way back in law school, that practicing law was all about.
No more criminal law, she had promised herself. No more contact with physical violence and murderous emotions. She’d had enough to last a lifetime. She had made simple resolutions in the hospital—to practice a kinder, gender law, and to leave the office at five o’clock.
Today she would keep her resolutions, if she could avoid sparring with her opposing counsel, the pugnacious Jeffrey Riesner, and keep Terry London, her headstrong client, away from the people who were suing her.
As she started up the stairs to the main Superior Court courtroom, she heard Terry’s voice behind her. "Can’t go wrong with navy blue."
"Thanks." Nina chose to hear the comment as a compliment. "You look good too. Are you ready for the fight?" She turned to let her client join her.
Terry London was a tall, slender woman. Today the icy wind outside had tangled a mass of long, curly chestnut hair. Her face had become sculpted over forty years into hard beauty with a large, full mouth and pale, flawless skin.
But darkness circled her eyes, and her mouth bore a slash of red lipstick too dramatic and citified for Tahoe. A white wool pantsuit with an ocher scarf amplified the intensity of her yellowish-brown eyes. She held a full-length fur coat, silvery and thick enough to disappear inside.
"Sure, why not. I’ve got the current champ on my side," Terry said. The two women climbed up the stairs. At the landing Terry stopped Nina and said, "I expect you to maul them."
"Our chances are good, as I told you."
"It’s not your job to take chances," Terry said as they stepped into the second-floor hallway. "Not with my business, anyway."
"I’ll do my best."
"Yeah," said Terry. "Win."
Jeffrey Riesner waited for Nina on the second floor. One glance at him and she could feel her hackles, whatever those were, begin to rise. Remember, she said to herself, a kinder, gender Nina....
"May I have a moment with you, counselor?" he said, the polite words asked with unmistakable mockery.
"See you inside, Terry," Nina said, unable to avoid noticing as Riesner’s eyes followed Terry’s gently swaying ass. He kept at it long enough to make sure she noticed. The rest of the crowd had gone inside, leaving them in the dim hall.
Nina forced herself to turn and acknowledge him, telling herself again to stay calm. Even in her high heels she had to tilt her head up sharply to make eye contact. She could smell the acrid, musky scent of his after-shave, mixed with his sour coffee breath. From a foot above her, the opaque eyes looking down from his long, mean face glittered with suppressed rage.
Her entry onto the Tahoe legal scene the year before as defense counsel in a murder case had angered him. He had made it clear from the start he didn’t like competitors, especially women, and he didn’t let manners deter the open expression of his feelings.
Worst of all was the fixed way he watched her, like a snake before it struck.... Jeffrey Riesner was an ugly guy, and he was about to get uglier, she could tell.
"Couldn’t wait to see me again, could you?" he asked, adjusting the immaculate Hermès tie he wore to accent his thousand-dollar suit and offensive grin.
"I managed to pass the time somehow." Her voice sounded good, strong and confident.
"I’ve been looking forward to a moment alone with you, Nina." Somehow he had cornered her.
She had avoided being alone with this particular lawyer ever since she first met him. Did it have to be today? Mentally she sighed, put her resolution on the shelf, climbed into her armor, unsheathed her battle sword, and held her shield over her heart.
"We’re not on a first-name basis," she said. "It’s Ms. Reilly to you—"
"What I am trying to say is," he interrupted, ignoring her, "that I have again consulted my clients, and they have again asked me to try to settle this matter. Persuade your client to can the psycho-killer stuff; and the aspersions of parental drunkenness, and we can go somewhere with this thing."
"My client isn’t willing to let them censor her film. She won’t edit it to suit their sense of propriety. I’ve pre
sented your proposal, and she says no, absolutely not."
"You could try exerting a little control over her."
"Don’t tell me how to deal with my clients," Nina said. "This lady has her mind made up, and she’s within her rights. Now, do you have any practical suggestions about how this matter could be settled?"
Riesner shrugged. "I told them it was useless to try to talk to you. You’ve got your rent to pay, don’t you? I hear you stopped taking criminal cases. Those bad ol’ crooks are too scary. And if you settle this case, you won’t make enough of the do-re-mi. I told them all that. They understand."
"You’re going to lose this case and you know it, but you push your clients in deeper just because you’re itching for a fight with little old me." Her voice shook a little. She was so mad, she could feel her throat choking on the words.
"There, there," Riesner said, smiling widely, making a motion as if to pat her head, and withdrawing his hand without actually touching her. "Why don’t you ladies agree to the injunction? Then you can go have tea and talk about your hair and nails."
"We’ll have a nice time totting up the court costs your clients will owe my client. Meanwhile, I have work to do, even if you don’t." She turned to leave, but he blocked her way.
"Wait. I just want to show you something," he said. "See this?" Her eyes drew automatically down to his white, big-knuckled right hand. On his ring finger, embedded in thick gold, a ruby gleamed. "Stanford Law School. Class of ’72."
What was he going to do with it, slug her? She braced herself, looking past him in the empty hall for help, but she saw only Terry London peering around the door, her face avid, as if she were feeding on the encounter.
"I’ve been around a little longer than you, Nina, quite a bit longer actually. And I want you to know, your intransigent attitude in this case is exactly what I would have expected. Because all you lady lawyers, and I use both of those terms loosely, have to rely on bravado, having lost—"
"Move it," Nina said, putting all her weight into slamming against his shoulder, pushing her way past.
"—all vestiges of feminine charm," he said, regaining his balance. "My, my. Here we stand chatting, and our clients are waiting for us inside. Shall we?" He strode ahead to open the door for her.
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