"She must have killed that poor kid," Kurt said as if to himself. "Tam never had a life. Tam would have straightened out. Then she—killed my baby. She got me to go to her, and shot me. You were next, Nina. She set out to destroy every human being I cared about." His face twisted into that intent, inward, suffering look she had noticed before.
"She was very sick," Nina said.
"No! She chose it. She didn’t fall ill. She made herself that way. I suppose that’s why I ran and didn’t try to stay and confront her. She had turned into something beyond my ... She had made me afraid."
"We’ve all been there, Kurt."
"I’m back there now." His words reminded her of her talk with Collier about Bumpass Hell. Kurt had fallen into it, and he was burning.
"Trust me, Kurt. And gather your courage. Hell is the place where people go when they’re afraid."
"Yes. Let me ask you an old question that I’ve been asking myself. Do you believe in evil, Nina? Not just as a metaphor. As a real thing." Though she was surprised at the turn their conversation had taken, she tried to answer.
"I try not to. I try to think it’s only ignorance or anger. I try to translate what I see in my law practice into those two human failings. But every once in a while I meet someone like Terry, who does seem to have literally gone to the devil. All those old folk phrases come back. Possessed by a demon. Sold her soul.
"I’ve seen people in the middle of divorces become possessed for weeks or months by a vindictiveness I could barely call human. And I’ve handled criminal appeals for people in which I was happy they were in a penitentiary and not in my office. Lost souls. But I think they are rare, people like that."
"You’re in a difficult business," Kurt said, and she felt he really did understand how sometimes it became too much and all she wanted to do was quit and do anything else. "You will meet more of those rare people," he went on. "But here’s what I’m trying to say. If you’re possessed by evil, against your will, you’re not responsible. You’re insane. You couldn’t help it. Terry loved her demon, allowed herself to be possessed by hate. She wasn’t insane."
"You mean, it didn’t happen against her will."
"Right. I knew her as well as anyone. I’ve had years to think about Terry, and that’s how I see her. Well, she’s dead. You and—You’re safe."
Nina didn’t respond to that. Kurt wasn’t thinking straight. Whoever had killed Terry was still out there, unless Kurt had done it. And she wasn’t as sure as he was that Terry had killed Tamara.
Now was a good time to say something she had to say sometime. "You know, if you did shoot Terry, I could make a good case for self-defense. I think we could make people understand what happened," she said.
"Dammit!" Kurt said. He got up and turned his back to her. She was left holding a dead phone. She rapped on the glass, and he finally picked up the only physical link they had.
"I wish you could trust me again, Nina. The worst thing is knowing you don’t," Kurt was saying, echoing her thoughts. She didn’t answer, because she had nothing to say. She couldn’t trust him enough to tell him about Bob. Period. Time to move on.
"How’s your arm?" she said.
He rolled up his sleeve to show her the ugly pink crease across his forearm. "All healed up. No permanent damage. How’s your chest?"
So he knew. "Guns," Nina said. "I don’t like them."
For a moment neither spoke, but they were still communicating. It was this unspoken linkage that had made her sure, twelve years ago, that she loved him. The only way she could keep going and keep up the pretense that nothing was happening was to avoid his eyes. She looked down, bit her lip.
"You are so lovely," Kurt said softly into the phone. "I’m so sorry about everything."
"Forget it," Nina said. "Concentrate on your defense. Back to Terry. Did you ever meet her parents? What do you know about her past?"
"Her past," Kurt repeated, lingering on the words. "She spoke of her parents with the same contempt she had for everyone. I think her father was in banking. They were much older than she was. He retired early. They both died early. Nothing suspicious. They were both dead by the time I met her."
"Where did she go to school?"
"South Lake Tahoe High, and Sacramento State. English major, I think. She took some photography courses, but she didn’t really get into film until she took that film course the summer I met you."
Nina wrote it down. Keeping her head down, she said, "There’s something else I have to ask you. You know, Kurt, as far as we can tell, she had no relationships with men after you. No boyfriends, or girlfriends, for that matter. Are we missing something? She did have normal sex drives, didn’t she?"
"Let me put it this way," Kurt said. "It took me a long time to figure this out. She only made love for a reason. The sex act was a performance, like so many other times when she performed correctly to look normal. I don’t know what turned her on, unless maybe it was looking. She told me once she liked to go to these private clubs during college and watch people going at it."
"But what about companionship? She did look for love with you—"
"And look how that turned out," Kurt said. "It doesn’t surprise me, what you say about her recent life. She was terribly lonely, but she never could connect. She was perverted. I mean that in a bigger sense than just sexual perversion. She took pride in going beyond the bounds. She always said she was an artist, a genius, and someday everyone would know it."
The guard had opened the door to her cubicle.
"He can take a shower now," he said.
"Time to be going, I guess."
"Nina ..."
She was putting her papers away.
"They need to get people and dogs up there searching! Can’t you understand? I can’t leave Tam lost in the woods, if I know how to find her!"
"Do yourself a favor, Kurt. Try not to think about it for now. You were right to tell me your suspicions. Now I’ll figure out what to do. That’s my job, to figure out how to handle your case. Take care of yourself Your doctor’s appointment is coming up in a few days. I’m worried about you. Please?"
"Yes, sure. Bye, Nina," he said. He sat behind the glass, watching her, until the door closed behind her. That wasn’t a good sign.
Other cases claimed her attention for the rest of the week. Paul was working exclusively on the London case. He sent a steady stream of reports, which she read at night, lying on her bed, when she should have been sleeping.
On Friday afternoon Nina appeared in court in her new black suit for a long-postponed divorce trial. Her client, the wife, wanted to keep the family house until the youngest child had turned eighteen. She knew she could never buy another one, and she didn’t want to take away the little remaining stability the kids had. The husband wanted to sell the house so that he could rent an apartment and free up some cash to pay the heavy load of bills. They had no savings accounts or assets except their old cars. Nina had talked to her opposing counsel, a young woman lawyer from Sacramento, where the husband now lived, several times, but they had not been able to resolve the issue.
After the testimony had been taken, Milne said, "This is a very hard call. I sometimes think decisions such as these are among the hardest I have to make, where both sides are right and one party is going to have to take on more of the burden than the other. The Court rules that the wife will have possession of the family home for five years, until the youngest child is twelve. At that time, there will be another hearing to determine if the house may be sold. It is the Court’s finding that the needs of the children outweigh the advantages to the father of being able to pay joint debts and have additional funds for living expenses."
In the hall, Nina’s client hugged her and said, "Five years is enough time. Thank you."
"It’s a tough situation for all of you. I wish you luck," Nina said.
"Ms. Reilly?" Barbet Cain, the Mirror reporter, called to her as Nina’s client went down the hall to her children. "I’d like to talk
to you about the Scott case. Are you going to resign from the case due to a conflict of interest?"
"Not at all," Nina said. "There is no conflict of interest. I haven’t done anything wrong, and neither has my client."
"Some people are saying that you yourself may have had something to do with the murder of Terry London."
"That’s a crock," Nina said. "I’m not getting out of this case. It’s that simple."
"What has been the effect on your son of having his father arrested? Does he know about it?"
Nina wanted to say, don’t you dare go near him, but instead she said, "He believes, as I do, that Mr. Scott is innocent."
"Don’t you agree that it’s unusual for a lawyer to take a murder case in which she’s so closely involved with both the defendant and the victim?"
"That’s how it worked out. It won’t hamper my performance."
"Well, I have to say I’m surprised. I thought I wouldn’t get anything but ’no comment’ out of you. Thanks," the reporter said.
"No sense trying to hide behind a wall made of paper," Nina said. "I’m beginning to see that. But do me a favor. Next time, call me during my office hours when you want a comment."
The reporter nodded. "Sorry."
Nina went outside and drank water from a drinking fountain attached to the courthouse, then organized her files on a concrete bench nearby. In the early afternoon, few people remained to lounge around the grounds. Most court work occurred during the morning hours. Yellow pollen drifted through the air and the June sun beat warmly down.
Her mind drifted, as it had several times over the past few days, to Kurt’s idea that the dirt trail that led to Angora Ridge held the final ending to Tamara’s story. Her lawyerly side said, do nothing, try to keep the whole idea under wraps. But a story begun and not finished nagged at her. The best endings offered justice, sometimes interpreted in a new way, didn’t they? Could finding Tamara possibly help Kurt?
While she thought it over again, Collier Hallowell sat down beside her. She took in his expression and the brows that were knit so tightly they made a 3D star between his eyes.
"Uh-oh," she said. "You’ve got bad news for me, don’t you?"
"Your murder client just knocked out a deputy, kicked out the window of the police van taking him to the doctor, unlocked his handcuffs with the deputy’s key, and never looked back. Where is he, Nina?"
Silent alarms shrieked in her head.
"How long ago?" She moved away from him. This was no friendly interaction.
"About an hour. The van stopped for the traffic light on A1 Tahoe at the corner of Highway 50. We’re searching the area, but he may have hitchhiked. Or an accomplice picked him up."
"I was in court. I don’t know anything about it. He’s not violent, Collier. Please don’t go looking for him with guns out."
"I don’t believe you," Collier said. "You know where he’s headed. If you don’t tell me right now, that makes you an accessory. Talk to me. Don’t make me arrest you."
She pushed her files into the briefcase, thinking fast.
"You’re in love with him," Collier said, a slight vulnerability sneaking into his voice, sounding a little more forlorn than a prosecutor out to track down a killer ought to sound.
She didn’t have an answer ready.
"Are you helping him escape because of your son? Help me now, and I’ll try to help you."
"No! I had no idea he was planning this."
"You set up the doctor’s appointment," Collier said. "You told Milne he needed to be seen. Either you helped him deliberately, or he used you."
"Unless you’re going to arrest me, I’m going now."
"I should," he said. "For your own good."
"Haven’t you noticed yet, I get to decide what’s good for me?" She picked up her papers and turned her back on him, heading for the parking lot.
"Nina!" he called sternly after her.
She ignored him. Her power walk to the Bronco took forever. She hustled the car into gear and took off before he had time to develop further plans for her.
Driving home, she looked back now and then to see if she was being followed. She found Bob in the backyard with Andrea, clipping dead heads off the white-flowered marguerite bush. Taking Andrea aside, she said, "Kurt’s escaped."
Andrea gasped and looked over at Bob, who clipped energetically away, felling a low branch full of dead leaves. "Timber!" he called out.
"What do you want me to do?"
"If he comes here, he might see Bob. They look so much alike—Kurt would know. I’m not ready for this."
"Does he know where we live?"
"He knows Matt’s name, and Matt’s listed in the phone book. Andrea, the police will be after him with guns. You’ve got to get out of here."
Andrea said, "Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call Matt and then the shelter. I’ll take the kids over there and spend the night there with them. It’ll be safer than staying here."
"Perfect. Thank you, Andrea. I’ll make it up to you."
"Let’s go pack some bags," Andrea said. "So now the director of the shelter for battered women is taking shelter there. My clients might find that pretty funny."
"I don’t. C’mon. Let’s get busy," Nina said.
Fifteen minutes later Andrea left with the kids. Nina got on the phone to Sandy. "I need Paul," she said.
"He’s working with Wish. They check in at five."
"Doesn’t he have a cellular phone?"
"Won’t use one. Says they cause brain tumors and absorb the last remaining solitude on earth. What are you going to do about Kurt? Do you know where he is?"
"I have an idea," Nina said. "Tell Paul, when he calls, to drive up to Fallen Leaf Lake and take the road around the south side of the lake. When he gets to where the cabins are, tell him to locate the dirt trail up to Angora Ridge. Tell him I’ve gone there."
"Kurt’s up there?"
"I sincerely hope not," Nina said. "Just tell Paul to find me there."
"Wait for Paul," Sandy said.
"Kurt’s my client," Nina said. "He’s not dangerous, and I can bring him back with me safely if I can get to him. But I have to hurry." She hung up, ran into her bedroom, and undressed quickly, pulling on jeans, a T-shirt, and hiking boots. Surprising herself with the impulse, she threw a shovel into the trunk of the Bronco before taking off.
29
"SHE’S WHERE?" PAUL SAID TO SANDY OVER THE phone.
"No need to holler." Sandy gave him the directions. "Take Wish," she said.
"Why didn’t you stop her?"
"She ran over me like a V10 pickup," Sandy said.
Benignly neglected to discourage the weekend tourist, the green-fringed road around Fallen Leaf Lake narrowed to one lane soon after the turnoff from the highway. As she bumped over the potholes, Nina wondered how Kurt could have gotten to this area, which was several miles from the main road.
How could she second-guess him? Had she in her wildest dreams thought he would initiate something that would compromise them both so utterly?
If she had any luck at all, at this very moment he sat high in the cab of a semi, a hard-driving trucker at the wheel, heading east on Highway 50, across Nevada toward Utah. A runner from way back, Kurt would run straight out of her and Bobby’s life, and they could go back to the old life without him.
No. They would never be the same.
And she knew him well enough to know how he thought, and where he would go first. He would probably need some tools.
Rounding a bend in the road beyond the country store, she spotted the metallic roof of the cabin in dense woods up an overgrown dirt road.
The Bronco kicked up a storm of dirt as she pulled over into a wide area and parked. The trail to Angora Ridge was nearby. By standing in an open field off the road, she could just see the tip of the fire-tracking station that sat near the top of the trail. She could follow parts of the ridge trail, straining with her eyes.
She saw no movement up t
here.
Wind through trees. An airplane far off. Quiet. Many of these lonely cabins were unoccupied except on weekends.
Climbing onto the sagging porch, she tried the knob. Something broke and she pushed the door open. Inside, undisturbed dust on the floor told her right away the place was empty.
"Kurt," she whispered. She felt his presence. Fallen Leaf Lake, the cabin with the stone fireplace ...
Memory mixed with fear. She remembered him as he had been, so beautiful in his youth and strength, his kisses, his hands.... She didn’t know. She just didn’t know. Was she running after him to bring him back? Or was it the promise of him free again, without the glass wall to keep them apart?
Out back, the toolshed had been recently disturbed. The rusting lock had been knocked open.
Brushing aside cobwebs, she examined the assortment of old tools that lay scattered on the floor. A rake. A plastic snow scoop. A hoe hanging loose on its screw. A trowel without a handle. And a relatively clean spot on the floor suggesting that he had found the tool he needed.
She did her best to replace the lock on the shed, and hefted the shovel she’d brought from home in her right hand, walking the few hundred yards to the trailhead the led up to Angora Ridge.
The sun glanced through the pines. The air filled with peeps and flutters, as unseen birds, small ground animals, and insects burrowed and buzzed their way through the forest. Ahead of her in the path, she saw several kinds of shoe prints, and the prints of a dog far apart. She could picture the dog off his leash bounding ahead of its slowpoke two-legged owner. She stopped. From far away, down in the more settled area near the lake below, she heard a whistle.
Unaccustomed to such a steep climb, she felt her knees begin to quiver about a quarter of a mile up. Soon she saw areas of brush flattened regularly, every fifty feet or so, and small dirt piles. "Kurt?" she called, but there was no reply. She rested her knees and continued.
Invasion of Privacy Page 27