by Unknown
Terri gazed at the floor. ‘I don’t know, Chris. I really don’t.’
She sounded tired, distant. ‘I’m sorry,’ Paget said quietly. ‘I know how disappointed you must be.’
‘In what?’
‘In me.’ Paget found it painful to say more. ‘Look, I’ll take you off the case, help you find another job –’
‘No.’ Terri stood. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’
Paget stared at her. ‘Get what?’
‘You said I was your friend. All right, I get to care about you as a friend.’ Her eyes were alive again. ‘You’re a much better person than you allow yourself to believe, so this hurts me that much more. But that’s all you’re seeing, damn it. I’m not fifteen.’
Paget watched her face, unsure of what to do. ‘You owe me nothing, Terri. I chose you as a friend. You didn’t choose me.’
The smallest smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘you really are hopeless.’
When the telephone rang, Paget was still looking at her.
‘Mary Carelli,’ the receptionist said, ‘to see you.’
For a moment longer, Paget gazed at Terri. ‘Send her in,’ he answered.
When Mary entered, turning to Terri with open curiosity, Paget realized that the two had never met.
It was stange to see them facing each other: Mary nearly a half foot taller, with her air of sophistication and command; Terri, still young, with that look of level intelligence, of seeing things clearly. They seemed very different.
Terri extended her hand. ‘I’m Terri Peralta,’ she said. She did not smile; it was no doubt difficult, Paget thought, to first encounter a client within moments of learning that she was amoral, a gifted liar, and, quite possibly, some form of murderer. Add that Mary was Paget’s ex-lover and the less than stellar mother of a teenage boy whom Terri seemed to like, and Terri’s poker face was an achievement.
‘Yes, of course.’ Smiling slightly, Mary gave Terri a quick once-over, which Paget thought less than polite. ‘Chris, as is so often the case, seems to have forgotten his manners. Including any explanation of why it was so urgent to see me.’
‘Now that you’re here,’ Terri answered, ‘I’m sure that Chris will make it up to you.’
Terri’s tone, cool and undeferential, transformed her from Paget’s associate into a woman with thoughts of her own. It seemed to bring Mary up short.
She turned to Paget, as if to dismiss Terri from the room. ‘Are the two of you through?’ she asked him. ‘If not, I can wait outside.’
Beneath the polite inquiry, Mary’s message was clear: Whatever Paget had in mind, she did not wish to discuss it in front of Terri. ‘Oh, no,’ Paget said casually. ‘We’re ready to meet with you now.’
For an instant, Mary looked off balance. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘it would be better if we talked alone.’
Paget took his time. ‘I have no secrets from Terri,’ he answered. ‘And neither do you.’
Mary stared at him. ‘What do you mean, precisely?’
‘That as long as she works on this case, and whatever it turns out to involve, Terri will know everything.’
Something new crossed Mary’s face, doubt and a trace of humiliation. How much does she know? the expression asked. Turning to Terri, she said, ‘Chris must have great confidence in you.’
Terri nodded. ‘He can, so you can. But I have things I can be doing.’ She turned to Paget. ‘Think you can handle this alone?’
Paget felt himself smile. ‘I think so.’ He paused, then added, ‘Thanks for your help.’
Mary looked from Paget to Terri and back again.
‘Sure,’ Terri said easily. She went to the door, gave Paget a final glance, and left.
Mary watched the door close. Then, as if to dispel her own tension, she said lightly, ‘There’s something a little proprietary in how she looks at you, don’t you think?’
‘Something a little human. I’m trying to get used to that.’
Mary continued, as if impervious to his tone. ‘I’d guess she has a crush on you, actually. But then I’m sure that even the mailroom boy pines for you hopelessly –’
‘Is this your idea of diversionary patter?’ Paget interrupted. ‘Because if you’re auditioning for Private Lives, I wouldn’t expect a long-term contract.’
She stopped abruptly, sat down. ‘All right,’ she said quietly. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Why don’t you tell me? For once.’
Mary turned to the window. Waves of rain hit the glass, a drumbeat of sound. Her tone was subdued. ‘Do I get a clue?’
‘Just one. Think of something a client with any intelligence would tell her lawyer.’ Paget’s voice grew softer yet. ‘Or something a mother with any decency would tell a father.’
Mary could not seem to turn from the window. ‘They found a tape.’
‘Yes.’
She leaned back in the chair. ‘Where?’
‘At Ransom’s apartment.’
Mary’s eyes shut. ‘What, exactly, is on it?’
‘It’s your tape, Mary.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s been five years. I was in somewhat of a state.’
‘So was I, listening to it.’
‘Please, Chris.’
‘All right. It begins with your dream, in the cathedral of St Germain-des-Prés.’ Paget paused. ‘It ends with your perjury before the Senate.’
She expelled a short breath, eyes still closed. ‘I never meant you to hear that.’
‘Why? Did you think I’d forgotten?’
She shook her head. ‘The dream.’
‘It enhanced your image. Really, I was pleased to discover that your subconscious believes in sin.’
Mary swallowed. In a trembling voice, she said, ‘And your associate knows all this.’
‘You have an odd sense of priorities. The district attorney knows all this.’ Paget’s voice went cold. ‘They’re issuing an arrest warrant.’
Slowly, Mary nodded. Her eyes remained shut.
Paget leaned forward. ‘If I retained any sense of humour about this, I’d say we were having a crisis of confidence.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was soft. ‘I truly am.’
‘So am I. Particularly because there seems to be a second tape out there, one that is no doubt worse for me.’
‘Yes,’ she answered dully. ‘Far worse.’
‘Would you mind looking at me while you admit to screwing me and, potentially, our son? After all, they say that the eyes are the windows of the soul.’
Mary turned and opened her eyes. It was a look more naked than he had seen that night in Washington. The night when he had found out who and what she really was.
‘What would you like from me?’ she asked.
‘Some approximation of the truth. Because if you lie now, I walk – no matter what.’
She stared at him, silent.
‘Tell me about Steinhardt,’ he demanded.
‘I saw him once. Five years ago, for two hours. I never went back.’
‘Why not?’
‘Perhaps it was like confession: tell it once, and it’s over.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘There was something haunting about it – him, the room, the tape. Talking about it all.’ She paused. ‘You know how Indians used to believe that a photograph would steal your soul? When I left, that’s how I felt about those two hours.’
‘Did you stop having the dream?’
Mary’s face hardened. ‘That,’ she said, ‘is none of your concern.’
Paget watched her. ‘Why are there two tapes?’
‘Because I was there so long. As I recall, he had to change tapes.’
‘What’s on the second tape?’
Mary shook her head. ‘Some of what I said is my property, as all of it was meant to be until Mark Ransom started pawing it. I don’t feel the need to discuss it with you, and I won’t.’
‘There is, I assume, more about the Lasko case.’
‘Nothing that should make my situation any worse – I’d already confessed to perjury. To the extent that it concerns you, the missing tape tells what you knew.’ She paused, adding quietly, ‘It also concerns the circumstances of Carlo’s adoption, as it were.’
Paget appraised her. ‘Where’s the second tape?’
‘I don’t know.’ She turned away. ‘For your sake, and for Carlo’s, I hope they never find it.’
‘Ransom didn’t say?’
Mary hesitated, as if deep in thought. ‘No. He didn’t say.’
Paget waited until she looked at him. Quietly, he asked, ‘Did you murder him?’
Mary turned back to him, composed. ‘He tried to abuse me,’ she said coolly. ‘I executed him.’
Paget could think of nothing to say. At length, he asked, ‘Why did Ransom call you? The truth, this time.’
She nodded. ‘To tell me he had the tape.’
‘Your tape, or the tape of Laura Chase?’
‘Both.’ She paused. ‘He made it clear that his interests were both professional and personal.’
‘How so?’
‘Professionally, he wanted to use the Laura Chase tape to promote his book.’ She looked down. ‘Personally, he felt we should have a “private interview” about my past.’
‘Was he more explicit?’
‘He didn’t have to be.’ Her eyes raised. ‘His tone of voice was worse than anything he could have said.’
Paget paused. ‘What did he say about the tape itself? Your tape, that is.’
‘He described what was on it – in detail. To leave me in no doubt he had it.’
‘Did you ask him to bring the tape to San Francisco?’
Her eyes filled with anger. ‘Yes.’
‘But he didn’t?’
She stared at him. ‘It seems to me,’ she said coldly, ‘that you and your friends at the D.A.’s office just finished listening to a tape. I suppose my good friend Mark just forgot to bring it out.’
‘But he did remember to bring the Laura Chase tape.’
‘Of course.’ Her voice was edged with contempt. ‘As I told Inspector Monk, it seemed to excite him.’
Paget watched her face. ‘Why San Francisco?’ he asked.
‘He told me that he had a private interview with another famous woman.’ Contempt turned to bitterness. ‘That he wanted us “back-to-back.” That he wanted to “compare notes.”’
That, Paget realized, had the ring of truth – but only if one knew about Lindsay Caldwell. ‘Did he mention any names?’
‘No. He was going to be “discreet,” he said.’ She paused. ‘Even on the telephone, I could feel his hands on me. That was why I bought the gun.’
‘So you lied to Monk about receiving threatening calls.’
‘Of course.’ Mary looked pensive. ‘If I had told him the truth – that Ransom was blackmailing me – then I’d have a motive for murder, wouldn’t I?’
‘Not to mention that purchasing the weapon begins to sound more than a bit like premeditation.’
Mary shrugged. ‘Anyhow, they can’t prove I got no calls. I’m better off with that than I am with the truth.’
Paget smiled faintly. ‘Getting by with one lie out of six or so leaves something to be desired. Whatever made you think you could go one-on-one with someone like Charles Monk and come out ahead?’
‘I didn’t want to look guilty.’ She gave him a sardonic returning smile. ‘I suppose my past success had made me overconfident.’
‘That’s unfortunate. The average homicide cop is smarter than the average senator, and much more attentive to detail.’ He paused. ‘Just for fun, why don’t you tell me exactly what did happen in that room.’
Mary searched his face. ‘Does it matter?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The tape of Monk questioning me is admissible, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then that’s the story I’m stuck with.’
‘True,’ Paget said. ‘And that’s unfortunate as well. You didn’t tell Monk about Steinhardt. You didn’t admit to blackmail. You forgot about closing the blinds. You got the gunshot distance all wrong. You denied leaving the room after Ransom died, which you clearly did. And as far as Liz Shelton is concerned, you have no respect for the rear end of a corpse. Compared to all that, making up nonexistent phone calls is a stroke of genius.’
Mary’s gaze was level. ‘Too bad. Because the essence of what I told them was true.’
‘Define “essence.”’ Paget’s voice went cold. ‘I can hardly wait.’
Mary breathed in again. ‘Ransom abused me,’ she said slowly. ‘And I killed him.’ She touched her cheek. ‘If that weren’t true, this wouldn’t have happened. Please, trust me this far.’
‘What did happen?’ Paget asked again.
‘What I said happened. Insert the tape of me with that of Laura Chase, add the blackmail that came with it, and what I told Monk is pretty much the truth.’ Mary paused. ‘With allowances for shock and a few omissions.’
‘Like the blinds?’
‘Yes. I pulled them down.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Ransom asked me to.’ She looked down. ‘Things hadn’t come to a head.’
‘And leaving the room?’
Mary folded her hands. ‘I thought about getting help. Then I figured I hadn’t thought quite hard enough.’
‘About what?’
‘About what to say and what to leave out.’
‘Is that why you delayed in calling – because you were refining your story?’
‘It was hard for me to think, that’s all. Looking back at it, I really was in shock.’ Her voice lowered. ‘A lot had been done to me, emotionally and physically, and then I’d killed the man who’d done it.’
Paget waited for a moment. ‘You should know,’ he said at last, ‘that they’ll take a plea of voluntary manslaughter.’
She faced the window again. The clouds had thickened, blocking the view; the rain spattering the window seemed to come from a wall of gray. ‘And if I don’t agree?’
‘Then you go on trial. For murder one.’
For a long time, Mary was quiet. ‘What are my chances?’ she asked.
Paget hesitated. ‘It’s a tough case,’ he finally said. ‘For both sides.’
‘Why tough for them?’
‘They can’t get the Steinhardt tape in. Unless, possibly, you take the stand.’
‘And for us?’
‘If you don’t take the stand, they play the tape of what you said to Monk and then show all the problems with your story. After that, the jury will wonder why they should believe in a woman who’s lied to the police and then declined to testify.’ Paget paused. ‘Frankly, to the extent that I believe you at all, it’s only because Melissa Rappaport and Lindsay Caldwell lend you some credibility. Granted, the jury doesn’t have the advantage of knowing you as well as I do, but they probably won’t have the advantage of seeing Rappaport or Caldwell, either. I doubt the judge will let the jury hear them.’
Mary turned to him. ‘Which means I have to testify.’
‘I think so.’ Paget gazed at her. ‘More specifically, you have to explain your misstatements to Monk, admit the blackmail you forgot to mention, and then persuade the jury to believe you anyway.’
She smiled slightly. ‘That’s all?’
‘Not quite. You will also have to admit the Steinhardt tape was damaging, while avoiding any mistakes that would strip you of the psychiatrist-patient privilege and allow Sharpe to play it for a jury. Because if they get to hear you admit lying to the Senate, it’s over. And Marnie Sharpe will be looking for any way she can, including tricks as dirty as she can get away with, to make sure that happens.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s ambitious. As ambitious as you were.’
Mary’s face turned grim. ‘Ambitious, perhaps. But she doesn’t have nearly enough to lose.’
Paget shook his head. ‘In the middle
of the night, when she’s alone with her private thoughts, I think Marnie Sharpe has as much to lose as anyone.’
‘And you, Chris?’
‘If that tape comes in, I may have a lot to lose. And so may Carlo.’ Paget paused. ‘Which is why McKinley Brooks suggests that I sell you this deal.’
Mary considered him. ‘I plead guilty, and the tape stays buried. Is that the deal?’
‘Yes.’
‘How neat.’
‘Whatever,’ Paget said softly, ‘made you think they wouldn’t find it?’
Mary’s eyes narrowed. ‘Because I didn’t know where it was. And if I didn’t tell them about it, the police wouldn’t know to look.’
‘Bad judgment, Mary. As I said, you’re losing your touch.’
Mary sighed. ‘All right,’ she said finally. ‘What would you do?’
‘I won’t say. Brooks and Sharpe want me to make a choice for you, and their choice at that. I refuse.’
‘Despite what you and Carlo have at risk?’
‘Despite that. You put me here, because you thought I’d play to win. That’s the “essence” of you – manipulative and completely without conscience – and I despise you for it. But I won’t let the D.A. turn your trick around on me and make me play to lose.’ Paget shrugged. ‘Your killing, Mary. Your choice.’
She was quiet for a time. ‘If I go to trial, will you defend me?’
‘What about Carlo? After all, he is our son.’
Mary looked down. ‘The way I see it,’ she said slowly, ‘is that Carlo’s mother is either an admitted murderer or a potential perjurer with a chance to be innocent of murder. Which I am.’ She looked up again. ‘So the only question is: Will you represent me?’
Paget got up, walked to the window. Again weighed Melissa Rappaport, Lindsay Caldwell, the odds that whatever Mary had done was not premeditated murder. And, finally, thought of Carlo.
He went to the telephone. ‘I’ll call Brooks,’ he said.
Mary looked relieved. But all she said was, ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’