As if she knew what he'd been thinking, and she'd been assigned the task of reminding him of what she'd done to him, how she'd broken him, she appeared at her front door. She didn't see him at first. She opened her umbrella as she stepped out. She had on a raincoat, but he could tell from her pumps and her styled hair that she was heading to Newman. She had a small overnight bag slung over her shoulder. He realized that he'd been sitting there in the rain for quite some time, long enough, at least, for her to have showered and dressed for work.
She spotted him when she turned around to lock the deadbolt on her door. She stood motionless, her right hand still holding the key in the lock. He could tell from the startled expression on her face that she hadn't prepared herself for the possibility of seeing him again just then. They stared at each other silently.
A loud clap of thunder interrupted their standoff and she jumped. She looked down at her hand holding the key as if she didn't understand that it belonged to her. She slipped the key from the door and dropped her key chain into her purse. Without looking at him again, she walked down the steps and crossed the street to her car, taking care to avoid puddles. He waited for her to look at him one last time, to offer him a ride downtown, even though he knew he would refuse. But she didn't do either.
After she had driven off, he began the long walk in the rain to his car. Calling a cab just wasn't an option.
The clock on the dash read 11:52 A.M. when he exited the interstate onto Route 54. He'd reach Jeff City in a half hour, but he worried that he wouldn't be able to concentrate on what anyone was saying or, worse, that he'd get sick again. Before he'd left St. Louis, he'd called from his car and left a message that he'd be later than he thought, using the car and the rain as an excuse. He knew it really didn't matter if he made it on time, but he was afraid that if he didn't call ahead, they'd notice his absence and call his office looking for him. On his way out of the city, after he'd made certain Claire was gone, he'd stopped by the house to change clothes. He knew it was foolish because there was a good chance a neighbor might see him, and it would most certainly get back to Claire. But he wasn't thinking clearly enough to cover his tracks adequately.
When he arrived at the seminar, he sat in the comfort of the small, dry space of his car and tried to compose himself. He thought that maybe he should wait until they took their lunch break before joining them; maybe then his entrance wouldn't be so noticeable. Even better, maybe he should just turn around and go home. The thought of sleep seduced him, and he wanted nothing more than to be in his own bed, alone in the quiet house, where he could slip into a dream, where everything made sense.
He leaned back against the headrest and waited until the windows had completely fogged up. And then, when he could no longer see out and he knew no one could see in, he started to cry, releasing the surging grief that had built up on the long drive. When he closed his eyes, he kept seeing Claire, the first time they'd ever made love, on a blanket under the stars in the middle of a high school football field near the university. He thought of her fair skin, damp from their mingled sweat, how it glistened in the blue light of the moon.
He had an overwhelming desire to just tell her what he'd done, just skip all the pain they'd both have to go through and get immediately to the forgiveness. He longed so badly just to have that forgiveness, to tell her it had nothing to do with her, and have her know that, believe that. But he knew it wouldn't be like that. He couldn't skip the pain, and he knew she'd never grant him the forgiveness he so desperately needed. He was certain that if she ever found out, their marriage would be over.
"It's the ultimate intimate act, to let a man actually enter your body, become one with you, and to let him watch you, with all your inhibitions down," she had explained years ago, when she'd been questioning the casual sex lives of her friends. "How could you even want to do that with someone you didn't love deeply?"
"I guess you just get horny sometimes," Jack had answered then. Now the words seemed so flippant; she'd been trying to tell him something important to her. She hadn't been offended, but she had remained serious. She told Jack that adultery was the one thing she could never forgive, even if she wanted to.
"I couldn't bear the thought of you experiencing that connection with another woman."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THERE WERE NO messages from Jenny when he returned to his empty office at eight that evening, as there had been that Friday morning in the spring. There were no attempts to reach him, no entreaties to pretend that nothing had happened. He'd probably never hear from Jenny Dodson again, despite her pleas for him not to treat her differently. She wouldn't even give him the chance.
The call came at ten on Sunday night. He'd been struck low with a fever most of the weekend. When the phone rang, he knew it was her. Maybe she'd gone away for the weekend. Maybe she'd finally come to her senses. He didn't even stop to consider that his house was the last place she'd try to reach him, if she tried to reach him at all.
"I'll get it," he said a little too eagerly, rising from his chair in front of the television.
Claire narrowed her eyes at him and motioned for him to sit back down. "I think I can get it from here." She answered the phone on the table next to her without taking her eyes from him. He took his seat and listened carefully to her side of the conversation.
"Hi, Maria." Maria? Maria had been assigned to on-call duty that weekend. She was responsible for filing the charges against anyone picked up between Friday night and Monday morning. "Yeah, he's here. No, no, it's okay. We're still awake."
Why was Maria calling him? What couldn't wait until tomorrow? He tried to read Claire's face for clues when he took the phone.
"Yeah, Maria?"
"Jack, I'm really sorry to call you." Whatever she had to tell him, he sensed that she didn't want to be the one to do it.
"It's okay. What is it?"
"I'm at the police station, and they're saying I need to call another county because we can't handle this, and I don't know what to do." The words tumbled from her mouth.
"Slow down. Back up. Can't handle what?" He shrugged at Claire.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry." She began to choke up. "They've brought Jenny in and—"
Her trembling voice reached through the phone and gripped his chest like a vise. "What?"
"They're saying I can't prepare the charges, that no one in our office should be involved with preparing the charges—"
"Stop! What are you talking about? Brought Jenny in for what?" He stared past Claire as she sat down on the footstool in front of him.
Maria hesitated. She lowered her voice. "For murder."
"What?"
"A lady named Maxine Shepard was shot on Thursday night."
Jack looked directly at Claire. What he'd thought couldn't get any worse just had.
"Supposedly she was a client at Newman," Maria added. Her voice seemed to come from far away. When he didn't respond—he was too busy panicking—she said, "Jack?"
"This is ridiculous! Let me talk to them," he demanded.
"Jack—"
"Let me talk to them, dammit!"
Claire set her hand on his knee.
"Mr. Hilliard?"
He didn't recognize the voice. "Who is this?"
"Officer Ryan, from the—"
"What do you think you're doing? You can't possibly have any evidence to warrant this."
"Well, sir, we think we do, but we're aware that Ms. Dodson helped you in your election, and Ms. Catalona here indicated she's also your close friend, so you know I can't discuss this with you or with her. I need someone to call another county so we can get the arrest warrant issued."
Jack stood. "Jesus, Ryan. She didn't commit a murder! What are you doing?"
Claire gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
"I'm doing my job, Mr. Hilliard. With all due respect, can you please just do yours and inform Ms. Catalona how she can reach a prosecutor in Franklin County or somewhere?"
&nbs
p; "Don't move. I'm coming down there."
"There's no need, I just—"
But Jack hung up the phone before Ryan could finish his sentence. "I've gotta get down there." He headed for the kitchen and Claire followed him.
"What's going on? They think Jenny had something to do with a murder?"
He ignored her as he searched through the mess on the counter in a desperate attempt to find his car keys. "What is all this crap, anyway?" He shoved a pile of papers to the edge, causing one of Michael's books to fall on the floor. "Where the hell are my keys?"
"Jack." She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. You shouldn't drive when you're this upset. Why don't I call Marcia and she can stay here while I drive you?"
"No!" The last thing he needed was to have Claire with him as he tried to straighten this out. He took a deep breath. "I'm fine. Can you just find my keys for me?"
She opened the cabinet above the counter. The keys were on the bottom shelf, in the same spot as always.
"Sorry." Taking the keys, he turned and started for the door to the garage, but she grabbed his hand.
"Jack?"
"Claire, I'm in a hurry."
She leaned closer, kissed his cheek near his ear. "Just try to drive carefully, will you? You can't help her if you don't get there alive."
He nodded, stopping long enough to return her kiss.
He didn't deserve her.
When he burst through the door to the police station, the man he took to be Officer Ryan was in the middle of explaining to Maria that they had only twenty hours to file the charges, and then they'd have to let Jenny go. Maria, of course, already knew this. She had her arms and legs crossed, and she rolled her eyes at Jack when he entered.
"Where is she?" Jack asked.
"Mr. Hilliard?" Ryan offered his hand. "I'm Officer Ryan, Craig Ryan."
Jack gave him the obligatory shake. "Where is she?"
"She's in a holding cell." He smirked at Jack. "Same place they all go."
"What? Are you crazy? You don't have an empty room where you could've let her wait?"
Ryan stared at him, his face deadpan. "She'd being held for murder, sir."
"She's a respected attorney in this town, in case you weren't aware."
Ryan shrugged.
"Take me to her."
"I'm not at liberty to do that. You're not her lawyer."
"No, goddammit! I'm the DA for this city. Which, if I understand correctly, means I'm also the Chief Law Enforcement Officer. So let's just say I want to interrogate her."
Ryan exaggerated his sigh on purpose. "Mr. Hilliard, even—"
"Can you please call me Jack?"
"Jack, even if you were a complete stranger to her, you know I couldn't let you do that. Anyway, she's already said she's not talking to anyone except her lawyer."
Good for her. Right call. He'd known of enough lawyers who thought they were smarter than the cop interrogating them and ended up waiving their rights.
"How is she?"
Ryan brushed off the question. "She's fine. You should ask how the guards are. She's a tough cookie. Has quite a mouth on her."
Jack glanced over at Maria, who wore a hint of a smile.
"Well, just let me in as a visitor, then. As a friend. Just to see she's okay."
Ryan shook his head. "Sorry, till she's been booked."
Jack started to get angry again. There had to be some benefits to this job. "Get your boss on the phone. I'm sure he'll have no issue with me seeing her."
"I already called him, while you were on your way here. I'm following his orders."
Shit. Trumped again. "Can you at least tell me what you have, to haul her in like this?"
"Listen, Mr. Hil— Jack, I tried to tell you on the phone. I can't talk to you about this case. Given your relationship with the defendant—"
"And what relationship is that?" As soon as the question spilled from his mouth, he thought it sounded too defensive.
Ryan looked at Maria. "As I said, in addition to the fact that she worked on your campaign, I'm talking about the relationship as described by Ms. Catalona. She said you two are good friends, that you used to work together at the same law firm."
"Jenny didn't tell you that?"
"Ms. Dodson didn't even mention you, sir." Jack looked away, tried to hide a growing blush; when he didn't respond, Ryan continued. "Given that relationship, you know your entire office will be required to disqualify itself from handling this case. Now, I'm asking you to please do the right thing and get a prosecutor from another county on the phone for me."
Do the right thing. Ryan had no idea he'd chosen the exact four words that would get the reaction he wanted. It had been a long time since Jack felt like he'd done the right thing.
"Okay. But I need to get over to my office to get the numbers. Can you at least get a message to her for me while I'm gone?" Ryan nodded. Jack liked him; he wasn't cocky, and Jack knew he was simply doing as he'd been instructed. "Can you tell her I'm trying to get in to see her, that I'm working on it?"
Ryan agreed, and back at his office Jack did as he'd promised. He reached an assistant DA for Franklin County; she lived just outside Pacific and promised to be there within the hour. He returned to the police station within twenty minutes, eager to hear if Ryan had kept his end of the bargain.
"I gave her your message, but she had one for you, and I don't think you're going to like it."
Jack felt Maria watching them as one watched a tennis match—back and forth, back and forth. He wasn't sure she should be in the room when Ryan relayed the message, but he didn't know how to get her out tactfully without raising suspicions. Jenny wouldn't give anything away, though. If what she had to say was sensitive, he felt confident she'd code the message somehow.
"Well?"
"She said she's not expecting you, and she doesn't want you involved." He paused, and Jack waited, anticipating, praying there was more. "That was the 'edited for vulgarity' version, by the way."
On Monday morning the DA from Franklin County, Alan Sterling, arrived to take over where his assistant had left off on Sunday night, and it quickly became apparent to Jack that this DA had political aspirations which would affect how he handled the case. He, too, refused to allow Jack to see Jenny; he claimed to be fearful of tainting the case and wanted to research the issue first. Jack knew it had nothing to do with a fear of tainting the case and everything to do with asserting his newfound power over the new, young, big-city DA, who wasn't even able to handle the first high-profile case to land on his desk.
He spent the morning stewing over his impotence. His mind kept returning to Thursday night. He thought, too, of Jenny sitting in jail, and of the story she'd told him about her family. The memory finally moved him to action.
The main file room buzzed with activity, as it did every Monday. The musty smell of old paper permeated the cavernous room. He'd always liked the smell; it usually reminded him that the thousands of brown files that lined the drawers and walls of the room had historical significance beyond the role he or any other lawyer had played in creating them. But today the smell assaulted him, made him think of something rotten and insidious.
Lawyers from all over the city stood at the long counter, jockeying for the attention of the clerks in charge of retrieving the requested files. Jack approached the counter tentatively, mindful that most of them standing there had seen the morning's headlines with their first cup of coffee. As he waited for Rose, the file room's head clerk, he drummed his fingers nervously on the worn wooden counter and stared mindlessly at the doodles carved over the years by the pen points of impatient lawyers. The other clerks behind the counter benevolently ignored him and helped others as they scribbled case names or file numbers on the little pieces of scrap paper lying around. They'd learned that Jack liked Rose best and would wait for her if she was busy helping another attorney.
Today she bestowed a sympathetic look on him as she leaned on the counter to greet him.
/> "Jack, rough weekend, I hear," she said, her voice raspy but low, as if they already shared a secret. "That lawyer gal they picked up is your friend, huh?"
"Yeah." He felt far too close to this one to talk casually about it with her, the way they did about everything else. "Look, Rose, I need some help locating an old file. I think it's probably from 1974 or 1975. I only know the victims' names; I don't know the defendant's name."
"Anything for you, Jack." She picked up a pen, her hand poised to write.
"It's Dodson. A triple murder."
She wrote the name and then slowly looked up at him. "That's the lady's name, ain't it?" He nodded. She regarded him quietly and winked. "Give me a sec, okay?"
Despite her request, he knew a search by the victim's name alone could take a while, and he didn't wish to pass the time fidgeting at the counter where he felt all eyes were on him. He slipped into one of the phone rooms at the end of the counter and sat down to wait. He stared at the old tan phone on the table, its boxy shape a sharp contrast to the new, streamlined black phones recently installed in the DA's office. The simplicity of it comforted him. He shut the door for privacy, picked up the receiver, and called Claire at the university.
Tell No Lies Page 24