Grace's chin lowered, her lashes fluttered and then she fixed her gaze on Josie. Josie could swear she heard the gears of Grace McCreary's mind working.
"You're right. I apologize," she said quietly. "May I have some water?"
Josie got up. Babcock was waiting in the hall. She asked for water and when he came back he had two cups and news.
"I'm going to lock her down for the night," he said.
"Don't be ridiculous. She'll post bail." Josie took the Styrofoam cups.
"The DA says no bail, no special treatment."
"Tell the DA she'll post the max. You can't keep her unless you're denying bail on special circumstances," Josie argued.
"That's how we're holding her," he answered. "We're full here, so I have to send her downtown."
"Charming," Josie muttered just before she closed the door with her foot.
She put a cup in front of Grace and sat down. Grace wrapped her hands around it and looked everywhere but at Josie. Josie had no use for martyrs or teases or women who hid their guilt behind feminine wiles. She had no use for the rich who felt they were above the fray. But then Josie looked closer and saw that Grace's naked lips were quivering. If this was an act it was darn good. If it wasn't, Grace McCreary needed help.
"Tell me what happened that night," Josie said.
A tremor shook Grace from the bottom up, until her spine was locked, every muscle in her body was taut and the story was haltingly told.
"I was worried about my sister-in-law. I had a key. I let myself into her house. She was dressing and heard me come in. She wasn't happy. She said she had an appointment."
"With who?" Josie asked.
"I don't know. Michelle usually cleared her calendar with me so Matthew would know where she was, but she hadn't called in the longest time. Michelle was so angry that I barged in. She thought I was checking up on her."
"But you were."
"But not in the way you think," Grace objected. "I was concerned. Anyway, Michelle told me to leave and threatened to have me evicted if I didn't go. She and Matthew had been having some problems. Matthew had been traveling a lot. Michelle had been alone so much. I had seen her depressed before, I had seen her unhappy but I had never seen her angry.
"I was afraid she might do something foolish so I tried to get her to sit down. She screamed at me not to touch her and ran away. I thought she was going to the bedroom but she went to the balcony instead. I don't know if Michelle planned on jumping, but I sensed what was going to happen. God, it made me feel sick. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move . . ."
The Styrofoam cup danced in Grace's hand. She let go of it and planted her elbows on the table. Her forehead fell forward onto her clasped hands. Grace sucked in her breath but she couldn't seem to get it deep enough to fill her lungs. She panicked and breathed faster.
"I grabbed for her. I just reacted. I reached out and I think I touched Michelle. No. No. I did touch her."
She gestured with one hand, painting a swirl as if cleaning an imaginary window that looked onto the past. Her hands went to the side of her head and pushed at her hair, slicking it back, plastering it down as she spoke.
"Michelle looked back at me. Her face was so gorgeous and awful all at the same time. It was like she couldn't stand the sight of me. I knew in my heart what was happening, but I don't know exactly what did happen. One minute Michelle was with me . . . she was right there . . ."
Suddenly, Grace threw herself back in her chair and shoved the cup away from her. The water waved and jumped the rim. Her hands came together and that obscenely large emerald was turned and twirled until the skin beneath it looked bloody red while the heels of her hands rested in the puddle.
"I heard our voices. I heard her voice and I thought we were arguing. Or maybe it was my voice and I was begging. And then. . ." The breath she took was short. "And then she was just gone."
Grace opened her hands as if to show Josie she held no secrets.
"She didn't scream." Grace's hands lowered to the table, palms down. She slid them over the surface until she was holding the table's edge with her fingertips. "She didn't scream."
"Then what?" Josie whispered.
Grace shook her head. The horror of that moment was forgotten. Her shoulders squared and her hands fell into her lap. Grace was worn out.
"I ran away. I ran through the living room and I opened the door and I left."
"You didn't go downstairs and check on your sister-in-law? You didn't want to see if she was alive?"
"I knew she couldn't survive that fall." Grace wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, though Josie saw no tears. "I was in shock. I got in my car and went home. I waited for someone to come but no one did."
"Did you call Matthew?"
"How could I tell him about that? He would have blamed me for not saving her. He would have blamed me forever," Grace said defiantly before shaking her head sorrowfully. "But I didn't think about that until later. Right then, all I could think about was that I was afraid and I didn't want anyone to find me there. I was a coward."
"But if it was a suicide, why would you care if anyone found you there?"
Grace leaned far over the table, Josie did the same, drawn in by the other woman's voice, and the eyes set as close as the double barrel of a shotgun.
"I just didn't want to make it worse," she whispered. Before Josie could suggest that nothing was worse than Michelle McCreary going off the balcony, Babcock was back, wanting to take Grace away and that was just wrong. Josie stood up and put herself between them.
"Let me call the deputy who pulled the case," Josie insisted. "There's absolutely no reason to hold her."
"I'm sorry. This isn't my call."
Babcock reached for Grace with one hand while he retrieved his cuffs with the other. Grace whimpered and shrank away. She leapt up from the table and her chair toppled and fell.
"Oh, no. No. Don't put those on me," Grace cried as Josie tried to jockey between them.
"Come on, Babcock." Josie clipped his shoulder with her hand. He flinched and blocked her. Josie threw her arms out and backed off. It was wrong to touch him but she didn't have to be quiet.
"Give me five minutes to run it down." She persisted, as Babcock backed Grace into the wall.
"Josie, call Matthew. Call him now," Grace pleaded, near screaming with hysteria. "Please, Josie. Don't let them lock me up. Stop. Stop it. Stop it!"
Expertly Babcock cornered Grace McCreary. His hand was on her wrist. Twisting her arm behind her back. She bent forward and cried out, hurting herself as she struggled. There was a snap and a ratchet of metal as the teeth caught and tightened. Josie was right there, holding Grace's shoulders, talking to her, steadying her. Grace's free hand snatched at Josie, catching at her blouse.
"Oh, God. Oh, God!" Grace cried and clutched at the air until Josie grabbed her hand and held it tight as the litany continued. "Please don't do this, Detective. Please, don't let them lock me away. I didn't do anything. Where's Matthew? Please call Matthew . . ."
Josie's jaw set as she was dragged deep into the rumble of Grace McCreary's hysteria, pulled into her whirlpool of fear. Don't abandon me. Stay with me. Save me. Save me.
"Grace. Look at me. Grace." Josie called her name again and again. "Grace. Stand still. Stop. Stop. I'll find Matthew but you have to think now. You have to take care of yourself. Give me time, Grace. . . ."
Josie's arm went around Grace McCreary's shoulders. Her fingers pulsed with the other woman's fear. Then Josie's eyes touched Babcock's and held. She didn't like to beg but it wasn't beneath her. In the next second the sound of metal on metal cut through the room again. Grace jerked. There was an accusation in Josie's eyes but it faded to gratitude when Babcock stepped away and secured the cuffs at his belt. Grace fell into Josie's embrace.
"Thank you." Josie acknowledged the favor with a curt nod.
"It's all I can do," he answered before addressing Grace. "
Ms. McCreary."
Grace understood that a favor had been granted. She let go of Josie and held herself erect. The muscles in her jaw twitched and ran tight on her neck. Within moments the scent of fear had been diluted by that of acceptance. It was as if Grace McCreary was gone, leaving her body to deal with the likes of a common cop and a lawyer who, without the trappings of the court, was nothing more than a powerless woman. Babcock was leading Grace out the door when Josie stopped them.
"Why did Michelle jump? I need to know."
"I couldn't tell you," she answered without looking back. "I can't tell you."
And then she was gone.
CHAPTER 12
Josie sat in the Jeep in a nearly empty parking lot. Door open. One foot on the running board, the other stretched out in front of her, on the ground. It wasn't late but it was late enough when Josie called Faye. Hannah's party at Gallery C was wrapping up. Ten paintings had sold. It was an unbelievable evening, Faye enthused, and Josie couldn't argue. It had been an unbelievable night all around.
Josie promised to meet them for dinner if she could, but she knew the promise was empty. Company was the last thing she wanted. Some quiet time to sort out what she had heard was first on her list. Swinging both legs into the car, Josie dug in her purse for her keys. What she found instead gave her pause. It was Grace McCreary's business card, pushed across the table at Fistonich's Piano Bar and Restaurant so early in the day. Flipping on the overhead light she checked out the address of Matthew McCreary's campaign headquarters on Pine Street. Spitting distance. Tossing it aside, she fired up the engine and threw the Jeep into gear. Tim Douglas might still be toiling. Maybe he would be curious about what had happened to Grace McCreary. Maybe he could tell Josie how to reach Matthew. Maybe, if Josie was real lucky, Matthew would be there, too, and God help him if he was burning the midnight oil.
"Can I help you?"
Josie looked around the seemingly empty office only to find she wasn't alone after all. A woman was nearly hidden behind the mountain of envelopes on her desk. Her head popped up and the tower of paper started to tumble. With an uncomfortable laugh she righted the mess and grinned at Josie with the ridiculous aura of a true believer: exhausted, befuddled, yet radiating a lightness of being that comes only from being brainlessly in love with a man, his politics or both.
"I'm looking for Matthew McCreary," Josie said.
"Matthew? He's ..."
"Matthew is out, Ms. Bates."
The woman looked over her shoulder. Tim Douglas smiled at Josie as he put his hand on the woman's shoulder. "It's okay, Frances. I'll take care of this lady. Why don't you go on home."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly. These need to get out tomorrow, and I'm so far behind."
"Then I'll tell Matthew that you're working too hard. You know how he feels about people giving too much." Tim lectured lightly as he got her on her feet and moved her to the door with considerable skill. "I'd hate to have to ask him to talk to you privately about wearing yourself out on his behalf."
"But I don't mind at all . . ."
Frances's face brightened at the prospect of a few minutes alone with Matthew McCreary, but it was not to be. Josie didn't hear the rest of Tim's spiel as he gave Frances the heave-ho. He returned with an apologetic smile, his hands clasped together, begging Josie's pardon for keeping her waiting.
"Sorry about that. But, hey, I owe you an apology. I guess I should have stuck around to see if you needed any help. My fault. I just didn't know what the protocol was in a situation like that."
"I didn't need any help," Josie said, unconvinced of his embarrassment. "Grace might have needed someone to hand her a tissue when she was fingerprinted. Someone to wave as they took her off to jail. You know, a friend - or a relative - someone who cared that she'd just been arrested for murder."
To his credit, Tim Douglas had the decency to blush before he engaged Josie again.
"I didn't know it would be so serious. I figured it was a mistake. Listen, she's got support. She's invaluable to the campaign. I mean it. I'd do anything for Grace."
"I was thinking more along the lines of her brother showing some interest." Josie ambled around the room, touching things. "You're sure he isn't here?"
"Yes," Tim answered again. "A candidate is booked months in advance. Half the time he's double-booked. The primary is so close. This is a critical time."
Josie pivoted. She smiled.
"His wife's death must have put him so far behind that Grace's arrest just threw the whole calendar into a tizzy." Josie's grin was broad and mirthless. Tim Douglas had the courtesy to be uncomfortable.
"Look, Ms. Bates, it's just not that simple . . ."
"Funny, it seems simple as pie to me. If someone you care about is in trouble you move heaven and earth to help them out unless—"
"I've called our attorneys," Tim interrupted. "They're going to be calling you to—"
"To do what, Mr. Douglas? To debrief me? To take over? To spin this or work some angle and try to make it go away?" Josie shook her head. She was dealing with an imbecile. "Won't work. This won't disappear because you want it to. Maybe I should talk to the media and explore why you insist on trying to pull strings and ask favors instead of Matthew standing up and issuing a statement. They might like to hear what Grace has to say about the night Mrs. McCreary died even if her brother doesn't."
"Okay. Calm down." Tim pumped his hands open-palmed toward the floor.
"I am calm." She moved closer, intimidating him with both her height and her righteousness. "You don't want to see me when I'm upset. So, why don't you tell me what Matthew knew about the police investigation and when he knew it. Otherwise, I might start thinking that Grace is being fed to the lions to keep the cops from poking their noses around your precious little campaign or, worse, your candidate."
"I don't appreciate the insinuation," Tim objected, stuffing his hands in his pockets and standing his ground. "Theatrics aren't going to make this any better. This is a mistake and we will clear it up."
"I wouldn't be so sure, Mr. Douglas. The district attorney knows exactly who he has in custody. With that in mind, let me point out that any end run you try to make will be construed as obstruction of justice if the DA gets wind of it."
Disgusted, Josie turned away. Tim Douglas angered her and this patriotic fun house gave her the creeps. Giant posters of Matthew posed against red, white and blue bunting were unfurled from the ceiling, plastered on the windows, strung over tables. Plastic buttons banded with Matthew's name and bumper stickers that promised unity and prosperity were set out in boxes like party favors. Lawn signs stood like a Day-Glo picket fence against the wall. Two ceiling-mounted televisions streamed tape of a smiling Matthew with time for everyone who crossed his path—everyone except his sister.
But beneath the streamers and posters, the signs and buttons, were secondhand desks, a scarred floor and walls that were pockmarked with thumbtack holes. It was cheap space and the labor came even cheaper. They were bought, not for money but for love of the candidate: his ideas, his ideals and sometimes just because of the way he smiled. Josie wondered if she had ever been so ridiculously in love with Matthew McCreary. The answer was yes, if she was honest. There was something about the man— even in a photograph—that drew you in, made you feel special, made you feel as if you were invincible. But Josie was older. She demanded more from a man than she used to—she demanded more from herself.
"I'll tell Matthew that you were here, Ms. Bates," Tim Douglas said with all the affability of a host exhausted by his company.
Josie looked away from a particularly fetching picture of Matthew to find that the campaign manager paled in comparison. There was a little sagging at the jaw line, deeper shadows under his eyes. His voice had lost some of its verve. He was dog-tired and seemingly resigned to weathering her tenacity if he had to. But Josie could also feel the roil of anxiety somewhere just left of his center. More than likely it meant nothing
. Tim Douglas was a lackey, a messenger boy, afraid of a political scandal because it would mean the end of his job.
"Why don't you let Matthew know I'm here now?" Josie picked up the phone on the desk closest to her and held it out to him.
"Matthew checks in with me. I only call him in an emerge—" He caught himself and Josie gave him credit for a sliver of conscience. She put the receiver down.
"I see." She sighed. "Well, when you two talk again to make your plans, tell him if I don't see him soon, he'll be hearing from me through the media."
Josie picked up a campaign button and rubbed her fingers over it as if she could divine Matthew's location. When that failed, when she tired of Tim Douglas's stonewalling, Josie tossed the button back on the desk.
"I wonder how his constituents will feel about him when they find out he can't even be bothered to help his own sister?"
CHAPTER 13
Tim Douglas stood at the door and watched Josie Baylor-Bates disappear into the night. He wanted to leave, too. It had been a long time since he had walked into his apartment before one in the morning. Matthew thrived on a few hours' sleep and Tim thought he could do the same if he just worked hard enough. Pick up a great man's habits, a successful man's habits, and he, Tim Douglas, would become great and successful, too. Unfortunately, all he got was tired and when he was tired he didn't think straight. Like now, when he was thinking that maybe Matthew had been wrong about this whole stinking mess. Matthew should have dealt with Grace. If Tim had a sister like Grace, well, he would have been a man and taken care of business. Tim had seen Grace when she looked unsure of herself, worried, concerned, and it always made him feel bad. A frightened Grace must be a sad sight indeed.
Tim was also thinking about the election. Matthew McCreary was ahead by a decent margin in the primaries and looked like a solid winner in the general election. Nobody could remember the last time California had had a Republican senator and the mood was heady. Matthew was like a horse galloping full steam ahead through a forest of nettles and never getting a scratch. Even Michelle's death hadn't slowed him down. In fact, it had been a blessing in disguise. Poll numbers spiked with sympathy votes for the handsome new widower. What worried Tim was that that seemed to please Matthew. Somehow he disassociated the effect from the cause. In fact, Tim was beginning to think that Matthew McCreary was just too compartmentalized. It struck him odd that a man could lose his wife, see his sister in trouble, and still keep his nose to the grindstone. Then again, he supposed, that's what separated a leader from those who were led: decisiveness in times of crisis, the ability to move forward no matter what the obstacles. In short, there was nothing Matthew McCreary felt he couldn't do, nothing he was afraid of—at least nothing that Tim knew about.
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