Castillo squatted beside Baron, grabbed his ear, and twisted. Baron grimaced, too frightened to cry out.
"You said that this tape is a sample. Do you have others?"
"Aah. Please. There's more in my safe."
Castillo released the pressure on Oscar's ear.
"You're at our mercy, Oscar. No one is going to come to your rescue. Whether you live or die depends solely on how much you cooperate. Do you understand me?"
Oscar nodded.
"Good. We've had taps on your phone and we've had your home and office wired since you were at the jail yesterday. That's how we knew that you called the FBI. So don't bullshit me."
"I won't."
"I want the combination to your safe and the keys to your home and your office. We'll take you to a safe place. If you've been honest you'll be released unharmed. If you've lied, you will be tortured. Do you understand?"
Baron nodded. He understood perfectly. He could identify his captors, so he would have to die. His only hope was that if he cooperated completely, his death would be quick.
Chapter Twenty-Four.
Jon Dupre had called Ally Bennett from the jail and given her the combination to a safe hidden in the basement of an isolated house on the Willamette, several miles south of Portland, which Jon had purchased under another name. Sometimes Jon's "special" customers wanted a place to party where they wouldn't be seen, even by chance. There was money in the safe, and envelopes containing video- and audiotapes. She had taken some of the money and a few audio- and videotapes to Oscar Baron. Jon had not told her what was on the tapes, but he had been confident that they would get him out of jail.
In addition to Baron's retainer, Ally had taken some of Jon's money for herself. She'd been having trouble making ends meet since the cops closed down Exotic Escorts and had been forced to tend bar evenings at a tavern near her apartment. She hated it, but she had to earn a living. She'd finished her shift at the bar and was pulling into her apartment complex when she heard Oscar's name on the car radio.
" . . . was found brutally murdered in his home. Police told reporters that Baron had been tortured and robbery appeared to be the motive."
Ally slowed down. She didn't believe in coincidences; the murder had to be connected to the tapes she'd given to Baron. With a chill, she realized that Oscar knew her name. What if he told it to his killers? What if they discovered where she lived?
All of a sudden, it didn't seem smart to go up to her apartment. Ally switched off her headlights and made a slow U-turn. She was almost at the entrance to the apartment complex when headlights came on at the far end of the lot. Ally jammed the accelerator to the floor and peeled out across traffic. She turned right at the first street and began weaving in and out of side streets. Ally slowed down but kept a constant watch in her rearview mirror. After a few minutes, she started to feel silly. Was her high-speed flight caused by paranoia? Maybe, but Ally decided not to take any chances. She took out the loaded .38 she carried ever since one of her customers had smacked her around, and placed it next to her on the passenger seat. When the car from the lot did not materialize, Ally headed toward the freeway.
Jon Dupre's safe house had a deck that overlooked the river. It was cold outside but Ally pulled her coat tight against her throat. She needed fresh air and a place to think. Ally lit a cigarette and wondered about the tapes she had given to Oscar Baron. If Jon was convinced that the tapes would help him beat the rap for killing a United States senator, there had to be something earthshaking on them. There were other tapes hidden in the safe. She crushed out her cigarette and went inside.
The safe was under a cover of loose linoleum in the basement laundry room. As soon as she opened it, she counted the money. There was twenty thousand dollars left. If someone was after her, she could take it and run. But she couldn't run. Not without Stacey, Lori Andrews's kid. The thought of Stacey languishing in one foster home after another was eating her up. If she had enough money . . .
Ally rummaged through the contents of the safe. She found some business ledgers and glanced through them. They contained the names, phone numbers, and addresses of Exotic Escort customers, and were cross-referenced to the tapes. Ally selected a few videotapes at random. There was a big-screen TV in the basement. She turned it on, put a cassette in the VCR, and pressed play. What she saw was what she'd expected to see. A fat, older man, whom Ally recognized as an influential politician, was groping a naked Asian girl named Joyce Hamada. She watched for a while before taking the tape out and popping in another. It was more of the same, only the partners were different. Ally was puzzled. These tapes would be interesting to the cops, but no one was going to let Jon off in exchange for them. Whatever Jon was counting on had to be a hell of a lot different from what she'd seen. Then she remembered the cassette she'd slipped into Jon's pocket at the Travis fundraiser.
At Jon's instructions, Ally had secreted mini tape-recorders in the den and several bedrooms as soon as she'd arrived at the country house. She had collected the recorders and all of the tapes before the night was over. The girls were always under orders to get their dates to talk about themselves, and this wasn't the first time she'd brought tapes to Dupre. Though Jon had given her a bonus every time she helped him tape a client, he'd never told her what he did with the tapes, but she wasn't stupid. Ally was certain that he used them for blackmail if the information was juicy enough. There had been a lot of very important people at Travis's party.
Ally went back to the safe. The tapes from the fund-raiser were small, and it took her a while to find them. They were much more interesting than the sexcapades she'd viewed earlier.
Chapter Twenty-five.
Jon Dupre was still in manacles when Amanda walked into the contact visiting room, but he exhibited none of the aggression and tension she had noticed during her previous visits. Instead he sat slumped forward, resting his arms on the table, with his head in his hands, looking subdued and exhausted.
Amanda sat opposite her client. She was on edge but not as frightened as she had been when they'd met before. Dupre looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and he was unshaven.
"Thank you for seeing me, Jon."
"I need your help," he answered.
Amanda knew that sociopaths were very skilled at faking sincerity--she had been conned before--but no alarms were going off.
"I've always wanted to help you."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry."
"Then let's forget the last two visits. Why don't you tell me how you got the cuts on your hands and forearm?"
The question startled Dupre. "Why do you want to know that?"
"I thought you were going to trust me."
Dupre twisted in his seat.
"Jon?"
"You won't believe me."
"Try me."
Dupre looked away from Amanda.
"You know why I'm here, Jon," she said in a steady voice. "I'm the only lawyer who would take your case, the only person who wants to help you. But I can't work in a vacuum."
Dupre met Amanda's eyes. He spoke slowly, weighing each word.
"Wendell Hayes cut me."
"With the shiv?"
"That's right."
"How did he get the shiv?" Amanda asked. "Did he wrestle it away from you?"
"Hayes brought the knife into the jail. It was his. He attacked me, not the other way around. I know it sounds insane, but that's what happened." Dupre brought his cuffed hands to his face and rubbed his forehead. "This whole thing is a nightmare."
"How could Hayes smuggle a knife through the metal detector?"
"I don't know. All I know is the moment the guard was out of sight Hayes was on me." Dupre pointed to the stitches along his forearm and the cuts on his hands. "I got these blocking the knife. I'm not dead because I caught Hayes in the throat with a lucky punch. He dropped the shiv and I grabbed it and stuck him in the eye."
"Why didn't you stop then?"
Dupre looked incredulous. "He was trying to mur
der me. I was locked in with him. Hayes is huge and I didn't know if he had other weapons. I had to finish him."
"I've got to level with you, Jon. This sounds . . . far-fetched. Why would Wendell Hayes want to kill you?"
Dupre looked down at the table and shook his head.
"Did he even know you before Judge Grant appointed him?" Amanda asked.
"Not really. My parents knew him, but they weren't friends. Before I was banned from the club I saw him at the Westmont a few times."
Amanda shook her head. "This isn't going to fly."
"You think I'm lying?" Dupre asked angrily.
"I didn't say that. In fact, I have a witness who supports your story."
Amanda told him what Paul Baylor had concluded after viewing the photographs from the jail infirmary.
"Unfortunately, Paul's testimony alone won't be enough to acquit you," Amanda concluded. "Can you think of any other way to prove that Hayes attacked you?"
"No."
"Then you see our problem. Your word is not going to be enough to convince a jury that a prominent attorney would try to kill a client he hardly knew. What's Hayes's motive? How are we going to counter the argument that Hayes couldn't have smuggled the shiv through the metal detector? You didn't go through a metal detector, and the weapon is the type of homemade job that jail inmates make."
"I could take a lie detector test."
"The results aren't admissible in court."
Dupre threw his head back and slammed his hands on the table. The guard on the other side of the window started to raise his radio to his mouth as he moved toward the door. Amanda waved him off.
"Forget Hayes for a moment. Tell me about Senator Travis," Amanda said.
"I didn't kill him."
"Why did you argue with him the day before he was killed?"
"He dated one of my girls and she turned up dead."
"Lori Andrews?"
Dupre nodded. "The last time he dated her he beat her up."
"Did Travis admit that he had anything to do with Lori Andrews's murder?"
"No. He said he didn't touch her. But I didn't believe him."
"I'm surprised that you cared about Andrews. Her disappearance helped you, didn't it? It got your case dismissed."
"I'm glad Lori didn't show up, but I didn't want her dead."
"The police found an earring at the Travis crime scene that's supposed to be identical to one you were wearing when you argued with Hayes at the Westmont."
"They did?"
"You didn't know?"
"No. What did it look like?"
"It's gold, a gold cross."
"I have one like it, but I have no idea why it would be at Travis's place. I've never been there."
"Did you talk to Travis again after you saw him at the country club?" Amanda asked.
"No."
Amanda made a note on a legal pad. "What about the evening that Travis was killed? Was anyone with you?"
"A few of the girls were over earlier in the evening. I got high and passed out. When I woke up in the morning they were gone."
"I'll need a list of the women who were at your house so Kate Ross can check them out."
"Joyce Hamada was there. She's a student at Portland State. And Cheryl . . . uh, Cheryl Riggio. Talk to them."
"Okay. We have a bail hearing set for tomorrow. Don't get your hopes up about getting out. There's no automatic bail in a death-penalty case."
"Yeah, I know." Dupre was suddenly very quiet. "Oscar told me."
"I take it you've heard?"
Dupre nodded. "Do you know what happened to him?"
"Only what I read in the paper and heard on the radio, which wasn't much."
"Was he tortured?"
"That's what the paper said."
"Burglars, right?"
Amanda nodded. "It seems unreal. I was talking to him a few days ago about your case."
"Yeah," Dupre agreed, "unreal."
Chapter Twenty-Six.
When the Multnomah County Courthouse was completed in 1914, it occupied the entire block of downtown Portland between Main and Salmon and Fourth and Fifth, and was the largest courthouse on the West Coast. The exterior of the concrete building was brutish and foreboding, but the lobby had a majestic elegance until it became cluttered with metal detectors and guard stations.
Amanda and Kate had to fight their way past the TV cameras and through the throng of reporters who started to shout questions at Amanda as soon as they entered the lobby. They hurried up the wide marble stairway toward Judge Robard's courtroom on the fourth floor, hoping that the uphill run would discourage the heavily loaded cameramen and the sedentary reporters, but a few hearty souls jogged after them, panting questions, which Amanda ignored.
The corridor outside the courtroom was packed with people who were trying to get a seat. They had to wait in line and go through another metal detector to get inside. Amanda flashed her ID, and she and Kate were waved through. Judge Robard had seniority and one of the older courtrooms. Amanda couldn't help thinking how the high ceiling, marble Corinthian columns, and ornate molding made the setting ideal for a judge with such an exaggerated sense of his own importance.
The spectator benches were almost full, and Tim Kerrigan was already at the prosecution counsel table; his second chair was a young Hispanic woman whom Amanda had never met. Kerrigan heard the stir in the courtroom when Amanda came in, and turned his head toward the doorway. The prosecutor whispered something to his colleague and they both stood.
"Hi, Amanda, Kate," Kerrigan said. "This is my second chair, Maria Lopez."
The women nodded at Maria then Kate took the end seat at the defense table.
"You're not really asking for a full-blown bail hearing, are you?" Kerrigan asked Amanda.
"Yup."
"Robard will never grant bail."
"Then I'll be wasting my time."
The prosecutor laughed. "I knew you'd be a pain in the neck."
"Hey, it's my job."
Kerrigan was about to say something else, when Jon Dupre was led into court in manacles and leg chains. With a look of deep satisfaction, Maria Lopez watched Dupre struggle forward. Amanda remembered that Lopez had prosecuted the prostitution case, which had been dismissed.
"Sit down with your attorney," ordered Larry McKenzie, one of Dupre's guards.
"Aren't you going to take his chains off?" Amanda asked when McKenzie made no move to unshackle her client.
"Orders. He's supposed to have them on during the hearing."
"We'll see about that."
"Don't get mad at me. I'm just following orders."
"Sorry, Mac," Amanda told the guard.
"No problem, Ms. Jaffe, but I wouldn't argue too hard to have them taken off, if I was you. I was on the admitting desk when Wendell Hayes came to the jail the day he was killed. I wish I'd told him to be more careful."
Amanda pulled out Dupre's chair and helped him sit down before sitting next to him. The bailiff rapped his gavel and Ivan Robard walked briskly through a door behind his dais.
"Be seated," he ordered. "Call the case."
"This is the time set for a bail hearing in the case of State of Oregon versus Jonathan Edward Dupre."
As soon as the bailiff finished reading the case number into the record, Tim Kerrigan stood and told the judge that he was ready to proceed.
"Amanda Jaffe for Mr. Dupre, Your Honor. Before we start the bail hearing, I would like to have my client unshackled. He . . ."
Robard held up his hand. "I'm not going to do it, Ms. Jaffe. Feel free to file a motion with authorities so you can make your record for the appellate courts, but I've talked to the jail commander and he believes that Mr. Dupre is too dangerous to leave unshackled."
"Your Honor, this is a bail hearing. You are going to have to decide whether Mr. Dupre should be released from custody. Your ruling to have him kept in chains shows that you have prejudged his case, and I'd ask you to recuse yourself."
&n
bsp; Robard cracked a humorless smile. "Nice try, but it won't work. I'm keeping the shackles on for security reasons, and so would any other judge in this courthouse. I haven't heard any evidence yet. If Mr. Kerrigan doesn't make a case for holding your client, we'll talk about bail. So let's get to it."
Judge Robard shifted his attention to the prosecutor.
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