Act of God

by Susan R. Sloan

  Left unchallenged, the evidence, circumstantial though it was, seemed sufficient to tie the noose around Corey’s neck, and Dana could not help but see how the authorities might have come to that conclusion. However, just as she had learned in prosecuting cases that there was no such thing as a coincidence, she had also discovered in defending cases that almost everything could be a coincidence.

  Piece by piece, she intended to dispute the state’s documentation, analyses, and witnesses, showing the jury how there was easily room for more than one explanation of what, at first glance, might look like convincing fact. Circumstance was always open to interpretation, and offering another plausible interpretation was what created reasonable doubt.

  For that, she was counting on Craig Jessup’s help. There was no one better at what he did, and if there were anything to find, she knew he would find it. For months, though, he had been digging, and so far, he had not come up with a viable alternative she could shove under the noses of the prosecution and dangle in front of the jury. And time was running out. Still, Dana knew it was there.

  “It has to be,” she told him. “Because Corey Latham didn’t do it. And that means there’s a mass murderer out there somewhere, walking free, thinking he’s gotten away with it. But you and I both know there’s no such thing as a perfect crime. He has to have left some kind of trail. I need you to find it.”

  Jessup nodded wearily. He had worked on eight cases with Dana, and he had never before seen her so committed to a defendant. But then, he reasoned, he and Louise weren’t all that far behind her.

  “All right, I’ll take another look,” he promised. “If there’s something there, I’ll find it. If it’s not, well, hell, I’ll find it anyway.”

  Whether she realized it or not, Dana had been clinging to those words like a lifeline.

  “How’s everything going?” Paul Cotter asked from the doorway, startling her out of her ruminations so sharply that she actually jumped.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, things aren’t nearly as bad as I was expecting them to be,” Dana replied brightly, not about to share her concern with the managing partner.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I think we’re going to go to trial in pretty decent shape. From what I’ve seen of the evidence so far, the state’s whole case is based on a rather flimsy collection of coincidences that I plan to drive an eighteen-wheeler right through.”

  “Really?” Cotter repeated. “The way I hear it, Brian Ayres and his staff seem to be quite satisfied with what they’ve got.”

  Dana shrugged. “Oh well, that’s only because he’s missing a crucial piece of information that I happen to possess,” she said.

  “And what’s that?” Cotter inquired, looking suddenly interested.

  Dana allowed herself a little smile. “Corey Latham is innocent,” she said.

  The managing partner nodded absently, and shifted his gaze to the chalkboard, where he appeared to be trying to decipher Dana’s hieroglyphics. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that innocence is no defense under the law,” he reminded her.

  She leaned back in her chair with confidence. “No,” she agreed comfortably. “But it’s a great starting point.”

  Cotter seemed to study her for a moment, although his eyes were still directed toward the chalkboard. “I’ve asked Charles Ramsey to take third chair on this,” he said.

  “Oh?” she said. Next to Cotter himself, sixty-six-year-old Charles Ramsey was perhaps the most conservative of the partners. He was possessed of a brilliant mind and an acid tongue. In all her years here, she could not remember him ever taking third chair.

  “He won’t interfere,” Cotter hastened to assure her. “He’ll be a sort of liaison for the executive committee. You know, someone who can keep us abreast of the case as it progresses, so we won’t have to take up too much of your time.”

  He didn’t fool her for a minute. Even after the documented success of women in the courtroom, and a dozen years of working with her personally, the archconservative could not bring himself to rely on a woman completely. Ramsey was to be the watchdog. But Dana didn’t mind. In fact, considering that this was her first capital case, she had to concede it was probably not an altogether illogical move for him to make.

  She gave him an enigmatic glance. “I have no problem with that,” she said.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I‘ve met a man,” Judith blurted out, her eyes shining, unable to keep the news to herself for one more minute.

  Dana, who had just stuffed a forkful of linguini marinara into her mouth, could only sit there with raised eyebrows, chewing and staring.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong,” her best friend continued. “He’s not the man of my dreams or anything like that, but he’s nice and he’s fun, and he’s going through my house like a buzz saw, fixing everything that’s ever been wrong with it.”

  “You mean, a handyman,” Dana said finally, with some measure of relief. Judith was not particularly known for her judgment of the opposite sex.

  “Well, not exactly,” Judith responded with a twinkle in her eye. “I mean, he started out as a handyman, but, well, he’s become more than that.”

  Dana repressed a sigh. “Do tell.”

  “First, it was my car,” Judith said. “That’s how we met. Then it was my faucet, and then my gutters, and before I knew it, he was fixing everything. I’m still looking for something he can’t do. He’s even refinishing my hardwood floors. And on top of it all, Alex just adores him.”

  “I know it’s none of my business,” Dana said, “but how can you afford to do all this?”

  “Oh, that’s the best part, he won’t: take any money for his work,” the struggling artist told her. “You see, I’m his damsel in distress, and he’s my knight in shining armor.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, I know it sounds silly, but I think he’s lonely, and he’s doing all this stuff for me just for the companionship. He’s from Detroit, and he doesn’t know many people here. And we really do get on. We talk and we laugh, and I make him wonderful home-cooked dinners. We watch television, we listen to music, we go to movies, we take long walks. We have fun.”

  “And?” Dana prodded.

  “Okay, okay,” her friend confessed. “So he’s pretty decent in bed, too.”

  “I must say, he sounds too good to be true,” Dana murmured.

  “He is… almost,” Judith said with a happy laugh.

  “Then I’m thrilled for you.”

  Judith reached across the table and gave Dana’s hand a grateful squeeze. “I knew you would be. And I want you to meet him.”

  “I’m sure I’ll meet him.”

  “No, I mean soon. I know, with the trial coming up and all, you don’t have a whole lot of time, but I want you and Sam and Molly to come for dinner. Next Sunday at six o’clock. We’ll make it an early evening, and I’ll fix something fabulous.”

  “I’ll have to check my schedule,” Dana responded, surprised by a sudden reluctance. The McAuliffes often dined at Judith’s modest Beacon Hill home, and there was no argument that she was a superb cook.

  “Oh, come on,” Judith said. “I know you’re busy, but you can’t have to work on Sunday. Even God got to rest on Sunday.”

  Dana smiled. “So He did.”

  “Besides, it’s important to me. I want you to see for yourself that I’m not always such a bad judge of character.”

  Once Dana had spoken to Sam about the art gallery, he had gone into action. His loyalties were simple. If Judith Purcell was Dana’s friend, then she was his friend also. And friends did whatever they could for one another.

  “According to the accountant,” he reported back, “we don’t begin to spend all the money we make. Most of it is sitting in mutual funds. Since we own our home outright, and Molly’s education is secure, he sees no problem in our using some of it to make a sound investment.”

  “Judith may be a little flighty about some thin
gs,” Dana told him, “but she’s got a good head for business, and a great eye for quality art. I think she would be wonderful at running a gallery. I say we pursue it.”

  Two days before they were to go to dinner at Judith’s, Sam climbed into bed beside his wife.

  “The accountant has finally finished tumbling all the numbers,” he told her. “And he says if we really want to do this, we should probably go all out and buy a building.”

  “Buy a whole building?” Dana gasped, sitting upright.

  “It’s not as scary as it sounds,” he assured her. “I even have a heads-up on a place that’s supposed to be coming on the market soon. It’s small. Three stories, less than four thousand square feet, on the edge of Pioneer Square.”

  “Judith would be in heaven,” Dana breathed. “Do you think we could really swing it?”

  Sam shrugged. “I’m still finding out,” he said. “But it certainly looks possible.”

  Tom Kirby’s hair was neatly trimmed and his face smooth-shaven. He had traded his khakis and T-shirt for a pair of slacks and a blue oxford shirt. He had even cleaned under his fingernails. Judith made the introductions, beaming.

  He had a firm handshake and a pleasant enough face, Dana decided, although his eyes, which looked directly into hers, seemed much older than his years. He appeared to be totally at ease in his surroundings, and she noticed that he ushered them into the living room as if he were already the man of the house.

  “Judith tells me you’re a terrific violinist,” he said to Sam. “I played the violin as a kid, but I have to admit, I wasn’t much good at it. I’ve always envied people who can play it well, though, and I’ve always thought I’d like to try again someday.”

  “Sam gives lessons,” Judith told him. “Do you teach adults, Sam, or just kids?”

  “I teach anyone who wants to learn,” Sam said affably.

  “You don’t really think there could be hope for me, do you?” Kirby asked.

  “It all depends,” Sam replied.

  With that, Molly and Alex went off to play, and Judith dragged Dana into the kitchen.

  “Well?” she demanded. “What do you think of him?”

  “He seems to be very comfortable here,” Dana said.

  “He should be,” Judith said with a laugh. “He’s been in and out of this house almost every day now for weeks. But aside from that, what do you think of him?”

  “Ask me again after dinner,” Dana replied.

  With no great subtlety, Judith seated Kirby next to Dana at the table. The conversation about music continued during the soup.

  “Where are you from?” Sam asked over the salad.

  “Just about everywhere,” Kirby replied. “My dad moved around a lot, and took us with him every time but the last time. He left us in Michigan when I was about fifteen. My mother and my sister are still there. But I must have inherited my dad’s wanderlust.”

  “Have hammer, will travel?”

  Kirby smiled. “It’s been something like that,” he said. “I tried working in an office, but I didn’t much care for it. I do better when I’m my own boss, and I can come and go as I please. And I like working with my hands.”

  “Well, I for one am glad you do,” Judith said, bringing on the main course.

  Dana couldn’t help noticing that she placed the pork roast next to Kirby, and handed him the carving utensils as casually as though they had been going through this particular routine for years. She glanced at Sam across the table. He had seen. He looked back at her with a grin and winked.

  “How long have you been in Seattle, Tom?” she asked.

  “Just a few months, actually,” he replied. “And it seems I arrived just in time for the good weather.”

  “How long are you staying?”

  Kirby looked at Judith and smiled. “Maybe longer than I originally thought.”

  “Okay, everyone,” Judith said, both blushing and beaming. “I invited you for dinner, so dine.”

  It was a delicious meal, and Judith served it proudly. No one needed to know that it had eaten up her entire food budget for the week.

  They fell silent for a few moments, as they obediently focused their attention on the succulent meat and the crisp vegetables and the perfectly seasoned potatoes that went down so nicely when accompanied by the smooth white wine. Then, somewhere between the pork and the pie, Kirby turned to Dana.

  “Judith tells me you’re an attorney,” he said, casually. “What kind of law do you practice?”

  “I’m primarily a litigator,” Dana replied.

  “Yes, but tell him what you’re currently litigating,” Judith prompted, getting a sharp glance of rebuke from her friend for her efforts.

  “I’m working on the Hill House case.”

  Kirby’s eyes widened. “Of course, how stupid of me,” he declared. “It’s been in all the papers. I must have read the name a dozen times. I’m sorry, I just didn’t make the connection.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  In the middle of final preparations for the Latham trial, when jury selection was less than a week off, Dana did an unheard of thing. She took a day off and drove to Port Townsend. The sky was crystal blue, the sun sparkled off the water, and Mount Baker shimmered like an apparition in the distance, but Dana never noticed.

  “There’s something about this case that I’m missing,” she told her father.

  “What makes you think so?” Jefferson Reid inquired, ushering her into his private office, which was filled with the well-used leather furniture and the well-thumbed law books she remembered from early childhood.

  “That’s just it,” she replied. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”

  “Well, if it was a strong enough feeling to get you out here, let’s take a look at it.”

  “Okay, am I crazy? Or is the prosecution’s case made up of smoke and mirrors?”

  “Well, I can’t say as I’ve been following it that closely, but there may be some of that involved,” he told her. “I doubt that’s all, though. I think they probably have a kernel of truth they’re trying to embellish.”

  “Then I’m in so far over my head, I don’t know up from down,” she admitted. “Because I’m preparing to defend a case I can’t get hold of. I’ve got our best investigator on the job, and he can’t seem to get hold of it, either. Neither can my assistant.”

  “Is the state disclosing?”

  “Oh, yes, and very promptly. And if you take it all at face value, Corey Latham is a cold-blooded murderer. But nothing here stands up to serious scrutiny, and Brian Ayres has to know that. So what am I missing?”

  “I don’t know, maybe nothing,” Reid replied. “Is it possible this Ayres fellow is holding out?”

  Dana shook her head. “No,” she said. “Brian is a tough attorney who wants to win, but he won’t cheat.” She smiled a little. “Mostly, it’s because he thinks he’s too good to have to resort to cheating.”

  “Then look into the motivation here,” her father suggested.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The police needed a suspect, and they needed one fast,” Reid suggested. “They were being pilloried in the press, made to look like the Keystone Kops. So maybe they went out and manufactured themselves a suspect. They locked on to someone who conveniently had means, motive, and opportunity—which is all they’re technically required to do—and closed up shop. Now, right or wrong, the state is stuck with that. For the prosecutor’s office even to hesitate, especially on a case of this magnitude, would be ultimately disastrous.”

  “You think they would rather risk an acquittal on a shaky case than make sure they had the right guy?”

  “Given the circumstances, they may not have had a choice,” Jefferson Reid replied. “They may be relying on emotion to sway the jury. They may have thought the kid would be going with a public defender. They may really think they’ve got the right guy.” Then he shrugged. “In any event, putting the state on trial instead of your client is certainly a d
efense that’s worked well for many over the years.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Anything I need to know about?” Brian Ayres asked his assistant.

  It was the first Monday in August, jury selection for the Latham trial began tomorrow, and the prosecutor did not want any curves thrown at him at the last minute.

  “I don’t think so,” Mark Hoffman replied. It was the most important case of the young attorney’s legal life, and he was not about to blow it. For months, he had hung over the investigators like a shroud, triple-checking everything. Now, the jury consultant was on board, the evidence was all in order, and the witnesses were all prepared. Dozens of motions had been filed and ruled upon. There were no surprises. Well, maybe one. Dana McAuliffe had not asked for a change of venue.

  “It wouldn’t have done her any good,” Brian assured him. “This case has had too much exposure to assume an impartial jury anywhere in the state. I think she knew that.”

  Mark grinned. “It couldn’t be that happened on purpose, now could it?” he asked.

  Brian shrugged. “When you can, you make the best of what you’ve got,” he replied. “Our case isn’t all that strong.”

  “I don’t think we’ve got a thing to worry about,” Mark declared.

  “That’s the first mistake you’ve made so far, “ Brian told him. “We have everything to worry about. Not the least of which is Dana McAuliffe.”

  “Why?” Mark asked. “Sure, I know her firm has a good reputation and all, but when they palmed this case off on her, instead of putting one of their big guns on it, I figured they were handing us a gift.”

  “You think that’s what they did?”

  “Well, sure. Everyone around here does.”