by Scott Cook
“Then you come with me,” she said. She placed a hand on his. It felt good.
“I can’t,” he said simply. “If I don’t see this through, it’ll drive me crazy. Every instinct I have is telling me that there’s something fundamentally wrong with this case. That means what I spent the last eight months writing about may be utter horseshit. I have to find out the truth.” He shrugged. “It’s the way I am.”
Tess stared at him for a long, appraising moment. Her expression was one Sam had never seen before, and couldn’t read. Finally, she picked up her purse and rose from her chair. This is it, he thought. This is where it ends.
She swatted him in the head with the bag so hard he winced, catching him in the ear with one of the chrome buckles. “Jesus, you’re an asshole!” she whispered. Her green eyes blazed. “Fine! It’ll be a cold day in hell when I let you scoop me, buster. Nobody’s going to eat my lunch.”
Diane Manning chose that moment to walk through the door.
#
Crowe pressed the button for the tenth floor just as his cell phone rang. He muttered a curse as he drew the phone from the front pocket of his jeans and strode to a secluded corner of the lobby. The area was empty except for a few potted plants, but he was a cautious man by nature, especially in light of picking up a tail after leaving his meeting with Joe Trinh.
“Yeah,” he barked into the phone.
“Hey boss,” said the familiar voice on the other end of the line. “Just checkin in. Still nothin new.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Boss, wait!”
“Make it quick,” Crowe snapped. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“Do I really have to keep doing this? I mean, it’s over two weeks now and still nothin.”
“Yes, you have to keep doing this.” Crowe wasn’t an ogre; he understood the job was boring. But it was necessary. In fact, he was beginning to think it was absolutely imperative. “I’m working on something right now that might help the situation. But for now, you have to stay on the job. Understood?”
A dejected sigh. “Yeah. Sorry, I shouldn’ta said anything. You can count on me.”
Crowe almost ended the call without responding, then thought better of it. “Thanks,” he said reluctantly. “I appreciate it. I really do.”
The voice on the other end brightened. “Hey, anything for you, man. I’m a good soldier.”
“Yeah,” said Crowe. “You’re a good soldier.”
He hung up and walked back to the elevator. Christ, he thought. I’m a fucking middle manager now. Next thing you know, I’ll be taking a seminar on motivation.
He scowled as he pressed the button for the tenth floor again.
#
Sam took a deep breath and stood up from his chair as Diane Manning walked into the room. She wore a sleeveless summer dress, cut to mid-thigh, with a braided leather belt that made him think of the handle of a whip. Her shoes, as always, were pumps with three-inch heels.
Before he could speak, Tess rose beside him and moved towards Diane in a single fluid motion, extending her hand.
“Tess Gallagher of the Chronicle, Ms. Manning, pleased to meet you,” she said, giving Diane’s hand a firm pump. She gestured to Sam. “I believe you already know my associate, Sam Walsh.”
If Diane was ruffled by the abruptness, it didn’t show. “Of course,” she said. “Sam and I talked often during the Rufus Hodge – ”
Tess cut her off. “That’s what we’re here about, Ms. Manning. We have some very pointed questions about the trial and other aspects of the case. I’m sure you won’t mind an interview? Your assistant said your afternoon was open.”
If Sam hadn’t been impressed by his de facto partner before, he certainly was now. Tess had gone from walking out on the whole thing to knee-deep in a brilliant strategy in the space of just a few seconds. If they could keep the canny lawyer off balance from the outset, put Diane on the defensive, they might have a shot at getting through this with their careers intact.
“Well, yes,” Diane said, obviously flustered. She sat down behind her desk. “I suppose I have the time. But what – ”
“Excellent,” Tess said with a hint of disdain. She and Sam sat back down. “To begin with, Ms. Manning – ”
“Diane, please.”
Tess looked up from her notebook for a moment. “Yes, of course. Diane, Sam and I have several questions regarding the Rufus Hodge case as it stands now.” Her gaze returned to her notebook, where she riffled through pages that Sam hoped Diane couldn’t see were quite blank. “If you recall, on the day Mr. Hodge was convicted, you said the crown’s case was flimsy and that you would appeal at the earliest opportunity.” She looked up again. “That opportunity was weeks ago, and yet as far as we can discern, you haven’t filed anything. Why is that?”
Sam looked from Tess to Diane. Tess’s performance was so mesmerizing, he’d almost forgotten why they had come in the first place. His own interviews with the lawyer had been brief, with her always in control. In fact, looking back now, he was mildly ashamed to realize he had done little more than transcribe exactly what she told him in his stories during the trial.
Diane’s eyes were wide under her impossibly thick lashes. “Well, Tess – ”
“I believe your exact words were that the prosecutors built their case on ‘pillars of sand.’ Can you elaborate on that?”
Diane glanced at Sam. He put on a serious expression that he knew would be almost comical in contrast with his heat-wilted appearance, but he didn’t care. Wherever the hell this was going, he was sure of one thing: he was all in. Tess’s instinctive gambit was working so far; Diane was definitely off balance. But why? She should have expected this line of questioning from someone in the media eventually. What was she hiding?
“Uh, yes, those were my words,” she said. Was she blushing? “And I, uh, I still believe that. Absolutely. Rufus Hodge was convicted because he was convenient.”
Tess arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, can you explain what you mean by that?”
“Certainly.” Diane seemed to have recovered some composure, but she was still wary. “Chuck Palliser and the other investigators discovered a link between my client and the storage unit that was destroyed the night of Tom Ferbey’s death, and they made up their minds that Rufus Hodge was guilty of murder. They tailored their case to match that conclusion. There was no physical evidence other than that single frame from Alex Dunn’s camera, which could have been anyone. The prosecution couldn’t even physically establish the presence of any drugs in the unit. Their whole claim that it was blown up to hide evidence was nothing more than speculation. And don’t get me started on Richie Duff.” She rolled her eyes, but to Sam, the gesture seemed more practiced than sincere.
“What about Alex Dunn?” asked Tess. “He testified that Tom Ferbey had called him several times and told him there was methamphetamine in that unit. Hundreds of kilos of it.”
“Yes, and I could have called Alex Dunn and told him the moon was made of green cheese. That doesn’t make it so. Testimony is not evidence, as I’m sure you know. There wasn’t a single shred of physical evidence that the storage unit ever contained drugs.”
Tess looked at her notebook. “Yes, I’ve heard C4 explosives will do that to a crime scene. That doesn’t mean – ”
“With all due respect, Diane, I’ve heard that song before several times,” Sam interrupted. He ignored a glare from Tess; she wasn’t the only one who didn’t like getting their lunch eaten. “We’re looking for anything that didn’t come up during the trial.”
Diane shifted – squirmed? – in her chair and shook her head. “Obviously, I can’t go into specifics. Attorney-client privilege.”
Sam was silent a moment. There was something going on behind the lawyer’s eyes. She was uncomfortable, and not just because of their aggressive interrogation. Was there something she wanted to tell them but couldn’t?
He leaned forward and said: “What if
this was off the record?”
Tess picked up on the cue. It had worked with Mickey Horvath, maybe it would work again. Of course, comparing Horvath to Diane Manning was like comparing a goldfish to a shark, and they ran the risk of getting swallowed whole for their hubris.
Tess gave Diane another officious look. “Look, we’re going to run a story about the fact you haven’t filed an appeal, whether you comment or not. But I think we all know that silence here will imply that you know you can’t win.”
Diane looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Yes, and we all know that this case was tried in the court of public opinion. You’re making my point for me.”
“So you’re saying you don’t believe Rufus Hodge can get a fair appeal?” Sam asked.
“He didn’t get a fair trial, why should his appeal be any different?”
Tess tapped her pen against her lips. She wasn’t putting on a show now, Sam thought. The wheels were turning in that pretty auburn noggin. “That’s quite cynical, don’t you think?” she asked. “I mean, appeals are conducted outside the public eye. In theory, they’re supposed to be based entirely on legal procedure, nothing else. Besides, you have nothing to lose by filing one, and everything to gain. It’s a free bet.”
“I never said we wouldn’t appeal.”
“But you haven’t started proceedings yet. Why the wait?”
Diane was all but sweating now. We’ve hit a nerve, Sam thought. Now what do we do with it? He decided to play a hunch. “Appeals are often delayed when there’s new information,” he said. “Is that the case here? Has something come to light that wasn’t known during the trial? Some new evidence, maybe?” He leaned closer. “Does it have something to do with the murders of Chuck Palliser and Richie Duff? It does, doesn’t it?”
Tess glanced sideways at him. He could read this look loud and clear: they were on thin ice again. And he still had no idea what the endgame would be. Even if Diane revealed something, what would they do with it?
“I’m . . . not at liberty to discuss that,” Diane said haltingly. “Now, if that’s all, I have things to do.”
Sam stood suddenly and placed his palms flat on the top of Diane’s desk. An aura of heat vapor traced his hands on the cool polished wood as he leaned forward, until their faces were only inches apart. He was pretty sure he could feel Tess’s horror emanating from behind him.
“I have one question, Diane, and I want you to answer it honestly. Not as a lawyer, but just as a decent human being. You have my word as a journalist that no one else will ever know what you say.” Under any other circumstances, Sam knew, Diane Manning would likely have slapped him – hard, not a girly slap – for his audacity. He was absolutely sure she didn’t suffer fools. But this wasn’t any other circumstance. He locked his eyes on hers and steeled himself for whatever came next. “Do you believe – deep down believe, in your gut – that Rufus Hodge killed Tom Ferbey?”
#
Crowe was glad to see the lobby empty when he walked through the door of Ledger, Larson and Manning. The only person in the room was the receptionist behind a raised granite-topped desk. She was a middle-aged bleached blonde, with ruby red lips and about forty extra pounds packed into all the right places.
He put on a flirtatious smile that he didn’t remotely feel and leaned on the counter. “Stella, my love, what do you know?”
The woman glanced up from her computer screen. “I know you still haven’t given up on Ms. Manning and swept me away to your love prison,” she sighed. “I could show you things that would make your hair grow out and then stand up on end. Speaking of which, hasn’t anyone told you that the whole five-o’clock-shadow-all-over-your-head look went out a couple of years ago?”
Crowe chuckled in spite of himself. “I’ve killed people for less than that, darlin. Don’t you know my reputation?”
“Oh, pooh.” She rose from her chair and drove a fingertip as red as her lips into Crowe’s tee-shirt. “You swagger around like you’re Clint Eastwood, but I know in here you’re really just Leo DiCaprio, looking for your Kate Winslet.” She batted her eyelashes and leaned forward to show off her ample cleavage. “Wanna sketch me naked? There’s an empty break room around the corner.”
Damned if she hadn’t managed to lift his mood, even if it was just for a moment. “Stella,” he said with mock gravity, “I honestly don’t think I’d survive the encounter.”
She broke up into peals of laughter, and he followed suit, laughing honestly for the first time in a long time. It felt good.
#
Diane’s eyes darted from Sam to Tess and back again. It wasn’t panic he saw in those eyes, but it wasn’t her usual confidence, either. It was like she was deciding whether she could trust them. With what, he could only guess.
After a long silence, Diane looked down at the surface of her desk. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t believe that Rufus Hodge killed Tom Ferbey.”
Sam nodded. “I appreciate your candor. I just have one more question.”
#
Crowe glanced at his watch, still chuckling. “Think she’ll be much longer?”
“I doubt it,” said Stella. “She’s just with a couple of reporters from the Chronicle.”
“Reporters?” Crowe sobered instantly. “What the hell do they want?”
“I couldn’t tell you. My guess it that they’re just here to ask her about the attack on Mr. Hodge. One of them is the guy who covered his trial.”
Crowe was already walking toward the office door. “Thanks, darlin,” he said grimly as he raised his boot and kicked it open.
#
Sam just about shit himself as the door to Diane Manning’s office swung inward and slammed against the stopper on the wall behind it. Splinters of doorjamb rained down on the immaculate carpet.
A muscular man with close-cropped hair and a black tee-shirt stabbed a finger at Diane as he proceeded into the room. “Not another fucking word,” he growled. Then he turned his attention to Sam, cocking a thumb at the door. “Out. Now.”
Sam glanced back at Tess, who sat wide-eyed in her chair. He positioned himself between her and the man in black. Diane had stood up and was walking around towards the man, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Calm down, Jason,” she said. Her voice sounded like she was on the edge of panic.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Jason? Crowe, right?”
The man glared at him. “I thought I told you to fuck off.”
Sam bristled. “Look, buddy, we were having a private conversation.”
“Well, now you’re not. Get out.”
“I don’t think that’s your call to make.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tess rise slowly from her chair. “Sam, don’t – ”
“Sam?” said Crowe. “Walsh. I remember you. I read your stuff during the trial.”
Sam brightened a bit. “That’s right, I was – ”
“Get. OUT.”
Diane had positioned herself between the two men, trying to keep them from coming together. “We all need to calm down,” she pleaded.
“I’ll get to you in a second,” Crowe said coldly. His eyes never left Sam’s. “I won’t tell you again, Walsh. Leave, or I’ll toss you out that fucking window.”
Diane blanched. “What my client meant to say – ”
“I’m pretty sure I know what he meant,” said Sam.
“You’re smarter than you look,” said Crowe.
“Tougher, too. So, did you kill Chuck Palliser and Richie Duff?”
Crowe pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I don’t have time to play piddly fuck, Diane,” he said. “Tell these two to get out before he gets hurt.”
Diane swept over to where Sam and Tess stood, linking her arms in theirs. She pulled them toward the door. The receptionist was standing on the other side, gawking into the room.
“Is everything okay, Ms. Manning?” asked the woman.
“We’re fine, Stella, everything’s fine. Mr. Walsh and Ms. Galla
gher are just leaving.”
Sam stopped in the doorway and locked eyes with Diane. “Are you going to be okay here with him? Like this?”
She gave him a steely look. “Mr. Crowe is my client. You really do need to leave now.”
Sam felt Tess’s hand around his upper arm, tugging him out of the room and into the lobby. “Sam, just let it go. We don’t have any business here.”
“Smart girl,” said Crowe. “You should listen to her.”
Sam eyed him up. “This isn’t over.”
“Sam!” Tess snapped. “Now!”
Crowe slammed the door as they walked into the lobby. The blonde receptionist looked from them to the door and then back again as they left.
“Well, that was fun,” Sam heard the woman say as the door closed behind them.
#
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Diane spat. “You’re paying for that door.”
Crowe gripped her arms and drew her close. His nose was nearly touching hers. He could smell her perfume, kicked into high gear by her perspiration. “I’m asking the questions here,” he hissed. “Understand?”
She nodded, eyes as wide as a china doll’s.
“What did you tell those two?”
Diane swallowed. “Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Nothing! I swear. All they asked was why I haven’t filed an appeal yet.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“We, uh, never really got to that point.”
Crowe took a deep breath and let her go.
Diane rubbed her arms. “Jason, what’s going on? Why are you acting like this?”
“When you came to the Rosebush that afternoon after Palliser and Duff were killed – who were you coming to see?”
“You. Who else would I talk to? The rest of those thugs couldn’t string together a full sentence.”
“Me. Not someone else. Not Pulaski?” Crowe’s stomach bunched. It always came back to the Roses. Whoever had killed Tom Ferbey had to have known what was in the storage unit. And the only people who knew that were the members.
