But ... Matt would be arrested. She didn’t see how he could avoid being charged with manslaughter. She, the big sister, had always protected him when they were kids. He might not make it through the process. He might even ... do something rash. He didn’t trust the system that was her life. And if she turned him in, he might try, but he would never, never be able to forgive her. And Bob, a reluctant witness, maybe a suspect—her family would be ruined.
She loved them all. How could this be happening?
She thought back to each conflict, each problem, each challenge that had been presented to her since Bob asked her about his father a few months before, during their picnic at the snowy beach. Her choices had been difficult at every turn. But she had tried her best. She had tried to help. What had she done wrong? What could she do?
The thought came, as she sat on the porch in her wobbly chair, at her wit’s end, that she had to go see Kurt. She had to tell him about Matt. She had to tell him about Bob. He had a right.
She turned down Main Street at nine-fifteen and was buzzed into the holding area right away. The atmosphere at this jail made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t known here. Kurt’s legal position had become even more precarious—he was an escapee. He had assaulted a guard in a prison van, even if the guard hadn’t been hurt beyond a bruise or two. The other guards would make sure he paid for that one way or the other, no matter what the law said.
When the guard brought him in, Kurt sat down but wouldn’t look at her. This time there was no glass, but a chain-link grille. Another guard read the paper behind his desk not twenty feet away.
His nose was still bandaged. Paul had given him shiners on both eyes and a cut on the cheek.
"Kurt?"
He sighed and looked up. "Hello, Nina."
She opened her mouth to tell him everything.
And lost her courage. Maybe if they talked about something else for a few minutes....
"The medical report says you’ll be fine in a few days," she began. "How are you feeling?"
"I’m feeling ... glad you’ll still come see me, after I took off like that."
"The bones have been identified as Tamara Sweet’s remains. She was shot twice. The D.A.’s office is investigating."
"I suppose they think I killed her."
She didn’t know much more yet, so she stopped and let him direct the conversation.
"How’s Paul?" Kurt said.
Surprised, Nina said, "Paul? Oh, he’s back on the case. He feels terrible about losing his temper like that. He’s fine."
"That’s good."
"You don’t have to be so nice about it."
"I started it," Kurt said, repeating Paul’s words. "Are you ... and Paul ...?"
Nina turned her head away, embarrassed.
"None of my business, of course."
"No. It’s not that. Let’s just say, all that’s on hold."
"He doesn’t believe me, does he?"
For no reason at all, her mind swung wildly into a new suspicion. Maybe he hadn’t killed Terry, but what about Tamara? He saw her eyes change, and said, "What is it?"
Her stomach hurt. The decision to tell him might be wrong. He might tell others. She must be crazy to trust Matt’s future to this man. "It’s a problem, you finding Tamara," she said abruptly. "I watched the film again. Now I do notice the rock. You were right, it’s the same rock. But it’s such a feat of memory for you to have remembered it."
"I told you, I’m a forest ranger. It’s like the trees and rocks and streams are furniture in my house. I notice."
She wanted to believe him, she really did.
"Poor Nina," Kurt said. "I’m so sorry."
She didn’t know what to say. She was being torn apart. She was being so unfair to him, and he was trying to comfort her. He could be out today, free ...
"I have to go," she said. "I’ll drive back down day after tomorrow to talk about the mechanics of the trial. "
"Only a few more days," Kurt said. "I know you’re doing your best."
"There’s something I want to tell you before I go, Kurt."
He waited.
"I want you to know, I do believe you. I believe you didn’t kill Terry."
Kurt said, "Thanks. I don’t know what made you decide to trust me, but it means a lot to me."
His voice broke a little when he said trust.
Just like that, Nina made up her mind to tell him.
"That’s not all," she said, her voice not faltering any longer.
"What’s happened? It must be bad, judging from the way you’re looking at me."
"I hardly know where to start," she said. "I—I know you didn’t kill Terry, because I know who did, and why. I came here to tell you—"
"Oh, thank God!" Kurt cried. "You mean I’ll be free? Who killed her? How did you find out? When can you get me out of here?" He stood up, his eyes squeezed together and his mouth drawn tightly, as if delivering himself of a great pain. He turned away from her and faced the wall.
She watched his shoulders heaving, her own eyes wet.
When he finally came back to the window, he said, "It’s such a shock. Such a relief. I’ve been holding so much in ..."
"I understand." Registering her own miserable expression, his ecstatic expression turned to bewilderment. "I have some things to tell you. Things that are hard to say. So I’m going to start by telling you something I’ve withheld from you, something very important."
She took a deep breath and plunged in.
"You do have a son, Kurt. Our son. He’s eleven, going into sixth grade, big for his age. I was pregnant when you left, and I was so angry that I wouldn’t tell Bob about you. I was wrong. I’m not angry anymore. I understand—"
To her amazement, Kurt said calmly, "I know about my son, Nina. I can’t wait to meet him. He’s written me twice. I couldn’t tell you. I was afraid you’d prevent him from writing."
They had put their heads close to the grille. They spoke confidentially, like old friends or old lovers.
"That little ... dickens!" Nina said.
"I can’t ever explain how it felt when I opened his first letter. He’s someone to live for," Kurt said. "I asked him not to come to the jail. I couldn’t let him meet me this way. If I was convicted, I planned to bow out. But now—do you have a picture of him?"
Nina held Bob’s fifth-grade school photo against the grille so that he could see it. Bob smiled, his lips in a tight smile, his chin and eyes the biggest features, the eyes clear and bright and healthy. Kurt studied it for a long time, not saying anything.
She put the picture back in her case. "I’ll leave it with the guard for you, Kurt. You should have it. Right now, I have much more to tell you."
"He looks like me," Kurt said. "He looks a lot like me. How about that! Tell me about him." So she told Kurt about Bob, about his skateboard and his school and how much he liked hot dogs, small stuff, while Kurt’s eyes lit up in a way she’d forgotten. For five minutes they both forgot about where they were.
Finally, Nina said, "Let me go on."
"Go ahead. Tell me whatever you want."
Nina talked for a long time. She wanted him to know everything, so she started from the picnic, through Bob’s trip to Monterey, Terry, Paul, and finally she told him with great difficulty about Matt’s confession from the night before. During that part she couldn’t face him. Her feelings were too complicated.
When she finally looked up, Kurt was staring at the ground with the same bleak look she’d seen in her mirror that morning, the mask of a human being faced with a problem too big to understand or deal with.
"So I came to you. I’ve told you everything I know. I’m your lawyer and it was my duty to tell you," she finished, but she didn’t feel the relief she had hoped for from laying it all at his feet. She felt inchoate rage, and she wanted to find a way out, but there was no way out.
"Thank you," was all he said, and she knew he understood her, at least.
"It’s terrible," she s
aid.
"I don’t understand," he said, "why my freedom is so costly. Because my freedom can only come from your family’s anguish. We couldn’t be happy after that, either one of us."
"Yes." She couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t thinking about how he could walk away, go back to Germany and forget her and Bobby and Matt; he was thinking only about her happiness and Bobby’s.
"I’m glad Bob never met me and got attached to me," Kurt said suddenly. "Nina, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to walk out of here and forget Matt ever said a word."
"You don’t have to sacrifice yourself. That’s not going to happen."
"I’m expendable," he said. "I have no family, except Bobby, Nina, and he hardly knows me. He loves Matt and you. You and your family have much more at stake."
"Wait! Kurt, wait. Talk to me."
He wavered for a moment, then turned back.
"I’m going to tell the D.A. I have to."
"Don’t." Kurt was shaking his head. "I’ll tell him you’re all lying to save me, to confuse the case. He knows about us, doesn’t he, Nina? He knows you might lie to save me. I’ll confess."
"Listen. Maybe there’s another way." She had thought the case through from the beginning, and although she never once expected this reaction from him, she was who she was. And what she was, was prepared. "What about if we don’t believe a word Matt said? How about we go to trial? It’s only a week away. Could you possibly hold on through the trial?"
"Sure," he said, and there was the smile she had loved so much, or had she just fallen back in love with him this minute? "Give you a chance to pull the rabbit from the hat? I can handle it if you can handle it."
Nina said, "You’re very generous to do this. You make me feel brave again."
"How about your brother? Can he hang in there?"
"He’s expecting to be arrested today. Anything short of that, he can handle. I should have gone to Terry’s that night, not Matt. He tried to help me with Bobby, in spite of having his own family to tend to, because I didn’t have time to watch over my own son. He was trying to protect Bobby when it happened. He’s always been so tenderhearted and gentle. He’s really shaken."
"Tell him I’m glad she didn’t blow him away," Kurt said. "Thank him for saving Bob’s life. I think he did. We were all lucky."
She had a hard time leaving. She had taken a huge step with Kurt. And she knew when she left she would have to get into the Bronco and say to herself, it’s a felony. You’ll be disbarred. You’ll lose Kurt and Matt, your job, your reputation. The police will find out. They always do.
BOOK FOUR
Three Years Ago: Deirdre
After a day ice-skating up at the rink at Squaw, they had moved on to this big house hanging over a cliff near Tahoe City, owned by Ray’s parents, with a spectacular view of the lake and the twinkling lights of the lake towns. Where Ray’s parents were, Deirdre didn’t know or care. He had invited a bunch of people, and they all came, throwing their sweaters off and turning up the music.
The first thing Ray wanted to do once they got everyone inside was kiss Deirdre, which was fine by her. She’d felt his eyes caressing her while she skated this afternoon, and it was a feeling she loved. She basked in his admiration. After two months going together, she was still semi-crazy for Ray, with his bushy black hair and permanent five o’clock shadow. Her parents didn’t think much of him, but at nineteen, she felt she had joined them on the adult plane, and took care of their concerns by lying through her teeth whenever his name came up.
He kissed her for a long time, rubbing her cheeks with his whiskers until they hurt. She let his hands wander; she swayed with him, and met him skin for skin, but after a while he went off to attend to his guests, promising to return.
She stayed in the kitchen waiting for him to come back, experimenting with a new kind of corkscrew, opening every bottle in sight, taking a few sips here and there. When he didn’t return-for a long time she discovered him panting over Hanna in the living room, his tongue hanging out like a goddamned dog all over the place.
She went to work on her revenge. All the rooms in the house were dark, except for light from the fire and a few candles, and dark shapes thumped the hardwood floors to the music booming out of speakers on both sides of the long living room. She let Tony drag her into the next room, where he kissed her until she made an excuse and tore herself away. Within minutes Jordan had pressed her against a wall in the hallway, and was moving his tongue down her throat. She even got Leo the Loser out on the freezing cold balcony. Everyone knew Leo had the hots for Hanna, and she found it especially satisfying to draw him into her web of sex, pulling her sweater down over her shoulder just slightly and asking him to smell her new perfume, pouncing at just the right moment.
She made a little game with herself about how many boys she could get physical with in one night, selecting her prey carefully so that no one would get too heavy on her. Ray finally spotted her making out in the corner and seemed to remember she was supposed to be with him.
"Get your dirty hands off of her, Evan," Ray said, directing his words one way, and his hard eyes directly at her. "I’m not kidding."
"Fuck off, Ray," she said, before Evan had a chance to reply, enjoying herself, blitzed on the vodka. "Mind your own business."
Which led to a delicious fight that almost stopped the party.
Ray finished the evening off by throwing her out, pulling her by her short hair out onto the steps in the front of the house, and giving the front door a hearty slam.
Whoa. It was freezing, no moon. To hell with him, she thought, feeling the icy blow of wind, pulling the fur hat he had tossed after her down over her ears.
She knew a couple of the guys would be delighted to give her a ride home, but she was in no mood to go back inside and ask someone and possibly run into Ray again. She was awfully drunk, she realized, stumbling up the slippery walk, but she knew she wasn’t far from the highway. She could thumb a lift.
Serve him right if some butcher picked her up.
34
THE TREETOPS YELLOWED UNDER A BLISTERING HIGH mountain sun as the one-week-to-trial countdown began. Midsummer was a bad time for a trial. Court reporters, clerks, witnesses, all wanted to be somewhere else. No one returned phone calls. Paul wanted to be out on a boat or turning over a king and an ace at Caesars.
Instead, he wrote up reports on Doreen Benitez Ordway, mildly censored, and Sergeant Cheney, and the parents of the girls, and wrote a note about Terry London’s fur coat, which was gone and uninsured, and passed them all on to Sandy by the middle of the week. He didn’t see Nina. She was at a pretrial conference that Sandy told him would last all day.
The missing coat was interesting. Murders had been committed for less: the lynx was worth over ten thousand dollars, even though, as it turned out, Terry had inherited it from her mother. But why not take the lipstick-size camera, the Steenbeck editing equipment, the video recorders, all now repossessed? Those items would be easy to hawk, easier maybe than the lynx.
Sandy gave him copies of the experts’ reports. Their fingerprint expert hadn’t been able to I.D. any of the partial prints, quite a disappointment, though he was sure some of the partials were not the prints of either Scott or London. Win a little, lose a little. The expert lip-reader hadn’t helped much, either, but his time might come if Willie Evans’s testimony left any loop-holes.
The independent lab tests were also uninspiring— London’s blood splattered all over the wall and pooled on the floor; Kurt’s blood trailed from the studio floor outside. No sign of a third party nicking his finger. No third-party evidence under Terry’s nails.
No third-party physical evidence at all, in fact, except prints all over the studio of about two dozen people. Smeared and useless prints on Terry’s camcorder. Smeared prints on the rifle along with clear prints from Terry and Scott.
He pored over his copies of the autopsy reports on both women, the ballistics results, the witness statements
. Nothing. What kind of defense was Nina going to put on?
He called on Thursday, and Sandy said Nina was a mess. They had a last meeting of the Gang of Four at her office on the Friday before the trial. Wish, who Paul had kept busy running around to the experts and tracking down the small stuff, lay down on her couch immediately. "Your second home," Paul said.
"I think better lying down," Wish said.
Nina had temporarily abandoned her contacts for horn-rims that she must have kept since college. They made her look smarter and distracted his attention from the full lips and womanly curves crying out for his attention. She started right up. She thought Jerry Kettrick’s eyewitness testimony could be attacked. She had formed a plan to attack Willie Evans’s lip-reading. Other than that, she seemed to be spinning her wheels.
They talked once more about the problems: Kurt’s statements when he was arrested, the death video, Jerry Kettrick, and the registration and prints on the Remington. They talked about the new problem: Scott’s escape from custody and beeline for Tamara Sweet’s remains.
"Their main problem is still motive, even if it’s not a required element of proof," Paul said. "It’s important to the jury."
"The jury may not need that much motive, Paul," Nina said. "A boyfriend and girlfriend, Tamara a drug user, late at night in the woods. Milne’s going to let in the rifle registration, the rifle casing, the finding of the bones, the relationship. It’s not much, but if they think it’s enough, covering up Tam’s murder would provide enough of a motive for killing Terry. And there’s the note Kurt sent her, telling her to leave him alone."
"And we know he was worried about you," Sandy said.
"So he says," Paul said.
"How could that come into evidence?" Sandy said. "Since he won’t testify."
"Collier will ask me about any contacts I had with Kurt before the shooting," Nina said. "There’s no attorney-client privilege for events occurring before Kurt retained me."
"I keep coming back to the fact that the film doesn’t specifically implicate him," Paul said.
Invasion of Privacy Page 31
