“Oh yeah. The Krally girl. What’s up with that?” Matt asked. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll kill you in your sleep?” he laughed.
“I haven’t put her in my will yet,” I said sarcastically.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Niki said, and he slapped me hard on the back. “How do you feel? Is revenge sweet?”
“I’m not sure yet. I need to check it out in the daylight,” I said.
Which is exactly what we did. The four of us loaded into Niki’s car and headed over to Larry’s house. He lived in an area of urban sprawl called Stone Oak where the houses are so close together that neighbors can pass the Grey Poupon from the window. There was a Fox News crew driving away as we pulled onto his street and there was a crowd of people standing in the street and on the sidewalk in front of Larry’s house, looking and pointing. I sat straight up in my seat and looked out the window. We’d done a hell of a job.
We’d started on the roof and let the paint work its way down the sides of the house, and the results were amazing. It looked like something straight out of a Stephen King movie. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear the house was bleeding to death. We’d dumped gallon after gallon of blood-red paint, the same color Larry had used on the Siamese, and it had dripped in a random pattern all down the walls, over the windows and along the doors.
“It’s incredible,” I said in awe.
It was way better than I’d ever imagined. We’d done the same thing to Larry’s truck and boat and, taking in the scene as a whole, I had to admit that it looked absolutely gruesome. If it hadn’t been me who’d thought it up, I’d have sworn that whoever had done it was a complete psychopath – down to the word “MEOW” I’d scrawled on the rear window of Larry’s truck.
We gawked as long as we could before someone behind us honked. I turned around and saw that there was a long procession of cars waiting to see the spectacle. The five of us laughed hysterically as Niki drove away from the house and the next car in line took our place.
“It’s sweet,” I said.
“It is, isn’t it?” Niki said knowingly.
* * * *
When I got to the office, Maddie followed me back to the kitchen. She looked around to make sure no one was around, then she lit into me.
“Are you insane! I saw it on the news.”
“It was already on? Boy that was fast.” I was still high and nothing she could say was going to bring me down. “Damn. I’m bummed I missed it. How did it look?”
“It looked like Charles Manson had been there! That’s how it looked!”
“Cool. They’ll probably show it again at noon.” I looked at my watch. It was already after 11:30. “Excellent.” I opened the fridge and took out sandwich meat, cheese, mayo and mustard, then I got the bread out of the cabinet. “You want me to make you a sandwich?”
“A sandwich? Samuel, what’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing’s the matter with me,” I said insulted. “I just thought you might be hungry.” She put her hand on my arm and I put the knife down and looked at her. “What?” I asked.
“I’m worried about you! What if you get caught?” Quivering lip . . . eyes tearing up. I didn’t even let it bother me.
“I’m not going to get caught,” I said laughing. “If I was going to get caught, it would have been last night. Larry’s not about to give my name. If he did, everything he’s done would be out in the open. Trust me Maddie, he’s not about to say who did it.”
I picked up the knife and resumed making sandwiches. When I finished, I slapped one onto a napkin and handed it to Maddie and we sat down at the kitchen table.
“Thanks,” she said, sulking.
“Stop pouting and be proud of me,” I told her. “The fucker broke my cat’s leg and coated him in red paint. Did you think I was going to just let it go?”
“No. But I didn’t know you’d do that.”
“Well neither did I. It took me a while to come up with it,” I said, swallowing a mouthful of sandwich. “It’s awesome, isn’t it?” Just the thought of it made me smile.
“It’s pretty good,” she finally agreed. The phone rang and she got up to answer it.
“Samuel Collins’ office,” she said. “This is she . . . oh, Matt . . . whale of course I remember you.” She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders, then she turned her back to me and continued the conversation. Leave it to one of Niki’s friends to bring me down.
“Saturday?” she said, sounding surprised. “No. I couldn’t. I have two boys . . . Oh really? . . . Yeah, one’s almost four and the other’s one . . .You do? How old are yours?. . . So you know how it is . . .” She laughed and I wanted to puke.
I turned on the television so I wouldn’t have to listen to any more of the conversation, but even against my will, I continued to eavesdrop. They talked on and on and by the time they sounded like they were wrapping it up, the news was starting.
“Whale, if you’re brave enough to include my kids, why not? Sure I’ll have breakfast with you.” She had her back to me but I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was smiling. Hell, she was practically laughing. When she hung up, I did my best to ignore her. I turned up the volume.
“I’m having breakfast on Saturday with your friend, Matt.”
“Why would you want to do that?” I asked, genuinely curious to know.
“Maybe because he asked.” She was standing there with her hand on her hip, giving me a look. I was just waiting for her to tap her foot. “Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?” she asked matter-of-factly. “Other than the fact that you’re jealous,” she added.
“That’s ridiculous. Why should I be jealous of you going to breakfast with someone?”
“You shouldn’t. So why are you acting like that?”
I stared at her for a couple of seconds then I dropped my forehead down and banged it against the table a couple of times. “I don’t know,” I told her truthfully when I came back up.
Maddie laughed. “Is there something wrong with the guy that I should know about?”
“Well, he’s friends with Niki Lautrec. That should tell you something.” As soon as it came out, I realized the flaw in the statement.
“You’re friends with Niki Lautrec.”
“Yeah, well he’s probably into all kinds of illegal activities.”
“Oh, you mean like dumping buckets of red paint all over someone’s house, truck and boat? Is that the kind of illegal activities he might be into?”
“For example,” I agreed. I could feel a smile creeping across my face as I argued with her. The truth was, as far as I knew, Matt was a good guy. There was no reason Maddie shouldn’t go to breakfast, or even lunch or dinner with him, for that matter. “In answer to your question, no, there’s nothing wrong with the guy that you should know about,” I admitted, then I qualified it with, “That I know about.”
“Here it is,” Maddie said, pointing to the TV. I turned up the volume.
It was a wide-angle shot of Larry’s bleeding house taken from out by the street. There was a crowd of people, some of whom I recognized from when we drove by, and the reporter was standing in the front yard.
It appears to be some sort of satanic ritual that went on overnight at this house in the Stone Oak area. When the owner went out to get his paper this morning, this is what he found.
The camera zoomed in on Larry’s house, then panned over to the truck and boat. There wasn’t a tree or a stick of landscaping in sight and that somehow made the scene even creepier. It looked almost as impressive on TV as it did in person.
“Meow?” Maddie said laughing.
“You like that?”
She shook her head.
The camera zoomed in. “I have no idea who could have done it,” Larry was saying. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
“That’ll teach you to fuck with my cat, you asshole!” I yelled at the TV.
The phone rang and Maddie got up to answer it. “It’s Niki,” she said, and she han
ded me the phone.
“Are you watching?” I asked.
“It’s even better than breaking his leg,” he said laughing.
“It’s great,” I agreed. “Thanks for you help.”
“No problem. You coming to my party?”
I was hard-pressed to say no right then, and he knew it. “We’ll be there.”
“Good. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Chapter 17
The following Monday, I sent the notices for Larry’s and the CEO’s depositions. I was pumped after painting Larry’s house. Every time I thought of it, I got a nostalgic high, and I realized that it was the feeling that Niki referred to when he’d claim that crime was more fun. In this case, it certainly was. It didn’t make up for the Siamese’ broken leg, but every time I’d see him hobbling along, I definitely felt like I had obtained vengeance.
The Siamese had become an indoor cat, at least until the cast came off, and he had taken to it like he was born to the status. I broke down and bought a litter box so he wouldn’t have to go outside to do his business. I couldn’t imagine that a cat could be adept with only three functioning legs, and I didn’t want to risk anything else happening to him while he couldn’t defend himself.
There would be periods where he’d disappear without a trace for hours at a stretch. The first time it happened, I was concerned that he’d somehow gotten out, even though I knew none of the doors had been opened. I searched in vain every nook and cranny of the damn house. It started out casually with me calling “kitty kitty” and looking under beds and large furniture where, with my minimal knowledge of cats, I assumed he had to be. Then after looking in all the obvious places, I went back and repeated the process, thinking I had to have missed him. When the second and third rounds came up catless, I started looking in less obvious place, although I was skeptical a cat could even fit in some of them. I looked in every damn closet and cabinet in the house, in drawers, in boxes, in the washer and dryer, behind the fridge and stove. I even looked in the damn dishwasher, but the bastard was nowhere to be found. My high-pitched “kitty kitty” calls, eventually turned into frustrated curses of “Where the hell are you, you bastard!” until he finally reappeared out of the blue back on the hearth.
“Where the hell have you been?” I asked angrily. I’d wasted an hour and a half looking for him, not to mention that I’d let myself worry over a stupid cat. He looked at me coolly and meowed.
From then on, he’d play his game of hide and seek on a daily basis. One minute he’d be on the hearth, and the next he would vanish, until after about a week, when I caught the bastard coming out of hiding. I was sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace working on some files when he came swooping down over my head from my 7-foot armoire. My files went sailing and I spilled coffee everywhere as I jumped up yelling, not knowing what was happening. The bastard landed at my feet and looked up at me indifferently. He scared me so badly that I felt like kicking him across the room, but I was shocked and hugely impressed, not so much that he could get down, but that he could get up there in the first place. Even with four good legs, I’d have sworn it was an impossible feat.
* * * *
The defendants noticed Maddie’s deposition at the same time I noticed theirs, so we blocked out three days during the next month with the intention of taking all of the depos at once. It was going to be terrible timing for me because Landra’s hearing before the grand jury was scheduled for the next week, but it was the only time I had three consecutive days open for two months. The defendants would take Maddie’s deposition first, then I’d take Larry’s and finally the CEO’s.
As the time approached, Maddie started expressing concern about being deposed, and again, I wished that I didn’t care what happened to her. Things would be so much easier if she was just another client.
I knew from experience that the defendants’ lawyers would try to tear Maddie apart, but I was surprised that they had noticed a video depo. Maddie was pretty and likable and I knew first-hand that she looked good on video. Hell, even with her chest hooked up to the booby trap she looked good. That would go in our favor because sometimes looks are everything, and that’s especially true when dealing with juries. I’d won a case before based strictly on the fact that my client was beautiful and the guy we were suing was a toad.
But as much as I reassured Maddie that things would be fine, I knew it would be rough. I’d been in a deposition before with these same attorneys where my client ended up in the bathroom in tears, and that was just with the questions about her background. They hadn’t even gotten to the meat of the case before she disintegrated. I told her to buck-up or we were going to lose the damn case, and she finally got her act together and came through.
The subject matter in Maddie’s case guaranteed a volatile atmosphere at all three depositions, but especially at Maddie’s. The lawyers would be probing into personal matters that were none of anyone’s business. They would accuse Maddie of being promiscuous; they’d insinuate that she came on to Larry; and if all else failed, they would twist her words into something that she never said.
Of course, their bullying tactics could backfire on them too, because just as juries like pretty girls, they don’t like seeing pretty girls being abused by a bunch of high-powered lawyers either. The more we worked on her testimony, the more convinced I was that Maddie would do fine. And by the day of the depo, Maddie seemed more than up to the challenge.
“Just tell the truth,” I told her in the end. “Answer their questions with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ when you can. If the question requires more than that, answer succinctly only what was asked. Don’t volunteer anything. Don’t let them twist your words.”
“Okay,” she said quietly.
We were sitting in the two chairs in front of my desk while the court reporter and videographer set up their equipment in the conference room.
“I’m not going to object to their questions unless they are really out of line, so I need you to hold your own. You need to be strong and confident. Remember, you didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t let them make you feel like you did.”
“Okay, Samuel. We’ve been over all of this. I’m ready.”
“I know you are. You’ll do great.” I squeezed her hand and she gave me a nervous smile. “Let’s go.”
The defendants were well represented. They must have wanted to intimidate me because there were three attorneys, plus the corporate rep from Atlanta. They outnumbered us 2-to-1 but I didn’t care. I always liked a good challenge and these guys promised to give me one. The lead attorney was a pompous son of a bitch that I’d gone to law school with. His name was Richard Stollens, but I took to calling him Dick right from the start, despite his protest. There was a mutual disrespect and loathing between us and I figured he’d weaseled his way into the lead position just because I was Maddie’s attorney.
Maddie was sworn-in and Dick started out with the usual background questions. Name, address, phone number, age, marital status . . . He sounded like a drone. I’d heard he’d gotten married the previous year and I couldn’t help wonder what kind of woman would marry Dick Stollens. Homely, I decided.
It didn’t take long for the questioning to get ugly. Old Dick never did know how to finesse his way in through the back door. The jury would hate him. I sat back and stretched out my legs.
“Ms. Griffin, what is your relationship with Larry Roeberts?” Dick asked.
“He was my immediate supervisor at Datacare.”
“Have you ever slept with Mr. Roeberts?” Dick asked.
“Slept with him?” Maddie said unflinching. “No.”
Dick looked up from his notes over at his partner, then over at Maddie. “You never slept with Mr. Roeberts?” he repeated.
“No. I never slept with him, Mr. Stollens,” she said coolly. “I assume you are referring to the time he blackmailed me into having sex with him so I wouldn’t lose my job at Datacare.” She paused and leveled her eyes on Dick. “I would neve
r characterize that repulsive act as having ‘slept’ with Mr. Roeberts.” She crossed her arms in front of her and leaned in on her elbows, completely composed, and it came off as such an intimidating gesture that Dick moved back noticeably in his chair while Maddie continued.
“Sleeping with someone gives the connotation of a mutually agreed-upon tryst, Mr. Stollens. It gives the impression of a mattress . . . of the participants falling asleep together and hence waking up together. So, have I ever slept with Larry Roeberts? No, Mr. Stollens. I have never slept with your client.”
So much for brevity and not volunteering information.
Dick cleared his throat. “But you did have sexual intercourse with Mr. Roeberts?”
“I had sex with him one time so I wouldn’t lose my job.”
“Do you have a history of having sex with you supervisors, Ms. Griffin?”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“When you had sex with Mr. Roeberts, was that first time you had ever had sex with one of your supervisors?”
Maddie looked confused for a second then her face flushed. “My husband was my supervisor when I met him,” she admitted.
“So you do have a pattern of sleeping with . . . err . . . having sex with your supervisors,” Dick stated.
“Is that a question?” Maddie asked unfazed.
Dick squirmed in his seat. “I would go back to my original question. Do you have a history of having sex with your supervisors?”
“Whale, historically speaking, I guess I must. I’ve only had the two supervisors. Of course, I actually slept with my husband. I wasn’t coerced into having sex with him. I wasn’t promised favors or threatened with the loss of my job. With my husband, the relationship was completely consensual. Whereas with your client, it was all but rape.”
Maddie was holding her own just like I’d hoped she would. In fact, she was doing even better than I would have ever predicted. Whatever Dick threw at her, she had a reasonable, well thought-out response, and I could see the frustration setting in on Dick’s brow. He wanted to make her lose her cool, but it was obvious who was in control, and it wasn’t Dick. He tried another tack.
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