January Justice

by Athol Dickson

  From there we took the Crystal City Highway south from town to a ranch road that headed west. Haley was still riding in the back. A couple of miles up the road, I turned off the pavement onto a gravel road. Another mile along that road, I stopped at a steel gate. I got out, walked up to the gate, and opened it. I got back in the Range Rover and drove through. I stopped again, got out, walked back to the gate, and closed it. I got back in the Range Rover and continued on along the road, which was now more of a trail.

  We came to another gate. I stopped. I opened my door, and Haley said, “Let me do it.”

  Before I could answer, she was out and walking toward the gate. She had her hair back in a ponytail. She was wearing jeans and boots and a plaid shirt and no makeup as far as I could tell. She looked as if she belonged there. She was nearly old enough to be my mother, and she was easily the most desirable woman I had ever met.

  Haley waited while I drove through, and then she closed the gate behind us. She walked up to the front passenger side door, opened it, and got in beside me. We headed out across the pasture.

  “Is this your land?” she asked.

  “It belongs to a friend of ours.”

  “Ours?”

  “My family. We’ve lived here for generations. Most everybody knows us.”

  “Is your parents’ place nearby?”

  “My grandparents’ place is, yes.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “My mother died when I was six. My father’s doing twenty-five to life in prison.”

  We had come to another gate. I stopped. She got out without a word. Once we were through that gate, the country around us started to get rocky.

  She said, “Do you mind if I ask something?”

  I stared straight ahead. We were on a dirt track that wove uphill between mesquites and limestone outcroppings, barely wide enough for the Range Rover. I said, “First-degree murder. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “That must be very hard. I’m sorry.”

  We began to descend. As we did, a white-stone bluff rose on our left. Soon we came to a hairpin turn, and Haley got her first view of the river down below. A few minutes later, I drove out onto a gravel bar, parked, and turned off the engine. We sat there in the truck, shaded by towering cottonwoods and surrounded on three sides by the shallow river as it gurgled and splashed and curved around the bar.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “This is the Nueces River,” I said. I pointed south. “Mexico is about eight miles that way.”

  “It’s just…incredible. We should shoot a scene here.”

  “No.”

  She looked at me. “No?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  “People would want to know where it is.”

  She smiled. “And you don’t want anyone to know where it is?”

  “I do not.”

  “So…this is some kind of secret swimming hole? For locals only?”

  “Something like that.”

  “But you already brought me here. Your secret’s out.”

  “You’ll never find it again.”

  “I have a pretty good memory, buster. Especially now that I know it’s a big deal. I’ll memorize everything on the drive back.”

  “Guess I’ll have to blindfold you.”

  She laughed. “Just you try.”

  She took off her boots, rolled her jeans up to her knees, and went wading while I stood beside the Range Rover, watching. The river bottom was lined with stones and gravel, rounded by centuries of erosion. She had to go slowly, picking her way out into the water in her bare feet. I warned her to be careful of the current, which was stronger than it looked. Sure enough, she slipped and fell. I had a moment of panic and ran across the gravel bar to help her. But before I got to the river’s edge, she was already back on her feet, and laughing.

  She looked over at me, still laughing. She then leaned down and got two hands into the water and sent a shower through the air in my direction. I looked down at my shirt. It was a hundred-dollar western-cut shirt with pearl buttons. I had bought it in San Antonio just to wear to work. It was soaking wet.

  I looked up at her. She stood there with her hands on her hips, grinning as if daring me to do something about it. I waded into the river with my boots on and splashed her back. Then we were both stumbling around, hip deep in the river, splashing each other furiously and falling and floating in the current.

  After that, I took the rear seat out of the Range Rover and set it on the gravel beside the river. She sat there in the sun with her shirttails tied together, stomach bared to the sun, and her jeans rolled up to her knees. I took off my boots and drained the water out of them; then I removed my shirt and draped it over a boulder to dry out. I built a little fire with mesquite, and once the wood had burned off pretty well, I set the foil-wrapped burritos in the coals. In a few minutes they were ready, and we ate them with our fingers and drank the ice-cold bottled water. We finished with the slices of pecan pie.

  I stretched out beside her on the seat, my legs crossed on the gravel, my fingers clasped over my belly, and my head leaned back against the leather. The sun had risen above the treetops and was hot upon us. I went to sleep for a while, and when I awoke, she was staring at me.

  She said, “I don’t impress you at all, do I?”

  I looked at her, trying to decide what she meant. She didn’t seem like the type to fish for compliments, so I figured it was an honest question. I said, “If it makes you feel any better, I bought a new shirt to wear to work.”

  She laughed.

  I said, “I’m sorry. I’m sure I’d be impressed if I watched more movies.”

  “You have heard of me, haven’t you?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “But you don’t seem to be, you know…intimidated.”

  “I don’t remember ever being intimidated by anyone.”

  She stared at me a moment with a thoughtful expression. Then she smiled, and it was as if a second sun had dawned over the river.

  7

  In the spare room of Haley’s guesthouse, I turned away from my easel and walked back through the living area. Stepping outside, I stood by the front door, blinking in the Southern California sunshine. Teru Fujimoto was kneeling by a flowerbed about fifty yards away. His pipe was clenched between his teeth, sending little puffs of smoke skyward while he worked. He saw me and waved. I waved back and went over to him. He stood up to face me as I approached, brushing at the knees of his dark-green uniform trousers. When I got close, he stuck out his hand and we shook. His hand felt rough and hard. Not the kind of hand you would expect on a man with philosophy and law degrees from Stanford and Harvard.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Not so hot, actually. How about you?”

  “ ‘Every day, in every way, I’m getting better and better.’ ”

  “I’m sure Coué would be pleased to hear it.”

  I was impressed as usual with his breadth of knowledge. Most people would have thought I was quoting a Pink Panther script. But then, Haley hadn’t hired Teru solely for his gardening skills. He had always been something of a spiritual advisor to her too.

  I said, “Got a few minutes?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I thought you and me and Simon ought to have a talk.”

  He tapped his pipe out on his palm and slipped it into a front pocket as we walked across the grounds toward the main house. It was a two-story rambling structure about the size of an apartment building, made of white stucco and brown wood trim below a roof of terra-cotta tiles that flowed down gently from the ridges. There was a splashing fountain in the front, as large as most swimming pools, and a gravel drive that circled the fountain. The air was filled with hummingbirds, pollen drifted golden in the sunshine, and the scent of jasmine was quite strong. It all reminded me of her, which was, of course, the problem.

  We went around the side of the mansion to a door th
at faced onto a small parking area. I knew there was a mudroom just inside the door. It opened in one direction onto the kitchen and in the other onto a small wing where Simon’s office was, as well as his sitting room and bedroom. I knew Simon was most likely in that part of the house. I climbed the steps and pressed the button by the door.

  “We could just go in,” said Teru.

  I shook my head. “Never have before.”

  He looked at me a moment and then nodded. We waited until Simon came.

  The butler stood beside the open door looking out at me without any kind of expression. “Yes, sir?”

  “Got a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  “Maybe we could all have something to drink?”

  “Certainly.” He stepped back from the door and made a little gesture toward the interior. Teru wiped his boots on the matt and went in. I followed, and Simon closed the door behind us. “Perhaps the sunroom, sir?”

  “I was thinking the kitchen.”

  “Very well.”

  In Haley’s kitchen were about fifty feet of cabinets with a rubbed white antique finish. The countertops were tile, and on the walls between the counters and the cabinets above them were more tiles, except those had hand-painted patterns. Along one wall were two stainless-steel refrigerators, three ovens, and a gas range with eight burners and a commercial exhaust hood. Two dishwashers stood on either side of a sink along another wall, and a third dishwasher and a second sink were across the aisle from them in the center island. A third, smaller sink was built in at the far end of the island.

  Haley had once explained that one sink was for washing fruits and vegetables. She had laughed a little when I asked if the other two were for meats and starchy foods, but I think she was just humoring me. The island was topped with a maple butcher-block counter. Hanging over it was a pot rack about the size of a compact car, festooned with dozens of brass and stainless-steel skillets, pots, and saucepans of every size. Beside the island was a long pine table, with eight pine chairs on either side. The room was about the size of a three-car garage.

  Simon had us set up with beverages in no time. An iced tea for Teru and lemonade for me. Simon took his tea hot.

  I said, “Tell me what you know about the police investigation.”

  They looked at each other, and then Teru said, “They were here for three days, going over everything. I don’t think they found much of interest. They questioned me two times.”

  “Two times for me as well,” said Simon.

  “What kinds of questions did they ask?”

  “What you would expect,” said Teru. “Did she have any enemies? Did she do drugs? Did any of her friends do drugs? Where was I that night? Like that.”

  I looked at Simon. He said, “They put the same sort of questions to me, sir, but they also asked quite a few about you.”

  “Yeah,” said Teru. “They were very interested in you. And they paid a lot of attention to the guesthouse. Took it apart from top to bottom.”

  “Really? I didn’t notice that.”

  Simon said, “I took the liberty of returning the guesthouse to its proper condition after they departed.”

  “Thank you.”

  He didn’t bother to reply.

  I said, “Who did the questioning?”

  “Several people were involved those first few days, sir,” replied Simon. We had ladies and gentlemen here from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, the Los Angeles Police Department, and the Newport Beach Police Department.”

  Teru said, “It was Haley, after all.”

  “Someone would have been the lead interrogator.”

  “Yes,” said Simon. “That seemed to be one Detective Russo with the Los Angeles Police Department.”

  The name awakened something in my imagination, or maybe it was a memory. I had a feeling Russo and I had met during my first few weeks in the hospital. It made sense the detective would interview me. I wondered what I’d told him. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Memories came like photographic stills. A face out of focus. A man in a bad suit standing with his back to me as he stared out through the hospital room window. Otherwise, I couldn’t recall anything.

  I opened my eyes. Simon and Teru were watching me closely. Simon said, “Are you well, sir?”

  “I’m okay,” I said. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Okay. Here’s the thing,” I said. “I think I remember a lawyer coming to the hospital. I think he said Haley left most of her estate to me. But so much of my time there was confused, I’m not sure. Do either of you know if that’s right?”

  They looked at each other, and then Simon said, “That is my understanding, sir.”

  “Absolutely,” said Teru, nodding. “She left most of it to you.”

  I took a deep breath. I let it out. I said, “I can’t inherit her things.”

  “And yet I believe you have,” replied Teru.

  “No, it’s not going to be possible.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Simon. “Since it is an accomplished fact, it does seem more than merely possible, if I may say so.”

  “I signed a prenuptial agreement. Haley didn’t like it, but I insisted. I wanted her to know I wasn’t interested in her money.”

  Simon said, “If I might be permitted a suggestion… Perhaps a conversation with her attorneys could clarify the situation.”

  “I don’t know how to contact them.”

  “Nothing could be simpler, sir. If you would care to join me in the study, I can connect you.”

  The sense of unreality I had been fighting seemed to line the halls like cobwebs as I followed Simon through Haley’s mansion. It took several minutes to reach her study, a surprisingly small room maybe twenty feet by twenty, with rolling ladders to reach to tops of bookshelves that extended to the ceiling, fifteen feet above. Her desk was just as she had left it—a stack of screenplays in one corner, a green-glass-shaded banker’s lamp in another, and between them a telephone and a leather blotter.

  Simon drew a key from his vest pocket and used it to unlock the center top drawer. Opening the drawer, he removed a small leather address book. He turned the pages, then dialed a number on the phone. Handing it to me, he said, “Direct line to a Mr. Williams, sir, of Williams, Harcourt, and Shasta in New York.”

  I took the handset and put it to my ear. It was still ringing. Then a man’s voice said, “Howard Williams.”

  “Hello,” I said. “My name is Malcolm Cutter. I’m calling about, uh, Haley Lane.”

  Simon left the room as the man replied, “Yes, Mr. Cutter. Of course I know who you are. Congratulations on your release from the hospital.”

  “Are you the one who visited me there?”

  “Yes, that was me. I understand you were somewhat confused.”

  My mouth felt dry. It was difficult to speak. I swallowed, then said, “I’m better now.”

  “So very glad to hear it. How may I assist you today?”

  “You’re…you were…Haley’s lawyer?”

  “One of many, Mr. Cutter. Miss Lane required counsel on so many matters.”

  “But her…uh…her will. You handled that?”

  “Sadly, that’s true.”

  “Okay. But I seem to remember you saying something about an inheritance? For me?”

  “Yes. You seem concerned. Is there a problem?”

  “I signed a prenuptial agreement. Before we were married.”

  He chuckled. “Yes. That’s when most of them are signed.”

  “So you know about it?”

  “I do indeed.”

  “So her things… I didn’t inherit anything, right?”

  “Oh no. You inherited almost everything.”

  “But the prenuptial said I wouldn’t get anything.”

  “I’m aware of that, since I’m the one who wrote it. But you see, a prenuptial agreement is only valid wh
en it has been executed by both parties, and your wife never signed the document.”

  “She did. I saw her do it. It was the night before our wedding. We were in her suite drinking champagne. I saw her give it to an assistant later on that night and tell her to send it to her lawyers.”

  “We did receive it, and you may have seen her write something in the signature line, Mr. Cutter, but it wasn’t her signature.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “Apparently your wife didn’t agree with the idea of a prenuptial, Mr. Cutter. So she signed the document with the words ‘Luckiest Girl Alive’ instead of with her name. Of course, that means the agreement isn’t binding.”

  I stared at the books across the room, trying to process the information. I said, “How much is there?”

  “The exact figure varies from moment to moment of course, given the volatility of the markets.”

  “Roughly, then. The last time you looked.”

  He named a figure with eight zeros attached.

  I asked him to repeat it.

  He named the same figure again.

  I sat down behind Haley’s desk.

  I said, “I had no idea it was so much.”

  “I’m surprised to hear it,” said the lawyer. “Surely you must have noticed all the private jets and yachts and properties around the world.”

  “Jets? You mean she had more than one?”

  “I mean you have more than one, Mr. Cutter.”

  “But I thought Haley chartered them. She told me she did.”

  “Yes, but not the way you seem to mean. She chartered her jets to other individuals and corporations when she wasn’t using them herself. It wasn’t one of her more profitable ventures, but it did contribute a few hundred thousand to the bottom line each year.”

  I thought about the figure he had mentioned. All those zeros. I said, “What can I do about this?”

  “Do? I don’t understand.”

  “How can I get rid of everything?”

  There was a long pause before he said, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”