“It can't hurt to keep her happy,” Ted said plaintively. “Besides, it's kind of nice having her around.”
It struck me, not for the first time, that Ted's emotional maturity fell short of his years. And it made me uncomfortable. In part, I realized with dismay, because my mind was already testing the package of Ted and Melissa as conspirators in murder, intentionally letting Terri take the fall.
“I still think it's a bad idea,” I told him.
“I'll take that under advisement.”
I couldn't tell if he was brushing me off or not.
Ted leaned back, hands behind his head. “But that's not why you came.”
“You said at one time that you'd done some digging on Weaver.”
“Right. Back when I thought the judge might care what kind of father he'd be. Why?”
“Weaver is going to be the key to Terri's defense. We can argue the evidence against her, but if we can also come up with a plausible theory for his murder that doesn't include Terri, our case will be much stronger.”
“I've got a file on him. Shall I get it?”
“Please. It will save me time if I don't have to duplicate what you've already done.”
“Hold on. I'll be right back.”
Ted was gone only a couple of minutes. He returned with a manila folder and two cans of soda. “Take your pick. I like 'em both.”
Mountain Dew and Dr. Pepper. I opted for the Dr. Pepper.
“Anything new from the police?” he asked and handed me the soda.
I thought of the witness who'd gotten a partial plate off a dark-colored SUV, but I also remembered my earlier qualms about Ted and Melissa. I shook my head. “Nothing new.”
Ted popped the tab on his soda. He took a gulp and set it on a Sports Illustrated at the end of the table.
I opened my soda as well, but used one of the cork coasters. The can was ice cold. “You don't have a pet, do you?” I asked.
“A pet?”
“Dog, cat, rabbit?”
“No.” Ted shuffled through the papers in the folder. “I wouldn't mind a dog but Terri's allergic to them. Why?”
I didn't answer, and Ted didn't push. “Tell me about Weaver. I'll look through your notes later, but first I'd like to hear your thoughts.”
Ted furrowed his brows. “He never finished college, something it seems he took pains to avoid mentioning publicly. He was raised in Missouri by his mother who, incidentally, he hasn't spoken to in years. Was in the Army for a while, worked a stint in a rehab program, then drifted into radio, first in Missouri and then in Bakersfield. Married, divorced, in pretty short order. He moved to the Bay Area about eight years ago. It's only been in the last couple of years that he developed a name for himself.”
“I imagine the book helped. People who didn't listen to his program still knew who he was.”
“Maybe. But I'd say as many people hated him as loved him. Heck, I turned up a whole web site devoted to dissing the guy.”
“Mr. Popularity.”
Ted nodded, took another slug of Mountain Dew. “He took potshots at just about everyone—feminists, liberals, gays, minorities. He tossed psychologists, educators, and the mainstream press in there too.”
Plenty of people he'd ticked off. But you had to be a fervent believer to kill someone over theoretical differences. “How about closer to home? You mentioned an ex-wife.”
“Yeah. And a kid. That's the part that really rankles. Far as I could tell, he never gave the kid the time of day, then he screams and kicks to get Hannah.” Ted's wide mouth set in a line of outrage. “I still can't believe the judge didn't toss the jerk out on his ear.”
“Do you happen to know when Weaver was divorced?”
“When the kid was just a baby. Must have been twelve, thirteen years ago.”
“Wife live around here?”
“Sacramento. She's remarried.”
“Where'd you get all this stuff, anyway?”
He tapped his fingers on the table like it was a keyboard. “Mostly online. With someone like Weaver, who's a celebrity, it's not hard.”
“Did Weaver ever marry again?”
“No mention of it. But he's apparently had a couple of steady girlfriends over the years. He mentions what I assume is the latest in the front of his book. Her name is Ranelle.” He paused for a gulp of soda. “You think maybe his ex-wife had it in for him?”
What I was thinking was that I had my work cut out for me.
<><><>
The phone was ringing when I returned to the office. Jared was nowhere to be seen so I raced to grab it myself.
“At last,” Steven said, “we finally make contact. You're a hard person to reach.”
I felt my throat tighten. “Sorry. Things have been kind of hectic here.” I'd picked up his messages, both at home and at the office, but I'd never found the strength to return the calls.
Steven hesitated. “I was beginning to suspect that you weren't any too eager to talk to me.”
“It's awkward.”
“Best way to handle that, Kali, is to confront it, not run the other way.”
“It's also not a good idea.”
“Good or not, you're representing my sister on a murder charge. I don't see how we can not talk.”
He was right. If I'd wanted to keep Steven out of my life, I should never have taken Terri on as a client. I did want him out, didn't I? Or maybe it was just that I thought I should want him out.
“There are no new developments,” I said, struggling to find the right tone. It felt both odd and comfortably familiar to be having a conversation with Steven. “The first discovery material was delivered the other day. We've just started going through it.”
“What about another bail hearing?”
“I'm working on it. Shalla seems to be avoiding me.”
“Terri's got to get out of there. She's got a baby, for Chrissake.”
“I'm aware of that.” Lenore, too, had been calling, urging me to work harder at freeing Terri. As if it were that easy.
“Sorry, I know you are.” Steven paused. “I didn't call to complain anyway. I'd like to help with Terri's defense. Be part of the team.”
“I've already got a team.” Jared, myself, and Nick Logan, a private investigator I'd known since law school. Besides, working with Steven again wasn't a good idea.
“You can use another pair of eyes and legs, can't you? We've done this before, Kali. We work well together.”
Too well. It was what had led to our downfall.
His mind must have been following along the same track. “Caroline and Rebecca are dead,” Steven said softly. “Our avoiding one another is not going to bring them back.”
“No, but it doesn't seem right, either.”
“There's not a day goes by that I don't say to myself, if only I'd been home that night, they'd be alive. They wouldn't have driven out for pizza. Wouldn't have been in the middle of the intersection when that idiot driver plowed through a red light. Whatever guilt you feel, I feel a hundred-fold.”
An unbearable weight, I thought. “I know there are—”
“But I didn't throw myself on the funeral pyre, Kali. And I'm not going to live my life as though I should have.”
My head felt as though it were made of straw. Was I making an issue where none was warranted? Steven would clearly be an asset to the defense team. He was good at reading people—witnesses and jurors—and he knew his way around the system. Although Jared was eager and hardworking, he was inexperienced.
So it made sense. For Terri's sake, if nothing else. But on a personal level it left me feeling. . . feeling what? I tried to sort it out. Seeing Steven again made me feel scared, vulnerable, nervous. What really gave me pause, I realized, was that I still found Steven attractive.
“This is Terri's life we're talking about,” he said. “I can't just sit idly by.”
“But working as part of the defense team—”
“Is the only way I can really be involved. She's my sister,
Kali.”
The pain in his voice is what finally convinced me. “Okay,” I told him. “If Terri doesn't have a problem with it, then it's fine by me.”
“Thank you.” He seemed ready to say something else, then changed his mind. “I'll come by tomorrow afternoon if you're free. You can fill me in on what we've got so far.”
What we had so far wasn't much. I pulled out the file Ted had given me on Bram Weaver and began leafing through it. Not the ideology but the hard, biographical information. When I came across a newspaper article that alluded to Weaver's ex-wife, Judy Monroe, and the gift boutique she owned, I picked up the phone and called, first Sacramento information and then the shop.
Judy wouldn't be in until later that afternoon, the woman answering the phone informed me. Perfect timing for me to make the drive and speak to Judy Monroe in person. I checked my calendar, left a note for Jared, then got into my car and headed east. The midday traffic was light enough that I could hit the speed limit most of the way there. The trip home would be a different story.
<><><>
With the help of a map, I found Judy Monroe's store without difficulty. It was a trendy home-accessory and gift shop in one of Sacramento's older neighborhoods near the edge of town. While much of what she carried was too cute and countryish for my taste, she had some lovely ceramic and pewter pieces as well. If I'd been in a shopping mood, I might have been tempted. Instead, I browsed until a harried mother with four-year-old twins in tow had paid for the duck-motif towels she'd chosen, then approached the woman at the cash register.
“I'm looking for Judy Monroe,” I told her.
“That's me.”
She was a petite woman with a cap of stylishly short jet-black hair, a bit too much makeup, and a smoker's husky voice. On first impression, she appeared a bit older than Bram, but I couldn't tell if she actually was.
I introduced myself and explained why I wanted to speak with her.
“So long as you're not with the press.” She took my business card, examined it briefly, then slipped it into her pocket without further comment. “Don't know what I can do for you, though. I've hardly seen Bram since the divorce.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Thirteen years this October.”
“Were you married long?”
“Less than a year.” She laughed without humor. “Just long enough to get knocked up.”
“A son, correct?”
She nodded. “Danny. He's fourteen going on thirty.” Her face softened for a moment. “It's hard being a kid these days.”
“Harder still being a parent, I hear.”
“Yeah, there's that too.” The phone rang and she called to someone in the back room. “Helen, can you get that?” Then she turned her attention back to me. “Listen, I was about to step out back for a cigarette. You okay with that?”
“Sure.” Better she smoked it outside than in, at least. I followed her out an unmarked door to the parking lot at the rear of the store. It was like stepping into an oven. Sacramento is inland, and doesn't get the coastal fog and breeze that the Bay Area does. I'd grown up with summer heat, but after living in Berkeley, it was always a bit of a surprise.
“You smoke?” Judy asked, holding her pack of Marlboros in my direction.
“It's about the only bad habit I've managed to avoid.”
“I've got the other ones too. Least smoking keeps the extra weight off. I'd be as wide as I am tall if I quit, and I figure being fat's not good for you either, right?” She lit her cigarette and dropped the match into a galvanized bucket filled with sand and cigarette butts that rested on the pavement. “So, your client is the one they're saying finally got to Bram.”
“Finally?”
“She can't have been the first who wanted to off him. I thought of it myself, in fact. Did she do it?” Judy paused only a second. “That's okay, I know you can't say. She had reason enough to, if you ask me. What gall to think he could just walk in and take their baby.”
“He claimed to be the father.”
Judy made a noise of disgust. “He was Danny's father too. Never seemed to take much heed of that.”
I leaned back against the stucco exterior of the shop. “Tell me about Bram.”
“That's a hard one. He was a chameleon. He could morph himself into whatever was needed at the moment. Smooth as silk when he wanted to be, but underneath, self-centered and smug. And definitely not interested in having a kid, at least not fifteen years ago. He took off before Danny was even born. He'd send money every once in a while, but not regularly. And he moved around so much, it was hard to pin him down for child support.”
An all-too-familiar story. Woman and kid barely making it while the father sloughs off responsibility like a snake shedding his skin. “How did you manage?”
“A little of this, a little of that. I sold real estate for a while, then kitchen cabinets. That's how I met my husband. Doug's a contractor. His company is putting in a new planned community west of town. Maybe you saw the signs on the way in?”
If I had, I hadn't noticed. There were so many new developments of late, I'd stopped paying attention. The beautiful oak-studded rolling hills of my youth had given way to a relentless stream of cookie-cutter houses on dinky lots.
Judy doused her cigarette in the sand. “We've been married three years now and financially things are a whole lot easier. I only wish Doug and Danny got along better.”
“It must be hard on Danny after having you to himself his whole life.”
“I'm sure that's part of it. The relationship's smoother now that he's at a year-around boarding school. Down in your neck of the woods, in fact. Pacific Academy in San Francisco.”
“The same city as his father,” I said, speaking aloud without realizing it.
“Not that it made much difference. I think they got together a couple of times, only cuz Danny called him. I gather they weren't quality-time encounters.”
“Would you mind if I talked to Danny?”
Judy considered my request. She took a drag on her cigarette, careful to blow the smoke away from me. Then she shrugged. “I guess not. I have to warn you though, Danny's . . . well, he's got an attitude, if you know what I mean. He might not want to talk to you. It's got to be his call.”
“I can't force him to.”
“I'll contact the school and tell them to expect you.” Judy checked her watch. “Got to get back to minding the store. Sorry I couldn't be of more help.”
“You've got my card. Let me know if anything comes to mind.”
She nodded, pushed herself away from the wall. “There were two guys Bram grew up with. The three of them remained close during the time I was married to Bram. I just remembered that Danny mentioned meeting one of them so I guess they're still in touch. You might want to talk with them. They'd probably know more about Bram than I do.”
“What are their names?”
“Clyde Billings and Len Roemer. I don't know where either man is living now, but Len's the one Danny mentioned.”
“Thanks, I'll try to reach them.”
Judy walked me through the store to the door in front. “Losing a father has got to affect a kid, no matter how distant the relationship. You'd never know it to listen to Danny, but I'm sure on some level he's hurting. You'll be careful talking to him, won't you?”
I promised her I would. I knew from personal experience what it was like to have a father who turned his back on you.
CHAPTER 15
I hesitated at the freeway entrance. West, toward San Francisco—that was the direction I needed to go. But a part of me was tempted to head east toward Silver Creek, my hometown and the place I'd returned to three years ago when my fast-track life in San Francisco derailed. The town where Tom lived, now, once again, with his wife.
And his children, I reminded myself. It was because of them that he'd agreed to give his marriage another chance. I couldn't fault him for that.
I could be there in a little over an hour
, maybe catch Tom still at the newspaper, where he worked. Before the return of his wife, I'd dropped in so many times it felt like I worked there myself. But all of that had changed when Lynn decided she wanted to give their marriage another try.
As I dithered, the light turned red, granting me a momentary reprieve from indecisiveness. Not unlike the upcoming trial, I thought, which had postponed my facing a more major decision. Silver Creek or the Bay Area. I was going to have to make a choice fairly soon.
Certainty and direction had come so naturally when I was younger. I marveled now at the ease with which I'd been able to tell black from white, what I wanted from what I didn't.
Back then there was no ambiguity. I hated my sister, avoided my brother, and scorned my father. My mother, who was dead, fared better since she wasn't there in the flesh to disappoint me. I'd marched off to college, sure that I was putting Silver Creek and the banality of my formative years behind me forever. That single-minded vision carried me through law school and seven years of practice. At thirty-one I'd learned the hard truth. That the past is never behind you, and life plans don't come with guarantees.
The car behind me tooted when the traffic signal turned green. I sent a wistful glance in the eastwardly direction of the Sierra foothills, then swung onto the Interstate back toward San Francisco. Predictably, traffic was heavy. But it moved along until we crossed the Carquinez Bridge, where it came to a complete stop. There had to have been an accident.
I pulled out the cell phone, called home, and told Bea that I wouldn't make it in time for dinner. She'd asked me to join them for homemade cannelloni, and I was sorry to be missing it.
“We'll save you some,” she said. “Assuming it's any good.”
“It will be fantastic.”
“I don't know. There's a lot of places for the recipe to go wrong.”
Since we still weren't moving, I punched the number for Nick Logan, a law school classmate who'd decided that investigative endeavors held more appeal than the practice of law. I'd asked him to work on Terri's defense and he'd agreed readily. He was a good man to have on our side.
“Hey, Kali. I was just thinking about you.”
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