She wasn't going to think about David. Not now.
Checking herself one final time in the mirror, satisfied, she said, "Not bad for an old broad," and left the bathroom, turning out the lights behind her. In the living room, she put on the old classic Tony Bennett/Bill Evans album, the volume so low as to be nearly inaudible. She'd already long since packed away her case materials and her briefcase, and now she crossed over to her bar area and poured two solid Obans into her good crystal glasses.
Dimming the lights to an intimate level, she took a last look around. Everything was perfect; she was ready. And still the soft knock on her door nearly made her jump. Crossing over to the window, she looked out and recognized Jedd's car again parked on the sidewalk across the street. She let out a long breath of relief.
Okay, he was here. She could stop thinking about what could go wrong and just be in the moment now. It would be all right.
She went to open the door.
"Why, Gina Roake, the scotch in your glass is shaking. I do believe you're nervous."
"Why would I be nervous?"
"I don't know why. You really shouldn't be." Conley was sitting back, smiling, his hand with the drink in it resting on the couch's arm, one ankle crossed onto the opposite knee. "We're pretty much the way we were, a couple of old friends, just doing what comes naturally . . ."
"After a gap of over twenty years, Jedd. I'm not exactly the same as I was back then. In fact, I'm not even close."
"Well," he said, "anybody tells you that you're still not beautiful, they need their eyes examined. I hope you're not telling me that you've spent any time alone that you didn't want to be. That would be criminal."
Gina sighed with a bit of theater. "It may be a little harder than you think it is out there. Of course, you, with all your power and charisma..."
"And a wife whose daddy controls the purse strings, and I mean all of them. My darling Lexi gets any idea that this kind of harmless fun is any part of my life, I can kiss the so-called power and my promising career good-bye. And I'm not kidding." He took a good pull at his drink. "By the way, the other night when I told you I'd be discreet? I know you already realize it, but just to be upfront about things, that's got to be part of the rules."
Gina put on a little artificial pout, a twinkle of humor in her eye. "Rules already? And here I thought we were wild spirits, running free."
"That too. But I find it's better to get the ground rules settled up front. It avoids a whole lot of unpleasantness down the line."
"Actually," Gina said, "I'm with you on that." At the other end of the couch from him, she lifted her glass. "Here's to that dying breed, the consenting adult."
"Hear, hear." Conley clinked his glass against hers, had another sip.
Gina did likewise, then said, "Okay, I'm officially not nervous anymore."
"Good. Me, neither."
"But you weren't to begin with."
"I was, a little. After the last time, I thought I'd get here and you might change your mind."
"Well, Jedd, I don't think that's happening, not tonight." She hesitated for a calculated time. "But I do have kind of an idea, if you don't mind. Though it may be a little kinky."
"Kinky's not the worst thing in the world." He flashed a look across at her. "What is it?"
"No, never mind."
"Gina. Come on. What?"
She sighed dramatically. "The main thing is I don't want to scare you off. I mean, what I said earlier is true. I've grown up a little bit since . . . since we were together. I'm not exactly the same in what. . . what works, I guess is the best way to say it."
"Well, we want things to work."
"Yes, we do."
Jedd nodded and continued to stare at Gina with open approval— surprised, perhaps delighted, and certainly no less interested. He tipped up his drink. Then, putting the empty glass down, he spoke deliberately and confidently, a smile starting to form at the corners of this mouth. "I very much doubt if anything you suggest is going to be so kinky it scares me off. What do you have in mind?"
"I'll just tell you, and if you don't want, it won't matter. We can just stay here."
"Okay. As opposed to where?"
"Well, that's my idea. Stuart's house."
For the briefest of seconds, he couldn't keep the shock from showing in his face. But he recovered quickly, back in the game. "Stuart Gorman's house?"
She came forward, brought her knee up onto the couch under her, clearly excited. "Nobody's there, Jedd. And I've got the key. So we sneak in and go up to Stuart and Caryn's old bedroom and do it on their bed. I don't think the place is even a mile from here."
"Well, sure, I know where it is. It's just—"
"No. It's okay. Never mind. You're right. Dumb idea."
"I didn't say that."
"No, really, it's okay. We can just stay here." But in the guise of an explanation, she kept up the pitch. "I've just kind of got this . . . tradition, you might say. Do you know about the Mile High Club?"
Jedd grinned. "Sure. I'm a member, as a matter of fact."
"Why am I not surprised?" She put on another fetching pout. "Not me. Not yet at least. Anyway, my own private little club is kind of like that. When my clients are in jail, if the opportunity's there, I go to their houses."
"You have got to be kidding me." Conley stared at her in pure admiration. "You're a fucking dangerous woman, Roake."
She nodded. "I like to think so."
"How many times so far?"
"How many times what?"
"Have you done this?"
"This would make lucky thirteen. If you go, that is. I've been waiting for number thirteen. It had to be special."
Getting into the idea, Conley asked, "Who were the other guys? I've got to know some of them, don't I?" 1 m sure you do. So?
She wagged a finger at him. "Uh-uh-uh, discretion. Remember? Nobody knows, nobody tells." She threw in another chip. "And it doesn't have to be on the bed, if you don't want."
"And you've got Stuart's keys?" Yep.
"Where are they now?"
"My purse, in the bedroom."
He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her, and finally, he nodded. "Maybe you're going to want to go get them."
As he drove, Jedd put a hand on her thigh and gave it an affectionate squeeze. She put her own hand over his and held it where it was.
"If I guess the right guy," he was saying, "you could just nod. That way you wouldn't actually be telling me."
"No," she said.
"Anybody more than once?"
She squeezed to hold his hand in position. "Two. Twice," she said, riffing effortlessly. "But that's all I'm going to say."
"Any sports figures or movie stars?"
"Oh, that's right. Yes, several of those. Each. And one potentate of a small Arab country." She looked across at him. Inane though the conversation was, she was thankful that they were talking, apparently relaxed. "I'm just a poor country lawyer girl, Jedd. I'm afraid I don't hang out much with celebrities and potentates."
"No celebrities at all? All right, how about this? Potentates aside, let's go for rank. Nationally known politicians?"
A laughed escaped her. "No."
"Any other legislators?"
"Other legislators?"
"I mean, besides me."
"Well, technically you're not quite on the list yet. And I don't know any other legislators."
"Okay, then, we can rule them out. See? I'm narrowing it down. How about judges?"
"Jedd."
"Higher up than judges? Federal judges?"
"I can't say. You wouldn't want me to tell anybody else about you, would you?"
"I don't know. As long as you kept it from Lexi and her dad, it might be cool if it got out in the right crowd." He hesitated. "I'm guessing all men, though, right? No women."
She took the opportunity to remove his hand entirely. "I would think that would have been obvious to you by now."
"You'd be surprised," he
said. "And don't get mad. You can't really tell. But I'm sorry. No offense meant."
The hand went back to her thigh. She put hers over it again. "None taken. But maybe it would be better if you'd just drive."
Here we are.
"Pretty dark," Gina said. "Except look up there."
"Where?"
"That top front window. Bethany Robley. The eyewitness. Her light's still on, which means she's up and doing homework. Damn. I forgot all about her. What if she sees us?"
"You're Stuart's lawyer and I'm his old friend. No problem. Hey"—Jedd squeezed her thigh—"we've come this far. You can't chicken out now. Well, you could, but it wouldn't be fair. Besides, no guts, no glory."
She hesitated one last time, let out a heavy breath. "You're right." She squeezed his hand. "Are you ready?"
"I am so ready," Jedd said.
Gina nodded. Gave him a last smile. "Me too. Let's go do this bad thing."
Jedd opened his door, slid out, and closed it quietly behind him.
Gina, her heart sledgehammering within her, her pulse an audible sound in her ears, immediately pushed the button to lock all the car's doors and reached across to Jedd's visor, where he had attached his garage door opener. She pushed on the bar of it, her eyes on the Gormans' garage door off to her right, but nothing happened.
God, she thought, what if he hadn't parked close enough? Sometimes she had to get right to the front of her own automatic entrance at her condo before the gate would swing open. The signal on these things tended not to be too strong. She should have had him park in the driveway. But, stupid her, she hadn't figured out a way to ask without giving herself away.
Jedd was directly behind the car now, coming around.
There was no light in the car, but when Conley had opened his door, Gina had seen the three buttons up by the rearview mirror. Now she reached up, found and pressed the first one, on her far left. "Okay," she said. "Open up." Her eyes were glued to the garage door.
But it didn't move.
The second button. She pushed and held it for a long three-count. "Please please please."
Nothing.
No longer aware of where Jedd had gotten to, she pressed the third button. "Come on," she whispered urgently, "come on."
But nothing happened.
Oh God! Don't let me be wrong. I can’t be wrong.
And then, right at her ear, a knock at her window. Jedd standing there, leaning over, looking in, a mild questioning look on his features. Gina whirled back to face him, made an elaborate shrugging motion, as if she didn't understand exactly what was happening. The car's door had locked somehow and she couldn't get them open. She shrugged again. He tried the outside handle.
He was reaching into his pocket for his keys. He'd open the door in seconds.
She turned back toward the front, hitting his garage door opener's bar and all three buttons again in quick succession, and got the same result. Nothing.
And then suddenly, at her window, another sound, this time much louder than the polite knock on the glass. A slam. Conley's flat palm up against her window. She looked out and up and saw his face, understanding now what she must be doing, and in a desperate fury. His palm slammed on the window again.
But still maintaining some kind of control. "Gina! Gina, open up! What are you doing?"
His keys were out now. He was trying to fit them into the lock below the door's handle. Gina reached to her side and covered the pop-up locking button with her hand. As Conley turned the key outside, she pushed the button back down on the door. He tried again, and again she kept the door locked, but she could not keep this up for too much longer.
Jedd wasn't about to fight that battle either. He backed up a step and pushed at his key and Gina heard the distinctive "clunk" as all of the car's locks, except the useless one she was trying to hold down, popped up.
He was opening the passenger side back door, right behind her. "Gina, goddammit!"
The glove compartment!
Reaching down, praying that Jedd wasn't one of the few paranoid souls who lived with his glove box perennially locked, she found the handle and gave it a pull just as from behind her Conley's hands found the back of her shoulders, tried to get purchase around her throat.
She tried to scream, but the sound, to her horror, was already choked off.
Then he was coming over the center island between the seats, enough of him to get his power into what he was doing now. Gasping with the exertion, trying anything to save herself from his brute strength and determination, she reached out and scratched at his face, then threw an elbow that seemed to hit him in the throat.
And for an instant, his grip lessened.
It was her last and only chance. She fumbled blindly in the glove box as Jedd's left fist connected with the side of her head, slamming it against the window. She had her hand around something plastic and rectangular—another garage door opener—and as the second blow sent pinwheels of light through her field of vision, she managed to press the bar. And hold it.
Until another blow to the side of her head reduced her world to a sharp, searing pain, and then to darkness.
37
At Juhle's instructions, the two uniformed officers who'd helped him with the sting had delivered Jedd Conley up here to the tiny interrogation room on the fourth floor of the Hall of Justice. Now the state assemblyman from San Francisco had been in the room, handcuffed to the table, and alone, for most of the past hour and a half. Dealing with the ambulance and other issues, Juhle had remained at the crime scene out on Greenwich Street for the better part of the first hour, then had come back here to his desk in the homicide detail and caught up with most of another hour's worth of paperwork.
Checking the clock on the wall, seeing it was now 12:45 a.m., Juhle knew that he had delayed long enough. He had to start his interrogation of Jedd Conley before too long. But he had some serious problems.
Critically, the provenance of the all-important garage door opener was unproveable. Trying to get Stuart off on his murder charge, Gina could have bought the damn thing at Home Depot and easily, with her access to Stuart’s house, have set it to the frequency that would open the garage door. She could have carried it with her over there tonight in her purse.
Now, with Conley's brutal assault on Gina, Juhle had grounds for much more than a simple and general discussion with the assemblyman. But time was running out, and with all of Conley's powerful connections, Juhle felt great trepidation that if he let him walk out of here tonight without confessing to Caryn Dryden's murder, and maybe even Kelley Rusnak's, he'd never get his hands on him again.
He couldn't let that happen.
At last, he went to the control room to make sure that both the audio and video feeds were running, then knocked on the door and opened it up, talking as he entered. "Sorry to have kept you," he said breezily. "Lots of stuff to take care of back at the scene. I got a little hung up. How you doin'?"
"How am I doing? What is that, some kind of a joke?" His suspect, his face scratched from fingernails and now swollen at his jaw-line and around his eyes, held up the handcuffs. "I'm exhausted. I'm hurt. I'm ready to go home. It's intolerable that I should be kept in here like this for all this time. I won't have it."
"Well," Juhle said. "I'm afraid some of that's out of my control. At least I can take off your handcuffs. The patrolmen tell me that you got picked up in the act of assaulting a woman. I find that hard to believe. Did the officers Mirandize you on the way down here?"
"What for? This whole thing is ridiculous. Look at my face. She was trying to kill me. It was self-defense."
Juhle remained calm. "I figured it must be something like that. But in the meanwhile, you're a lawyer, aren't you? You know the drill. I've got to tell you you're under arrest and read you your rights. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand this right?"
"Of course. You don't have to—"
But Juhle held up a hand, stopping Conley's objection. "You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, the court will appoint one for you. Do you understand this right?" Jesus. Yes.
Juhle continued. The end of this litany could end with the words, "Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to me now?" But the courts had ruled that Miranda would be deemed served without them, so Juhle skipped them, and simply started in. "There's a laundry list of formal questions we've got to fill out, and the sooner we're done, the sooner it's over, okay? Okay. For the record, your name?"
"Jedd Conley." And with those simple two words, the assemblyman waived his right to demand an attorney for this interrogation. Juhle walked him through a few perfunctory questions—his address, age, occupation—just to get him to keep talking. Then Juhle said, "So tell me what was happening out there tonight."
"All right. It started when Gina—the woman, Gina Roake . . ."
"Yeah, I know who she is."
"Well, she called me around nine and asked me to come over to her house."
"And why would she do that?"
"You know this, Inspector. I know who you are. She's defending Stuart Gorman. Maybe you don't know he's an old friend of mine. I don't practice law actively anymore, so when Stuart got in trouble and came to me, I told him he ought to get together with Gina. Big mistake."
"Why's that?"
"Because she just wasn't any good. If anything, she just got him dug in deeper. Now her hearing's going in the toilet, and she wanted to ask my advice about what she should do."
"At her house?"
Hardy 11 - Suspect, The Page 34
