So she’d spent almost the entire afternoon smearing the name and reputation of a probably pretty decent guy, whose only mistake had been forgetting that he’d gone out one night after a day with his kids to buy some Ovaltine so he could get some sleep. Gina no longer thought it was reasonable that Bob McAfee had killed Caryn. She didn’t even believe that implicating him would do any good for her client. Not as far as Toynbee was concerned. The fact that there might be another plausible suspect in no way removed Stuart from suspicion; Gina wasn’t proposing that McAfee had been driving Stuart’s car, was she? But she’d gone ahead anyway. Building nothing, but hammering nails all day just the same.
The thought of it, of the damage she’d done to the doctor’s good name, made her sick.
She put her hands up to the washcloth and pressed the now-cool cloth down on her eyes.
“I thought we were going to stop meeting like this,” Gina said.
Wyatt Hunt stood in her doorway. “I know,” he said. “We were. It just got too hard.” The rain had stopped. He stepped out of the wet cloud that hovered at street level into Gina’s apartment again. “Miracles do happen,” he said, “I don’t care what they say.”
“What’s the miracle?”
“I figured I’d get it over with, so I called Devin after work and mentioned your idea that he could still do some good around this case. He wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, but luckily I happened to mention that he could even become an actual hero if he wasn’t careful. I happen to know,” Hunt said modestly with a self-deprecating smile, “that the guy’s got a bit of a hero complex and that this was the magic word. Anyway, he had me make a call to Kymberly’s number and since there was a subpoena out on her anyway, there wasn’t even a conflict with him using his magic GPS positioning and calling out some troops to run her down.”
“Where was she?”
“Down by the Maritime Museum, living out of some van with her boyfriend.”
“You talked to her.” Not a question.
He nodded. “Just came from there. Although, again, I know this is starting to sound familiar and I apologize in advance, but you might not be happy with what I found out.”
“Tell me.”
“Yosemite.”
“What about it?”
“That’s where they went when the weather turned last week. Last Thursday. They stayed through Sunday.” He spread his hands, empty. “Which means she didn’t give any pills to Kelley Rusnak on Friday night. And, if you need more…”
“Sure, kick a girl when she’s down.”
“Her dad might have mentioned Kelley’s name to her, but I don’t think it stuck. When I mentioned her as her mom’s lab partner, she was all like, ‘Who?’ She could have been faking it, I suppose, but if she was, she’s way, way better than I’d give her credit for.”
Gina found herself sagging against the wall.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She tried a brave smile. “Just tired.” She looked up at him. “I can’t believe my man is going down around this. It’s just so wrong.”
“You’ll get another chance.”
Her eyes found a faint flash. “I don’t want another chance. I want to get him off this time around while I still can. There’s something we’re missing. I know there is. It’s right here and I can’t put my damn finger on it.”
“Well, I hope it goes without saying, but if whatever it is comes to you, I’m here twenty-four seven.”
A genuine smile now. “You’re a good guy, Wyatt. And you do good work. I’ll keep you in mind.”
“Anytime,” he said. “And Gina?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t kill yourself over this. He’s going to need you for the trial.”
“You’re right,” she said. “You’re right.” She straightened up. “You have a good night, Wyatt.”
“You too.”
But she wasn’t having a good night.
Now it was 8:43. Someone had twisted a heavy wire braid around her head and tightened it down as though it were a tourniquet. That same someone had thrown fine-grained sand into her eyes. She’d long ago emptied and spread out on the coffee table the entire contents of her litigator’s briefcase. She’d already gone through almost every page of it—certainly anything that had meaning—at least twice.
Now she decided that even the marginally related stuff rated intense perusal, and she was going through it all yet again. In her desperation, she studied the ARCO receipt for what seemed an eternity, hoping to find something in it that could help her case. Maybe she should call the station and ask the clerk to check and see if perhaps the clock in their printer was off by an hour or so. She hadn’t ever gone out and personally verified the timing—that could have been the detail she’d missed.
But even as she made a note to have Wyatt Hunt check this out, she knew it wasn’t.
Here again was the transcription of Stuart’s first interview with Juhle. All the foolish admissions that delineated his motives, the evident lack of grief, the objection to the autopsy, his suggestion about the Vicodin and the alcohol and the hot tub temperature. All of it understandable, all of it ill-advised. She finished those pages and randomly picked up the next item in the pile, the picture of Stuart and Jedd Conley and their other buddy on their fishing trip to the Bitterroots. Turned it over, studied the writing on the back, the date.
Nothing.
Who was that third guy anyway? Another detail she didn’t know. Another fact she’d neglected, another note for Hunt. And what had happened to Thou Shalt Not Kill in the time Stuart had been in jail? He might have tried to contact Stuart again on his computer back at his home. He might even have confessed to killing Caryn, and no one would know. Certainly she didn’t know, because she hadn’t thought to look.
Sick with herself and her incompetence, she sat back on her couch and looked first to her bar—an Oban or four would be nice right now—then to her telephone. She felt she desperately needed to talk to somebody. She checked the time. It wasn’t too late. She could perhaps call Hardy or Farrell and just vent, or talk strategy. They were both guys who had been in similar situations to hers before. One of them could help talk her through the despair.
Or maybe—the rogue thought sprung upon her full-blown—maybe she could call Jedd, for a different kind of release. She had his business card from the day she’d met Stuart. His private number. And they’d both be discreet. No one would ever have to know.
God, what was she thinking? She wasn’t that weak, that needy. She was not going to go to bed with a married man, and that was the end of that subject.
Shaking herself from the temptation, she came forward again, almost angrily grabbed the next sheaf of papers, and forced herself to start again on Wyatt’s reports and transcripts on the Parnassus staff from the other day. Delgado, Pinkert. Thirty pages of overkill about the schedule and speech topics of a state assemblyman.
Exciting stuff. Not.
She’d never even glanced at these pages before—and why should she have? Now, mindlessly, automatically, she turned the pages one by one, barely noting the individual names and places except for the immense variety of them on every page. Jedd’s life was evidently a never-ending circus of appearances and events: the Bayshore Rotary Club, Girl Scout Troop 17, the Young Presidents Association, the Restaurant Workers Union, the Haight Street Rape Crisis Center (whose executive director, Gina knew, in the small-world department, was Wes Farrell’s live-in girlfriend, Sam Duncan), La Raza, the Old Wops, AYSO San Francisco…the list went on and on, none of it with any possible bearing on her case—until finally Gina simply had to stop, the pages in her hand dropping back onto the table.
She looked at the time again. Barely 9:00. She should go to bed. Tomorrow would be another day, and it might turn out to be worse than this one.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the camping picture again, and her hand reached for it as though of its own accord. There was Jedd, still and again. Smiling out at the camera.
Rugged and handsome. In his element, really. A very attractive guy who’d known what he was doing around the bedroom twenty-some years ago and probably had learned a few tricks since.
Stop it!
But she couldn’t take her eyes off the picture.
The picture.
The picture.
“Jedd,” she said into the telephone, “it’s Gina. I’ve been thinking about when you were here the other night, and how maybe I shouldn’t have been so…difficult. And cold. I know it’s a little late, but I thought if you were on your way home from somewhere, if you were in the mood, you might want to stop by.”
THIRTY-SIX
GINA’S HANDS WERE SHAKING SLIGHTLY AS she applied a light touch of coral-shaded lipstick with greater than average care. She wanted to look not just good, but terrific. The rope-belted chinos and tank top she already had on, she knew, would be good for seduction—almost pajamalike, revealing her curves, accentuating the muscle tone, her flat abs. Not that Jedd was likely to get all the way over here and change his mind because of how she looked, but she wanted to make herself irresistible. Hence the subtle eye shadow to camouflage the more obvious signs of fatigue, the blush to highlight her cheekbones, the glossy lipstick she hadn’t used since her time with David.
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?”
“I’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.”
The Suspect Page 35
