Alarm gave way to guilt. I should have thought to make arrangements for Nina to speak to Grady yesterday. “Let me see what I can do. I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out.”
Another deep breath. “Thanks. I’ll feel better once I can talk to him.”
I knew she’d be anxious, though, until Grady was back home. With luck, that might be only months, but it might also be a lifetime.
“Did you get a chance to see the police reports yet?” Nina asked.
“I was just looking at them.”
“And?”
“And there’s nothing there that we can’t refute. The evidence is all circumstantial.” My voice carried more conviction than I felt.
“No surprises?”
I thought of Grady’s handkerchief in the hallway and the eight- minute conversation logged from Deirdre’s phone to Grady’s private number at ComTec. I decided Nina had enough to worry about.
“Not really,” I told her. “And there are a few angles the police may have overlooked. I’ve got Hal Fisher working on them.”
“Hal? I haven’t seen him in a couple of years. How is he?”
“A little grayer, a little heavier. As much of a free spirit as ever.”
I’d introduced Hal to Nina when she was in the throes of divorcing her first husband, Jerry Allen. He’d managed to trace the assets Allen had hidden, and to get enough dirt on the guy that he hadn’t followed through with his threat to contest custody.
“He and Marc didn’t exactly hit it off,” I added.
Nina laughed. “No, I imagine they wouldn’t. It’s funny how you can be so fond of two people and have them not get along at all.”
“Seems to happen surprisingly often.”
She sighed. “It does, doesn’t it?”
I wondered if she was thinking of Grady and myself when she’d made the comment. Nina was quiet a moment. I couldn’t tell if she was thinking or building up to a panic.
“He didn’t do it,” she said after a moment. “I know the question has got to be on your mind.”
Technically, that wasn’t an issue. Defense attorneys often represent clients they suspect might be guilty. She was right, though, that my doubts about Grady made me uneasy. For Nina’s sake, I hoped I was wrong.
“It’s something I try not to think about,” I said, lying through my teeth.
“I know my husband,” Nina said vehemently. “You don’t live with a man without learning about his character. There’s no way he killed Deirdre Nichols.”
“I’m going to do my best to get him off, Nina. I promise.”
“I know you will.” She paused. “I’m counting on you, Kali.”
I hung up the phone feeling, for the first time, the weight of what I’d agreed to take on. Nina’s assurances aside, I wasn’t convinced that Grady was leveling with us. And perhaps equally important, I was afraid that the friend in me might find herself at odds with the attorney.
<><><>
Hal phoned the following afternoon when I was deep into reviewing the file on another matter.
“I told you we shouldn’t be too quick to write off the boyfriend,” he said. The words were embellished with a touch of good-humored self-righteousness.
With my mind still focused on the papers in front of me, it took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. “You mean Tony Rodale?”
“That’s the one. Turns out the police paid him a visit a couple of months ago, a domestic violence call. They hauled him in for assault, but his assaultee”—he gave the word emphasis with a phony accent—”the now-infamous Ms. Deirdre Nichols, refused to press charges. She had a black eye and a cut lip but insisted she got them walking into an open door.”
I felt a ray of sunshine peeking out from the gloom. Pointing the finger is a time-honored defense strategy, and an abusive boyfriend could prove useful in deflecting guilt from Grady. “Any other incidents?”
“There’s just that one in the system, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t go after her on other occasions as well. I’m on my way to pay him a visit right now. Want to come along?”
I glanced at the document I’d been reviewing, a book-length stack of papers with a story line only the most committed lawyer could love. I was only a third of the way through and already hopelessly lost in the tangle of minutiae. A change of pace held great appeal.
“Sure. When are you leaving?”
“I’ll be by in about fifteen minutes. That okay with you?”
“Fine.”
I was on my way out the door, when the phone rang again.
“Byron Spencer,” Rose said, holding her hand over the mouthpiece. “You want to talk to him, or should I take a message?”
“Are you sure it’s me he wants and not Marc?”
Spencer had not only accepted Marc’s apology, but in true journalist fashion turned what might have been an ugly barroom scene into a valued contact. At least that’s what Spencer seemed to be hoping. So far Marc had been less than forthcoming as an off-the-record source, but he seemed to dish out enough to keep Spencer coming back for more.
“He asked for you by name,” Rose said.
“Take his number and I’ll call him back when I get a chance.”
I’d told Rose that I was meeting Hal, but I hadn’t said a word to Marc. And I met Hal out front on the street rather than having him come into the office. The less Marc saw of Hal, the better, I thought. There was no point looking for contention.
“What do you know about this guy?” I asked Hal after I’d buckled myself into his Mazda and adjusted the air vents so they weren’t directing heavy blasts of arctic air in my direction. I’d forgotten that Hal had a thing about fresh air.
“So far, not much. He’s thirty-four years old, and divorced. Has a clean record except for one DUI a couple of years back. He runs a small investment company—limited partnerships and that sort of thing. Lives well judging by his address and car registration. And he travels fairly frequently, always first class.”
“How do you find this stuff?”
Hal smiled. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”
“Forget I even asked.”
“Rodale grew up in Fresno. One of eight children. Went to the local community college, then transferred to Chico State. He never graduated though.”
“How come?”
Hal gave me a sideways look. “Hey, I’m good, but I’m not a mind reader.” He gunned the engine and switched lanes, squeezing into an opening in traffic that was only an inch longer than his car.
I braced myself. “You’re not much of a driver either.”
“I haven’t had an accident in thirty years.”
“Better thank your guardian angel.”
Hal took his hands off the steering wheel and pressed them together in prayer.
“Not now!”
Hal grinned.
When he returned his hands to the wheel, I leaned back and started breathing again. “Anything on the Carsons yet?”
“The people Deirdre Nichols was house-sitting for? I haven’t been able to trace them. From what I hear, the police haven’t had any luck either. They’re in the import business, and apparently went on one of their buying trips to the far corners of the world. The business phone is an answering machine; the address a post office box.”
“Silly way to run a business.”
Hal shrugged. “It’s becoming more and more common.” He was silent a moment. “I can cancel out of my date tomorrow night if you want me to check on those kids partying in the canyon for you.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to impinge on your personal life.”
“It’s a relationship that’s headed south anyway.”
“Someone you still care about?”
“Someone I’m trying very hard not to care about.” He tapped the wheel with his fingers. “So, how’s it feel to be back in the Bay Area?”
“Wonderful and unsettling at the same time. Of course the situation itself is odd.”
“I can imagine. Nina must be having a tough time of it.”
I nodded. “She is. But it’s not just Nina I was talking about.” I hesitated before adding, “Marc and I were seeing each other for a while during law school.”
“Uh-ooh.” He glanced in my direction. “Painful breakup?”
“He was engaged to someone else at the time, and I didn’t know it.”
Hal clicked his tongue. “Such stellar behavior. When did you find out?”
It was a story not many people knew, but I’d always found Hal an easy person to talk to. “Marc had been away interviewing at firms in the East,” I told him. “The day he was returning was his birthday, so I talked the apartment manager into letting me into his place to decorate. I put up banners and streamers, and taped big red hearts on all the mirrors and cupboards, even inside the refrigerator. All the places that Marc would normally look. And on every one of them I wrote in silver pen, ‘I love you.’ “
I swallowed. The raw shock of discovery was vivid still in my mind. “Janice called just as I was arranging candy hearts on his pillow. She left a long and rather passionate message on his answering machine.”
“Janice?”
“His fiancée.”
“Ouch. That’s brutal.”
“Yeah, it was. For a while anyway.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“He married her. It lasted four years. I never knew her. Nina says I would have liked her.”
“Must be weird working with the guy now. Is it going okay?”
“Yeah. Surprisingly, it is.” Our working together hadn’t been the problem I’d expected. What was a problem for me, or at least something of a puzzle, was the chemistry between us. Despite Marc’s past sins and despite the fact that he sometimes irritated the hell out of me, I found myself attracted to him.
Hal looked at me, catching something in my expression. “You haven’t been pining away for him ever since law school, have you?”
I laughed. “Hardly. But I seem to have a knack for getting involved with the wrong men.”
“Easy to do.”
“That’s part of the reason I decided to come back here and help Nina. To give myself some distance from the guy I was seeing in Silver Creek.”
“He turn out to be engaged too?”
“Married. He went back to his wife.”
“And here I thought all the bad luck was mine.”
“Guess I’m still looking for the right man.”
Hal chuckled. “That makes two of us.”
Chapter 20
Hal parked in front of Tony Rodale’s home, a sprawling Mediterranean-style house situated near the Claremont Country Club. While much of the surrounding area to the east was still scarred by the devastation of the ‘ninety-one firestorm, the stretch of streets surrounding Rodale’s was lush with green foliage and mature trees.
“What makes you think he’s home?” I asked.
“I called.” Hal rubbed his chin. “Fancy digs. Rodale must have the golden touch with investments.”
I nodded. Real estate near the country club was pricy, and his was one of the bigger houses on the street.
Rodale answered the door himself. He was about my height, with a thick, muscular build. He was wearing soft-drape wool slacks and a silk shirt open at the neck, revealing a chunky gold chain. His dark hair was thick and glossy, his eyes a little too small for the rest of his face. He wasn’t unattractive, but neither was he the urbane financier I’d been expecting.
While Hal offered introductions and the reason for our visit, I handed over one of my cards. Rodale stuck it in his pocket without a glance.
“I’d be happy to help,” he said with studied sincerity. “But I’m afraid there’s very little I can tell you.”
“We won’t take long. Mind if we come in?” Hal had begun moving through the open doorway while he spoke.
Inside, he whistled softly. “Nice place. Looks like something out of Architectural Digest.”
I thought it looked more like something out of Hollywood for Wannabes. The couches and chairs were massive and upholstered in heavy black leather. The tables were ultramodern works of glass and chrome. A projection-style television screen covered the wall at the far end of the room. The remaining walls were hung with large abstract oil paintings favoring blobs and dribbles in bold primary colors.
“Guess you must have a green thumb for investments,” Hal said.
Rodale laughed, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. “What can I say? I’ve been lucky. Can I get you a soda or something?”
I shook my head, but Hal was the one who spoke. “Sure, that sounds great.”
Rodale went to the wet bar at the other side of the room, reached under the counter, and pulled out three cans of Diet Coke. He handed them to us, unopened. His sense of decorum was on a par with his decor.
Rodale took the sling-back chair, leaving us the L-shaped sectional. He let his eyes run up and down my body for a moment before speaking, a move I suspected he intended as flattery.
“So,” he said, popping the tab on his soda. “What is it you think I can help you with?”
“This allegation of rape Deirdre Nichols made against our client,” Hal said. “Did you believe it?”
Rodale laughed uneasily. “I didn’t have an opinion one way or the other. Not that it matters any more. I understand the charges were dropped.”
“Did she talk to you about it?”
“Only in passing.” He shifted in his chair. “Ours wasn’t one of those bare-your-soul relationships.”
Hal propped a foot on the glass surface of the coffee table. I wasn’t sure if he’d done it intentionally to see how Rodale responded, or if he was simply, like many men, oblivious of such things.
“What kind of relationship was it?” Hal asked.
Rodale shrugged. “We had some good times.”
“And some not-so-good times?”
Rodale gave another shrug. “Women, you know. Nothing’s perfect.”
“Had you known Deirdre long?” I asked.
“About six months. It was hot and heavy for a while, but never”—he paused, using the fingers of both hands to make quotation marks in the air—“never serious. I date a lot of women. That’s the way I like it.”
“Did she date other men?”
His smile was one of indifference. “I wouldn’t know.”
“So it wouldn’t have bothered you if she did?”
“I never gave it much thought.” Rodale leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingertips pressed together steeple fashion. “What you gotta understand is, Deirdre was the one who got jealous. Not me. It was her that wanted things to be different between us.”
Hal took a swig of soda. “Meaning she wanted more commitment?”
“Yeah. I’m no fool though. She liked the lifestyle I could give her, the presents I bought her, the kind of people I socialize with. She wanted that for keeps. Since I was part of the package, she wanted me, too. But it was the package that got her attention.”
I could understand how Deirdre might have been attracted at least as much by the accessories as the man. What surprised me, though, was the absence of any bitterness in Rodale’s words. I wondered if he was being truthful.
He leaned back. “Deirdre was fun to be around. I felt bad for her about the rape, assuming that’s what really happened, and I’m real sorry she’s dead. But we weren’t seeing all that much of each other there at the end. I kinda put a stop to it.”
“When was the last time you talked to her?” I asked.
“That Saturday morning, the day she was killed. She’d heard I was taking Gabrielle to New Orleans with me, wanted to know if it was true.”
“Who’s Gabrielle?” I asked at the same time Hal said, “Was it?”
Rodale ignored my question. “Yes, I was planning to take her to New Orleans.”
“Deirdre was upset?” Hal asked.
Rodale shrugged. “With women, who can t
ell?”
Hal pressed the soda can with his thumb. “I gather the police questioned you about Deirdre’s death?”
“Of course.”
“You have an alibi?”
“I was here. Fortunately for me, a neighbor saw my car in the driveway that evening.” Rodale smiled at us. “I don’t think I was ever a serious suspect.”
“That so?” Hal drummed his fingers against his knee. “I’d have thought after the cops hauled you in for knocking Deirdre around, you’d be at the top of their list.”
Rodale laughed uncomfortably. “That was all Deirdre’s doing. I never touched her; she fell. But she was pissed at me because I wouldn’t take her along when I was sailing down to Mexico with some friends. The charges were dropped anyway.”
“Because she wouldn’t testify.”
“Guess she came to her senses.”
Yeah, sure. Like all the other battered women who are afraid to speak out. But I didn’t push it. Instead, I asked, “Do you have any idea who might have had reason to kill her?”
Another flash of white teeth. “Your client.”
“Aside from Grady Barrett.”
“His is the only name that comes to mind.” Rodale stood. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got an important conference call scheduled.”
He walked us to the door and promised to be in touch if he thought of anything else.
Hal was silent until we turned onto Broadway Terrace. “The guy sure went out of his way to make us believe Deirdre wasn’t anything special to him.”
“Maybe she wasn’t. Rodale strikes me as the kind of guy for whom no one is special.”
“Except that he likes to be the one calling the shots.”
I nodded. “It was interesting what he said about Gabrielle. According to Deirdre’s coworkers, she was in good spirits the day she died. Happier than she’d been for weeks. Doesn’t sound like a jealous woman.”
Hal tugged on an earlobe. “I wonder why the police let Rodale off so easy?”
“I guess they found his alibi sufficient.”
“Doesn’t strike me as rock solid. But then, they were focusing their energy on Grady, so maybe they never looked too hard.”
Motion to Dismiss (A Kali O'Brien Legal Mystery) Page 12
