"I know Lou," Crease answered thoughtfully. She blew a plume of smoke toward Orchard. "You're right. Lou wouldn't phony up evidence."
Crease was quiet for a moment. Orchard watched her.
"What do you suggest I do, Henry?" she asked after a while.
"The same person who warned me about the grand jury is going to call me the minute he hears that Riker has an indictment. Riker probably has your campaign schedule. I know the way he thinks. He's going to get the local sheriff to arrest you, preferably at some campaign function for maximum embarrassment. He'll work out the timing so you have to spend a night in the local jail, then he'll have you flown back to Portland in handcuffs and parade you through the airport the way the Romans used to display conquered enemy chieftains."
Crease shook her head in disgust. "Riker is such a creep."
Orchard smiled. 4'Of course, we won't let him do any of this. As soon as I hear that Riker's got his indictment, you'll disappear. When the sheriff arrives with his warrant, you won't be here. I've arranged for a private plane to fly us back to Portland. It's on standby. And I have Mary Garrett on retainer. She tells me that she'll set up a time to surrender you when it's convenient for us and she'll schedule an immediate bail hearing."
"Garrett, huh."
"We can't fuck around with this, Ellen. I've seen Garrett in court. She's a great white shark. More important, the press loves her and you need the press as much as you need a good lawyer."
Chapter 11.
[1]
The decor of Mary Garrett's office was ultramodern and disorienting, as if the decorator had artistic dyslexia. Ellen Crease could not find a straight line anywhere. She did see many gleaming aluminum tubes, myriad sheets of odd-shaped glass and numerous objects whose function was not easily identifiable. The lawyer Henry Orchard had chosen for her fit into this setting quite nicely. Her wardrobe and jewelry were expensive, but the clothes and accessories did not look quite right on the birdlike, five-foot woman. It was as if Garrett were under a court-ordered punishment to wear them as a means of emphasizing her dense glasses and overbite. Had this been true, the joke would have been on the court, because Garrett knew she wasn't a beauty queen and didn't care. What she did care about was winning and that was something she did very well.
As soon as the introductions were made, Garrett asked Henry Orchard to leave the room so she and Ellen Crease would have privacy. Crease sat in a director's chair. Its arms and legs were polished metal tubing and the back and seat were black leather that sagged a little, so that the height of the chair's occupant decreased. Garrett sat behind a wide glass desk on a high-backed chair of black leather. The chair could be elevated by pushing a button so that the diminutive attorney was always taller than her clients.
"I think your politics suck," was the first thing Garrett said to Ellen Crease when the door closed on Henry Orchard. "In fact, I can t think of a single thing you stand for that I agree with. I thought I should put that on the table right off."
Garrett had caught Crease completely off guard. There was a smirk on Garrett's lips and arrogance in the way she held her body. She was clearly communicating her opinion that she did not need Ellen Crease as a client but that Crease could not do without her as her attorney. If anyone else had treated her this way, Crease would have been out the door, but Garrett's combativeness endeared her to Crease. Perhaps it was the fact that her arrogance was wrapped in such a small and unattractive package. Instead of flushing with anger, Crease felt herself breaking into a wide grin.
"Then let's not talk politics," Crease said.
Garrett grinned back at her. "Good. I've been told that you have a thick skin. I wanted to see for myself. You're going to need it before this thing plays out."
"What exactly do you take this thing' to be?"
"The Prince of Darkness's dumber brother has an indictment charging you with two counts of aggravated murder. Aggravated murder, as you know from your days as a cop, carries a possible death sentence.
"Before I go any further, I'm going to explain the attorney-client relationship to you. And I want you to listen very closely to what I say, because this is not just a civics lecture.
"Anything you tell me is confidential. That means that, by law, I'm forbidden to tell anyone what you confide to me. It also gives you the freedom to tell me the most outrageous lies, but you may pay a price if you aren't completely honest. The best liar I ever represented is sitting in prison because I turned down a plea offer that would have kept him out of jail as a result of a fairy tale that he concocted. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly. But I have no reason to lie to you."
"Then why did Riker go to the grand jury?"
"Isn't it obvious? Have you seen the latest polls? Cedric Riker is one of Ben Gage's tools. Gage was a major contributor to Riker's campaign and Riker owes him his job. Indicting me is a way of paying back Gage."
"I don't doubt that Riker is motivated by politics, but he can't go in front of a grand jury without evidence." Crease remembered that Orchard had said the same thing. "What does he have on you, Senator?"
"I don't know."
Garrett formed a steeple with her fingers and thought out loud.
"We know Jablonski fired the shot that killed your husband, so the only way you would be implicated in your husband's death would be if you hired him to do it."
"Ms. Garrett . . ."
"Call me Mary. We're going to be seeing a lot of each other."
"Mary, then. I didn't even know Martin Jablonski existed until my husband was murdered. Cedric Riker could not have any evidence implicating me in my husband's death, because I had nothing to do with it."
"Let's approach this problem from a different angle," Garrett said. "Was there something going on in your relationship with Lamar Hoyt that Riker could interpret as a motive for murder?"
Crease hesitated and Garrett concluded that her client was making a decision that would shape the direction of her representation. After a moment, Crease looked directly at her lawyer and said, "There's the money I'm going to inherit and the Hoyt Industries stock, which will make me the majority shareholder. But if I had hired Jablonski to kill Lamar, it would have been because Lamar was cheating on me with a woman named Karen Fargo."
' How long had you known?" Garrett asked softly.
"Since Lamar stopped having sex with me regularly."
"Did you confront your husband?"
"Yes. I wasn't surprised. In fact, I'd been expecting this for some time. I was Lamar's third wife and each marriage followed a pattern. Lamar would marry a woman in her twenties, then tire of her when she turned thirty or so. He began cheating on his first two wives when they were about my age and I expected him to cheat on me. The difference is that I'm not a docile airhead like the first two Mrs. Hoyts. I loved Lamar and I decided to break the cycle so I could keep our marriage intact."
"What did you do?"
"I made it crystal-clear to Lamar that I wasn't going to stand for his bullshit. He bought off his first two wives. I told Lamar that he'd be living on the street if he tried to pull this crap with me. Then I asked him point-blank if Miss Fargo could ring his bell the way I did. That got him thinking."
"And?"
"He stopped inventing excuses to avoid getting in the sack with me."
"So you think he broke it off with Fargo?"
"I'm not sure, but Lamar seemed like a loving husband again."
"Do you think Riker is aware of the affair?"
"I have no way of knowing."
Garrett made some notes on a pad. Crease waited patiently. When Garrett stopped writing, the lawyer said, "Why don't you tell me how you met Lamar?"
"I was a policewoman in Portland and there was a burglary at one of Lamar's mortuaries. I interviewed Lamar while I was conducting my investigation. He was charming in an old-boy sort of way. Very gallant. After the official part of the meeting, we drifted into small talk. Then I left.
"The next day, Lamar lef
t me a message at work asking me to call him. I thought it had something to do with the case, but he wanted to take me out for dinner. I turned him down. I knew he was married. He was also a witness in a police investigation.
"About six months later, we arrested the perp who'd broken into the mortuary. He was an addict looking for something to sell for a rock of crack cocaine. I dropped by Lamar's office to let him know that the case was wrapped up and ended up at dinner with him."
Crease drifted off for a moment as if she were reliving the moment.
"Lamar was a charming bastard," Crease said with a small smile. "By the end of that dinner, I was hooked. See, I'd never had much. My father just took off about a year after I was born and my mom cleaned houses to put food on the table. I got through college on scholarships and waiting tables. The most money I'd ever seen was what I was pulling down as a cop. And here I was dining in elegance with a man whose pinky ring cost more than my mother made in a good year."
"Didn't the age difference bother you?"
"It's a funny thing. I never thought about the fact that he was almost thirty years older than me. He was a big bear, and so full of life. Lamar knew all the right things to say, too, and how to make you feel important. We spent most of that dinner talking about me. He had me believing that our backgrounds were pretty similar. You know, poor boy makes good, which was pretty much bullshit, since Lamar's daddy owned two funeral parlors when he died and Lamar's mother never worked a day in her life. Still, Lamar could make you think he was a sharecropper s son who rose from poverty.
"He also gave me a taste of how things could be for me if I continued to see him. There was the limousine, the waiters in tuxedos, his jewelry and the estate."
Crease spaced out again and Garrett could see her thinking about that good time with a man she loved and would never see again. It made Garrett feel sad. Then Crease laughed.
"What's so funny?" Garrett asked.
"I was just remembering Lamar. You know he looked like a redneck hick with his cowboy boots and string ties, but he was smooth. When he asked to see me again, I didn't hesitate."
"Did the subject of his marriage ever come up?"
"He was the one who raised it. I don't remember how he did it, but I left that first dinner with the impression that Lamar thought that the second Mrs. H. was as dull as a dishrag, while finding me intellectually stimulating." Crease stared direcdy into Garrett's eyes. "That part was one hundred percent accurate. Mary Lou is a dim bulb. I know why Lamar was attracted to her. I've seen pictures of her during the Miss Oregon swimsuit competition. But I'll be damned if I know what they talked about outside of bed. Lamar was very smart. Country smart. I challenged him in a way no other woman ever did."
"What happened after the first dinner?"
"There were more dinners. They were wonderful. We talked and talked. Around the third time we met, Lamar took me back to his estate. Mary Lou was in New York on a buying spree. I suspect he sent her there to get rid of her for the weekend. I was bowled over. I'd never been inside a house like that before. That was the evening I made up my min<4 to marry Lamar. And it wasn't just the house or his money. I want you to understand that. I wanted those things, but I wanted Lamar more. I was fascinated by his intelligence, his energy ..."
Crease trailed off, as if she had suddenly remembered that Lamar was dead and gone and all that energy and intelligence was now part of the void.
"Was that first evening at his estate the first time you slept together?"
"Yes."
"I get the impression that you two were good in bed."
"I thought so. That's why my antennae went up when Lamar started making excuses. At his age, he couldn't have sex as often as he used to, but he was pretty game whenever we made love."
"How did Lamar feel about your career?"
Crease's smile faded. "At first, my being a cop fascinated Lamar. I think it was a turn-on. But soon after we were married, he began complaining. Deep down, he wanted a traditional wife. Someone who looked good, had dinner waiting on the table when he got home and spread her legs whenever he was horny. He found out fast that I wasn't like that and never would be."
"What happened when he made this discovery?"
"There were a lot of hard words at first. Then I hit him straight on. I asked him if he wanted a partner or a doormat. I told him that we could be something together, but I made it clear that I wasn't going to lose my identity in order to make him happy. For a while, it was touch-and-go."
"But he came around?"
"He came around. And when I told him I wanted to quit the force to run for the legislature, he was my biggest supporter." A tear formed in Crease's eye and trailed down her cheek. Crease squared her shoulders. "He changed for me and he was always there for me. Damn, I miss him."
Garrett studied her new client. Crease's display of emotion seemed genuine. That did not mean that Crease was not a murderer, but it made Garrett, who was a cynic at heart, reserve judgment. She looked at her watch.
"We're due in court soon, so this is enough for now. Henry told you about my fee?"
Crease nodded. "I'll have it to you by tomorrow."
"Good. My secretary will give you my retainer agreement.
"Now, I know you've been a cop, so you have a good idea of what is going to happen as a result of these charges, but I want to spell it out for you. Your life is about to become a living hell. There's no other way to put it and I don't believe in sugarcoating the facts for my clients."
Garrett paused to judge how Crease was taking what she was dishing out. The senator was tense but alert.
"Bail will be the big problem. There is no mandatory bail in a murder case, but Riker is going to have to convince the judge that his case is very strong if he wants you held with no bail. If he succeeds, you'll be locked up with the type of people you used to arrest. I don't have to tell you what that will be like. The good news is that I think we've got a real shot at keeping you out of the pokey. And I mean completely out.
"That doesn't mean your life will be normal. The vultures of the press will be circling you twenty-four hours a day, and they won't have the slightest interest in your political views. You'll also find out who your real friends are."
Garrett leaned forward. She reminded Crease of the gargoyles she'd seen perched on the Notre Dame Cathedral the first time Lamar had flown her to Paris.
"I have some advice. Most clients aren't tough enough to follow it, but I think you are. Whatever has happened has happened. No matter how much you would like to you cannot change the past, so do not dwell on the murder of your husband. That's my job. That's why you hire an attorney. So you can go on with your life and let someone else do the worrying. I'll be doing enough for the two of us."
Garrett looked at her watch again and stood up.
"Stanley Sax, the presiding judge, is a friend of mine and he's got integrity. I talked to him this morning. He's set a special arraignment for ten-thirty. Your case will be the only one on the docket and we'll be taking up bail at the same time you're arraigned. That's unusual in a murder case, but this case is unusual because of the impact your incarceration would have on the primary. You'll plead not guilty. The press is going to be there in full force, so sing it out loud and clear. Then go back to campaigning and let me do my job."
[2]
Richard Quinn was studying a brochure from the Bay Reef Resort on St. Jerome when his secretary told him that Stanley Sax was on the way over from presiding court. The brochure showed a white sand beach, azure waters and clear blue skies. The hotel was new and he and Laura had a room with an ocean view. There was a casino, a huge pool, a four-star restaurant, water sports, tennis and more. Lately, Laura seemed excited about their week in paradise.
Quinn set down the brochure when Sax rapped his knuckles on the doorjamb.
"Come in, Stan," Quinn said cheerfully. "What's up?"
Sax did not return Quinn's smile. He dropped into a chair on the other side of Quinn's desk.
"I'm here to make your day."
"Oh?" Quinn answered cautiously.
"I know you're not scheduled to move into the homicide rotation until next month, but something has come up and I need you. Ced Riker has indicted Ellen Crease for the murder of her husband."
"What!"
"That was my reaction, too. He went to the grand jury yesterday. Crease is represented by Mary Garrett. Garrett called me to request an expedited bail hearing and I agreed because of the impact on the campaign if Crease has to sit in jail for a week while we schedule a hearing in the normal way. I'd like you to handle the case."
Quinn saw the brochure from St. Jerome in his peripheral vision. He owed Stanley Sax, but Quinn was counting on the week alone with Laura as his best chance to jump-start their ailing marriage.
"I can't do it, Stan. I've agreed to speak at a seminar in two weeks on St. Jerome. Remember? Laura's coming with me."
"That won't be a problem. I've scheduled the arraignment and the bail hearing for ten-thirty today. You take care of the hearing and I'll handle any emergencies while you're away."
"I don't know, Stan. This is a pretty big case for me to take on for my first homicide."
"Let me tell you something, Dick, every death penalty case is too big for any of us to handle. Only God should be deciding who should live and who should die, but we're stuck with the job.
"Now, it's true that you'll be under a spotlight in Crease's case that would not be shining on you if the defendant were some junkie lowlife. If you make a mistake, everyone in the country will know about it. But that won't make a difference to you. Want to know why?"
Quinn just stared at him.
"I know you, Dick. I know how conscientious you are and I know that you punish yourself for your mistakes much harder than anyone else can. That's why I want you on this one. You won't let yourself screw up. You'll make certain that both sides get a fair trial."
Quinn's bailiff pressed a button under his desk in the courtroom and a light on the desk in Quinn's chambers flashed bright red to let him know that both sides in State v. Crease were in the courtroom. Quinn slipped into his judicial robes and opened the door that led directly to the bench. As he stepped through it, the bailiff rapped the gavel, commanded everyone in the packed courtroom to rise and announced that the Honorable Richard Quinn would be presiding over the docket. Quinn noticed several members of the press in attendance and saw the lights of the TV cameras that were shooting through the glass in the courtroom doors.
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