Instead of responding right away, Knowles studied her for a few moments. When he finally spoke, he ignored her question. “You sure you don’t have any idea what your husband was doing that day?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I want to believe you, Mrs. Walker. But we’ve got a missing surveillance tape, a rising assistant district attorney who lied to his wife about where he was going, and a wallet stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. You tell me that doesn’t raise questions.”
Chapter 9
Diana maneuvered Roy’s Lexus through heavy midday traffic and onto the lower deck of the Bay Bridge. Because of ongoing construction, the lanes were narrow and poorly marked, and the roadbed was uneven. Still, drivers buzzed in and out of the lanes, twice swerving in front of her with what seemed like only inches to spare. She gripped the steering wheel and cursed under her breath. She needed to concentrate on the road, but her mind couldn’t stop replaying her conversation with Inspector Knowles. Why had he asked about Roy’s gun? Did he think Roy might have been something other than an innocent victim?
She played through possible scenarios in her head. She could easily imagine Roy trying to stop a robbery in progress—he sometimes took his commitment to serving justice a bit too much to heart. Perhaps he’d intervened, and the assailants had wrestled his gun from his grasp and then shot him.
Except that Roy didn’t carry a gun. He kept it locked in a metal chest on the top shelf of their bedroom closet.
Maybe he’d been receiving threats? That might explain his edginess the last week or so. If he sensed potential danger, he might have taken his gun for protection. But if he’d sensed danger, why go at all? Roy wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t reckless.
And why would he have been carrying so much cash?
Most troubling of all, he’d lied to her.
Ahead, a bus was stalled in the right-hand lane. Diana eased left to pass, and was almost mowed down by an SUV crossing three lanes of traffic to pull in front of her. She hit the horn and was rewarded with a three-finger salute.
“Ass,” she yelled to the driver from the safe confines of her car. Her husband had been shot. He might die, and all these idiots could think about was shaving two minutes off their commute. She took a deep breath. No point wasting energy on jerks in cars.
She couldn’t recall Roy ever lying to her. He was scrupulously honest—a trait she admired in theory but sometimes found annoying in practice. Unwillingly, her mind again jumped to the possibility of another woman.
No, not Roy. The idea was absurd.
Wasn’t the wife always the last to know? An eddy of doubt caught Diana unaware. No, she couldn’t believe she’d been that blind. There had to be another explanation. But she couldn’t believe Roy would be involved in anything shady. Her husband was Mr. Integrity. A trait that earned him the begrudging respect of colleagues and adversaries alike.
Roy was modest about his professional achievements, but Diana knew how quickly he’d made a name for himself in a department brimming with ambitious, hardworking lawyers. His success had not been handed to him. He’d worked for it.
He had taken a couple of years off after high school—traveling, he’d told her when they first met; pulling his life together, he’d admitted later, without elaboration. Despite working to put himself through college, he’d managed to graduate in three years and then finish law school in the top ten percent of his class. What stood out, however, was his unwavering commitment to doing what was right. Roy didn’t stretch the truth to make a case. He didn’t play politics. He didn’t make rash promises. And he avoided even the mere appearance of impropriety.
He led an equally upright personal life. He never exceeded the speed limit (although, thankfully, he’d stopped lecturing Diana when she did). He wouldn’t drink at all if he’d be driving home after an evening out. He’d even confiscated Emily’s illegally downloaded music files—a move that unleashed the wrath of both mother and daughter.
Roy could be annoying but he was never unscrupulous. So why the hell had he gone to the Bayview district of San Francisco with five thousand dollars in his wallet, and why had he lied to her about it?
*****
The Alameda County District Attorney’s office was in the courthouse near Lake Merritt in Oakland. Parking was never easy, but Diana managed to find a spot only two blocks away.
She climbed the steps of the courthouse, then made her way through security and up to Roy’s office. His secretary, Jan, jumped up from her desk when Diana entered. “I didn’t expect you,” Jan said, hurriedly enveloping Diana in a hug. “Is there news about Roy?”
Diana shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
Jan grabbed both of Diana’s hands in her own. “We’re all praying for him. The whole office.”
“Thank you.” Jan’s hands were soft and plump, like the woman herself. Now in her late fifties, Jan had worked for Roy almost since his first days there. Diana had worked in a different division of the DA’s office and hadn’t known Jan until her marriage to Roy. She liked Jan, but she was always a little uncomfortable around the woman. Jan acted as though she was the ultimate authority on everything, including Roy.
“It doesn’t seem possible,” Jan continued, finally letting go of Diana’s hands. “Roy is someone who comes across larger than life. Almost like he’s invincible. You don’t expect bad news where Roy’s concerned.”
“I know. I’m—”
Jan’s phone rang and she picked it up only long enough to say, “Can I call you back? Thanks.” She turned back to Diana. “I know you must have a lot of your mind. What can I help you with?”
Diana was unsure how to proceed and, in truth, a little afraid of overstepping some unspoken boundary. How did you discreetly pry into the life of your husband?
“I have some questions,” she began. She really didn’t want to be discussing her husband with Jan, but she didn’t know how else to get answers.
Jan gave her a curious look.
“I’m trying to understand what happened,” Diana explained.
“Of course you are. We all are.” Jan checked her watch. “Do you have time for a quick cup of coffee? I was about to head over to Starbuck’s for my afternoon latte. We can talk on the way.”
“Good idea.”
On their way there, they talked about Jan’s grandson, and about Jeremy and Emily, and the weather—anything but the subject that was foremost in their minds. Finally, coffee in hand, Jan turned to Diana and asked, “Now then. What is it?”
“I was wondering if any of Roy’s cases involve someone named Mia.”
Jan frowned. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
They walked back toward the courthouse, sipping their coffee as they went. Diana welcomed the jolt of caffeine.
“What about someone named Mia in the DA’s office?” she asked. “Or maybe a defense attorney Roy might have dealt with?”
“Sorry.” Jan shook her head. “The only Mia that comes to mind is Mia Farrow. Why?”
Diana would gladly have fabricated some innocuous reason for asking, except that she was unable to think of one fast enough. “It’s a name Roy mumbled in the hospital,” she explained.
“He’s alert?” Jan stopped mid-step. “Why didn’t you say so before this?”
“It was just for a minute, maybe less. He opened his eyes and looked right at me. And he said a few words. Then he slipped back into his coma.”
“But that’s a good sign, isn’t it, that he could wake up enough to talk at all?”
“The doctor wasn’t impressed.” Diana wasn’t sure he’d even believed her.
Jan removed the lid from her coffee cup and tossed it into the trash container at the curb. “Do you think Roy was trying to tell you who shot him?”
“Could be. But I was thinking it might explain what he was doing that afternoon. What about cases involving San Francisco residents? Is Roy dealing with anything like that?”
“I’m sure he must be, al
though I can’t come up with a particular case right off the bat. You know the Bay Area, it’s really one big city, in spite of local governments and local law enforcement.”
The light changed and they crossed the street. Diana, who normally walked briskly, especially at crosswalks, slowed her pace to match Jan’s. When they reached the far curb, she said, “The police seem to be considering the possibility that Roy wasn’t simply a random victim.”
“I know. They were here yesterday, asking questions.”
“The police? What kind of questions?”
“Like what you’re asking. Mostly about Roy’s cases, possible enemies, strange calls, that sort of thing.”
“Were there enemies or strange calls?”
“I’m sure the criminals he’s put away are none too happy with him, but nothing out of the ordinary.” Jan hesitated a moment. “Except . . .”
“Except what?”
“There was a message on his answering machine when I came into work Monday morning. It must have come in over the weekend. A man’s voice, but no name. He said, pardon my French, ‘You’d better not be fucking with me.’ It wasn’t even so much what he said. It was his tone. Tense, kind of threatening.”
“Did you tell the police?”
Jan bristled. “Of course I told them.” She paused. “Do they think someone set out to kill Roy, is that it?”
“I don’t know what they think,” Diana said, not bothering to hide her annoyance at police protocol. “It doesn’t make sense that someone would lure him over to San Francisco to kill him. Why not just shoot him on his way to work or something?”
“I guess they’re covering all the bases. Roy’s an important figure, someone they’ll go the extra mile for.” Jan’s tone was condescending, as though Diana didn’t know her own husband.
They’d reached the courthouse. Diana eyed the imposing front steps. “Would it be okay if I looked in his office?”
Jan raised an eyebrow. “I can’t do that. Confidentiality, and all.”
“You can trust me,” Diana pleaded. “You know you can.”
Jan shook her head. “I’d lose my job. Gotta follow protocol.”
“But this is important. Somebody shot my husband.” Diana was close to tears.
Jan looked at her apologetically. “Sorry. But maybe I can help. What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know. Something that might tell me what’s going on.” Diana pressed her fingers against her eyelids. She wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Not here. “Could Roy have come in to work on Sunday?”
“I doubt it. His desk looked untouched. I’m sure the police checked the sign-in log, but I’ll take a look and let you know.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that. And keep your eye out for a green gym bag.”
“That old thing? It’s not in his office, I can tell you that. I’ve been after him forever to get a new one. Told him it did nothing for his image. Not that Roy gives a rat’s ass about his image.”
*****
Diana’s head hurt by the time she got home. The answering machine was full of condolence messages from friends and interview requests from the press. She ignored them all. She had ninety minutes before she had to pick up Jeremy, and she had a column to write.
But first, she called the country club and spoke with the assistant at the pro shop to confirm that Roy had not played there on Sunday. He hadn’t.
“Oh, he could have slipped on without signing in, I suppose,” the assistant told her. “But his name’s not in the book.”
And Diana knew Roy always signed in. Roy played by the rules.
So where was his gym bag? Diana distinctly remembered seeing him leave the house with it. She replayed the scene in her mind. Roy had come into the kitchen where she was putting away groceries.
“I’m off,” he’d said.
“Fine. Suit yourself. You seem to be doing a lot of that lately.”
Their argument from that morning was still fresh in Diana’s mind, and Roy’s plea to “just be patient and bear with me for a bit” had done nothing to soften her anger.
“Jeremy needs you,” she had told him. “You’re his father. A boy needs a father. Isn’t he more important than some stupid golf game?” A golf game, she added silently, that he hadn’t even scheduled.
There’d been a moment of silence and Diana wondered if she’d managed to anger her ordinarily unflappable husband.
“Diana,” he’d said finally, and then paused. He looked ready to say more, but then kissed her lightly and said, “Love you. I should be back by five.”
I should be back by five, Diana repeated to herself. Would a man squeeze an assignation with his lover into such a narrow window of time?
Maybe, if he was desperate enough.
Roy had definitely had that ratty old gym bag over his shoulder. It wasn’t something he usually took to the club, but Diana hadn’t thought much about it at the time because she’d been focused on her anger. Maybe he’d packed the thing with the necessities for a romantic afternoon, whatever they might be. Sorrow and anger squeezed Diana’s heart, even as she mentally tried to reassure herself. Roy was not the sort of man to have a secret affair.
She pushed the conflicting emotions aside and sat down at her computer.
Several days ago, she wrote, my husband was shot in an armed robbery. Talk about putting things into perspective. We’d argued that morning. My last words to him were hurtful, spoken in anger.
Diana’s throat grew tight. Dear God, don’t let them be my final words to Roy. Please let him be okay.
*****
Difficult as it was to write, Diana finished the piece with ten minutes to spare. She wanted to close her eyes and regroup before she left to get Jeremy. Instead, she called Emily, who rarely answered Diana’s calls, and left a message, adding, as always, “I love you.”
Diana hadn’t planned on getting pregnant with Emily. She and Garrick had been in college, and although they’d talked about marriage, it was something for the future. It was Garrick who pushed for marriage after the pregnancy test came back positive, but he never really saw being married as anything more than dating with full-time benefits. Diana agreed because it seemed the right thing to do. But from the moment she’d felt the first flutter of movement inside her, she had fallen under the spell of the tiny, magical creature who claimed her heart.
Diana wasn’t sure just when—or why—her relationship with Emily began to show signs of strain, but by the time Garrick, who’d walked away from them when Emily was three, reappeared in his daughter’s life her freshman year in high school, Emily had shuttered herself from Diana in every way possible.
Hormones, said the doctor she talked to. Teenage growing pains, said the counselor. Give her time, said Roy. But none of them had to live with the pain of being rejected by your own child.
Diana felt drained. She went to the closet to get a sweater and remembered Roy’s gun. She wasn’t about to deliver the damn thing to the police. If they wanted it, they could come get it.
She pushed aside the stack of folded blankets and took down the metal safe. It was lighter than she remembered, and when she opened the combination lock, she knew why.
The gun was gone.
Chapter 10
Joel Richards had been born and raised in Littleton, Georgia, and while it was a perfectly fine place to grow up, and a popular spot for beachfront vacationing, he hadn’t expected he’d still be living there at the age of twenty-five. He’d envisioned himself up north—New York, Boston, Chicago, or maybe out west in San Francisco or Los Angeles. Even Atlanta would be a step in the right direction. He was a journalist, after all, or at least that’s what he hoped he was, and the stories he longed to write weren’t to be found in Littleton.
The good thing about newspaper work in a small town was that he got to cover pretty much everything—town council meetings, school events, human interest pieces and the occasional accident or fire. The bad part was that everything in a small coastal
town in Georgia wasn’t really much at all.
Until now.
Joel still couldn’t believe what Skeet Birnbaum, editor-in-chief of the Littleton Post, was telling him.
“You know those bones they found when they were clearing land for that new waterfront development?” Skeet asked, settling back in his office chair.
“Yeah, sure.” The discovery ten days earlier had caused quite a stir. The developers, fearing they’d happened on some ancient Indian burial ground, had at first tried to keep the news from the press. When it had been determined the skeleton was more recent, the developers breathed more easily. but speculation among townsfolk had grown rampant.
“Well . . .” Skeet paused, and did his best imitation of a drum roll. “They’ve been identified as belonging to Miranda Saxton.” He looked triumphantly at Joel, then sighed. “You’ve never heard of her, I take it.”
Joel shook his head .
“You’ve heard of Harry Saxton, though?”
“Sure. U.S. senator from Virginia. One of the longest serving members of congress.”
“Miranda was his daughter.”
Joel was suddenly curious “What happened to her?”
Skeet steepled his fingers at his chin and looked over them at Joel. “Well now, that’s what the cops tried to figure out twenty some years ago when she disappeared.”
“Disappeared? All that time her family didn’t know if she was alive or dead?”
“Nope. Although I imagine as the years went by they more or less assumed the worst. She was vacationing with her family here in Littleton. They were guests of Walter St. John, another name you’ve probably never heard of. St. John used to own that whole stretch of coast south of town. Every summer he’d invite a handful of the rich and powerful to mingle at his compound for a couple of weeks.”
“Rough life,” Joel offered with a touch of sarcasm. Littleton still had its share of fancy condos and resorts, but Joel knew that the town’s heyday as a mecca for the wealthy was before his time.
“The day before the family was scheduled to leave for home,” Sheet continued, “Miranda disappeared. Caused quite a hullabaloo around here.”
Lying With Strangers Page 6
