After Dark

by Phillip Margolin

  "I don't want you to be upset by what I say next. I am a criminal defense attorney. Many of the people I represent are criminals and many of these people lie to me at some point during my representation. I am never upset when they lie. I know that people under pressure do things that they would never do under normal circumstances. So if you intend to lie to me, I won't be upset, but you could cause me to go off and do something that would put you in a worse position than you would be in if you told me the truth."

  Abbie sat up straight in her seat and looked into Matthew's eyes. "I will never lie to you, Matthew," she said with great intensity. "I promise you that."

  "Good. Then tell me why Chuck Geddes thinks you murdered your husband.

  Let's start with motive."

  "We were separated, if that's what you mean," Abbie said, coloring slightly.

  "Was the separation amicable?"

  "No."

  "Whose idea was it to separate?"

  "Mine," Abbie said firmly.

  "Justice Griffen wanted to stay married?"

  "Robert liked to live well," Abbie answered, unable to hide her bitterness, "but he couldn't do a lot of that on a judge's salary."

  "Surely he had his own money? I thought Justice Griffen had a successful law practice before he went on the bench."

  "Robert was intelligent, and he was certainly charming, but he was not a good attorney. He was lazy and he didn't care about his clients. He used to talk about what idiots they were. How much he was overcharging them. After a while, the clients caught on and complained to the other partners. Robert was losing clients. He was making good money at one time, but he spent what he earned and more. As I said, Robert really enjoyed the good life.

  He put his name in for the bench because his partners were carrying him and he knew his time at the firm was limited."

  "Why did the governor appoint Justice Griffen if his reputation was so bad?"

  "It wasn't. Most people saw Robert's corner office with a view of the Willamette, read his name on the door of one of Portland's most prestigious firms and met him in social settings, where he shined.

  "Then there were the markers. The firm contributed a great deal of money to the governor's campaign and they wanted Robert out. In all honesty, he wasn't a bad judge. He was always smart. And for a while he tried hard to do a good job. Robert wasn't evil so much as he was self-absorbed."

  Matthew made some notes, then asked, "Who stood to gain if the divorce became final?"

  "Robert. My attorney said he wanted a two-million-dollar settlement."

  Reynolds was Surprised by the amount. He had never thought of Abbie as a wealthy woman, always assuming that Robert Griffen was the one with the money because he had been a partner in a prestigious law firm while Abbie worked in the district attorney's office.

  "Could you afford that?" Reynolds asked.

  "Yes. It would have been worth it to get him out of my life."

  "Two million dollars is a very good motive for murder."

  "He would have settled for less and I could have survived nicely, even if it cost me that much to get rid of him."

  "Most jurors would find it hard to believe that you could give away two million dollars and not care."

  "It's the truth."

  "I didn't say it wasn't. We're talking about human nature, Abbie. What the average person will think about a sum that large."

  Abbie thought about that for a moment.

  "Where did your money come from?" Reynolds asked.

  "My parents were both killed in an auto accident when I was very young.

  There was a big insurance policy. My Aunt Sarah took me in. She made certain the money was invested wisely."

  "Tell me about your aunt."

  "Aunt Sarah never married and I was her only family. A few years before I came to live with her, she started Chapman Accessories in her house to supplement her income. It kept growing.

  She sold out to a national chain when she was fifty for several million dollars. I was seventeen and I'd just graduated from high school. We went around the world together for a year. It was the best year of my life. Aunt Sarah died five years ago. Between the money she invested for me and the money she left me, I'm quite wealthy."

  "I take it that you were very close to your aunt."

  "I loved her very much. As much as if she was my real mother.

  She made me strong and self-sufficient. She convinced me that I didn't have to be afraid of being alone."

  Abbie paused, momentarily overcome by emotion. Then she said, "I wish she was here for me now."

  Reynolds looked down at his desk, embarrassed by Abbie's sudden display of emotion. When Reynolds looked up, he looked grim.

  "You must never think you're alone, Mrs. Griffen. I am here for you, and so are the people who work for me. We are very good at what we do.

  You must believe that. And we will do everything in our power to see that you are cleared of this terrible accusation."

  Jack Stamm had assigned Chuck Geddes a room in the Multnomah County district attorney's office that overlooked the Fifth Avenue transit mall. With the window open, Geddes could hear the low hum of the city. The white noise was lulling him into a state of somnolence when he was suddenly struck by an idea.

  Geddes sat up and grabbed his legal pad. If Neil Christenson could find evidence to support his new theory, that evidence would not just put a nail in Abigail Griffen's coffin, it would seal it hermetically.

  When Geddes was through with his notes he made a call to the Supreme Court in Salem. Then he buzzed Neil Christenson and told him to come to his office immediately. While he waited, Geddes marveled at his ability to make this type of intuitive leap.

  There were lots of good prosecutors, Geddes thought with a smile of smug satisfaction, but the truly great lawyers were few and far between.

  Geddes was so lost in thoughts of self-congratulation that the ringing phone startled him.

  "Geddes," he barked into the receiver, angered by the inopportune interruption.

  "Mr. Geddes, this is Matthew Reynolds."

  Geddes stiffened. He genuinely hated Reynolds because of the way the defense attorney had humiliated him in court both times they had faced each other, but he would never give Matthew the satisfaction of knowing how he felt.

  "What can I do for you, Matt," Geddes asked in a tone of false camaraderie.

  "Nothing right now. I'm calling because I understand you are in charge of the investigation into Justice Griffen's murder."

  "That's right."

  "I have just been retained to represent Abigail Griffen and I would appreciate it if neither you nor any other government agent contacts her in connection with this case. If you need to speak to her, please call me and I'll try to assist you, if I can. I already mailed you a letter that sets out this request. Please put it in your file."

  Listening to Reynolds give him orders as if he was some secretary set Geddes's teeth on edge, but you could never tell that from the way he calmly responded to Abbie's attorney.

  "I'll do that, Matt, and I appreciate the call, but I don't know why Mrs. Griffen is so bent out of shape. You both know that the wife is always a natural suspect. I was sorry to have to upset her so soon after her husband's funeral, but we're not looking at her any more than anyone else."

  "Then you have other suspects?"

  "Now, you know better than that. I can't discuss an ongoing investigation."

  "I understand," Reynolds said abruptly, to let Geddes know that he was in no mood to play games. "I won't keep you any longer."

  "Nice talking to you," Geddes said, just as Neil Christenson walked in.

  "Well, well," Geddes mused, breaking into a grin. "If we needed any more proof that Abigail Griffen is guilty, we just got it."

  "What proof is that?"

  "She's hired Matthew Reynolds as her attorney."

  Christenson wasn't smiling.

  "What's bothering you?" Geddes asked, annoyed that Christenson d
id not react to his joke.

  "I think we should move slowly with this investigation. Something just doesn't feel right to me."

  Geddes frowned. "For instance?"

  "There's Deems for one thing. He's the worst possible person we could have for a key witness, especially now with Reynolds defending. Can you imagine what a lawyer like Reynolds will do to Deems on cross? He has a terrific motive to lie. Griffen put him on death row, for God's sake.

  And don't forget, Deems was the prime suspect before he waltzed into Stamm's office with his story."

  "Good points, Neil. But think about this. You'll admit Deems is intelligent?"

  "Oh, that's for sure. Most psychopaths are."

  "Then why would he kill Justice Griffen with a bomb that is identical to the bomb he used to kill Hollins? Does that make sense? Or does it make more sense that someone who knew how Deems made the Hollins bomb, and who knew that the bomb squad would immediately connect the Griffen bomb to Deems, would use the bomb to frame Deems?"

  "The point's well taken, Chuck, but I don't trust him. Why is he here?

  Why would someone like Deems want to help the police?

  "That's simple. He hates Griffen for putting him on death row. Revenge is one of man's oldest motives.

  "And don't forget the metal strip and her alibi, or lack of one.

  You don't buy that fairy story about the meeting in the rose garden, do you? Talk about leading someone down the garden path."

  Geddes laughed at his own joke, but Christenson looked grim. "There's still the attack on the coast. Griffen said the man could have been Deems."

  "If there was an attack. Remember what Sheriff Dillard told you when you talked to him yesterday. But let's assume the attack did take place. Does it make sense that Griffen would go off in the middle of the night alone, and meetsomeone in an isolated place, a week after someone tried to rape or murder her? No, Neil, this little lady is weaving a web of bullshit and a jury won't buy it any more than I do."

  Christenson frowned. "What you say makes sense, but I still . . ."

  Geddes looked annoyedo "Neil, I have no doubts about Griffen. She's guilty and I'm going to get her. I need an investigator on this case who's going to nail Griffen to the wall. If you feel uncomfortable working on this, say so. I can get someone else."

  "It's not that . . ."

  "Good, because I respect your work."

  Geddes turned his chair sideways. He looked out the window.

  "You know, Neil, I'm not staying in this job forever." Geddes paused.

  "Gary Graham is not going to run for Attorney General after his term is up."

  "I didn't know that."

  "It's not public knowledge, so let's keep it between us, okay?"

  Geddes swiveled back toward Christenson. He put his forearms on the desk and leaned forward. "If I put a top prosecutor away for the murder of a Supreme Court justice, with Matthew Reynolds defending, I can write my own ticket, Neil."

  Geddes let that hang in the air for a moment, then he said, "When I make my move, I'm going to need good men with me.

  Men I can count on. Do you catch my drift?"

  "Yeah, Chuck. I hear you."

  "It's not enough to hear me, Neil. I need your undivided loyalty. Do I have it? Are you going to give me one hundred percent on this?"

  "I always give one hundred percent, Chuck."

  Geddes smiled. "That's good, because I've just figured out how to bust this case wide open. Have a chair and hear me out."

  Christenson sat down. Geddes leaned back and folded his hands behind his neck.

  "I've always believed that you solve a crime by figuring out the motive behind it," Geddes pontificated. "Now, what was Abbie Griffen's motive?

  We know the divorce would have cost her money, but she has a lot of money. So I asked myself, what other motive could she have had.") Then I thought about the way Justice Griffen was killed." Geddes shook his head. "That type of carnage tells me that this was a crime of passion.

  The person who killed Justice Griffen hated him so much that she wanted to destroy him totally.

  "Now, what breeds that kind of hate? Sex, Neil. Lust, jealousy. So I thought about the Griffens' divorce. Why were they splitting up.") It had to be sex. Either she was cheating on him or he was cheating on her. That's when I got my idea."

  Geddes paused dramatically. Christenson was used to his boss's theatrics and he endured them stoically.

  "Laura Rizzatti, Neil. Laura Rizzatti. It was under our noses all the time."

  Now Geddes had his investigator's attention.

  "Did you ever see her, Neil? I have. The Supreme Court clerks use the cafeteria in the basement of the Justice building all the time. I once had lunch with her and Justice Griffen. That's what gave me the idea.

  Seeing them together.

  "She was attractive. Very attractive. One of those full-bodied Italian girls with pale skin and beautiful eyes. I think the judge noticed just how good-looking she was." Geddes paused. "I think the good judge was fucking her."

  "Now, wait a minute . . ." Neil started.

  Geddes held up a hand. "Hear me out. It's just a theory, but it makes sense. Abbie Griffen's a good-looking woman, but she might be as cold in bed as she is in the courtroom. Suppose the judge got frustrated and started hitting on his clerk. The next thing you know, they're in the sack together."

  "We don't know that."

  "Don't we?" Geddes answered smugly. "I've already done a little investigating on my own. Before I buzzed you, I talked to Ruth McKenzie at the Supreme Court. She was Justice Griffen's secretary. I asked her if she was aware of any unusual occurrences involving Rizzatti and the judge around the time Laura was killed. Do you know what she told me? On the very day she was murdered, Laura came to the judge's office in a highly emotional state. Mrs. McKenzie couldn't hear what they talked about, but Laura looked like she had been crying and the judge was very upset.

  Christenson thought about Geddes's theory and had to admit that there might be something to it.

  "First Griffen's clerk is murdered, then Griffen," Geddes said.

  "It's too big a coincidence, Neil. I think Abbie Griffen found out that her husband and Laura Rizzatti were having an affair and killed them both."

  As soon as Matthew Reynolds hung up on Chuck Geddes he told his secretary to hold his calls, then he went upstairs to his living quarters. Dreams come true, he thought as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. Sometimes we do have our greatest wish fulfilled.

  Matthew entered his study without even glancing at his chessboard and locked the door. The bright midday light illuminated the room. Motes of dust floated on the sunbeams. He took the manila envelope from the bottom drawer and spread the photographs of Abigail Griffen across his desk. The photos did not capture her essence. How much more beautiful she was in person. How perfect. And she was his now.

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  "You're awfully quiet, Barry Frame said as Tracy Cavanaugh turned off Macadam Boulevard onto the side street that led to the house where Robert Griffen died. It was a beautiful day and the top was down on Tracy's convertible, but Tracy was off in a world of her own.

  "I knew him, Barry, and I liked him. He went out of his way to be nice to me after Laura was killed."

  "And it bothers you to work for a woman who might have murdered him.

  Tracy didn't answer.

  "What if Mrs. Griffen is innocent? Matthew believes in her. If she's innocent and she goes to prison that's worse than dying.

  When you're dead, you don't feel anything. If you're alive and living in a cage for a crime you didn't commit, you suffer every second of every interminable day."

  "What are we supposed to be doing?" Tracy asked, intentionally changing the subject. Barry was tempted to push her, but decided against it.

  "Now that the police have released the crime scene, Matt wants us to go through the house to see if we can find anything that might help Mrs.

  Griffen."
/>
  "Didn't the police search the house after the explosion?"

  "Sure, but they might have missed something."

  "It sounds like a waste of time."

  Barry turned toward Tracy.

  "Matt doesn't consider any time spent on a case a waste of time. If we don't turn up anything, we can move on to something else. But Matt always asks, 'What if we didn't search and there was something?" I've seen some good results in situations where I didn't think a job was worth the effort and Matt made me do it anyway."

  Tracy turned into the driveway. Matthew's car was parked in front of the house. He was sitting on the ground, his back against an old shade tree, his knees bent and almost touching his chin, looking impossibly out of place on the wide green lawn in his black suit, thin tie and white shirt.

  Abigail Griffen drove up as Tracy was parking. Tracy studied their new client as Griffen got out of her car. She was dressed in a blue sleeveless blouse and a tan skirt, looking regal and selfassured in spite of the strain Tracy knew she had to be under. A woman who could take care of herself in any situation, a woman who was always in control. Tracy wondered how far this woman would go if she was threatened. Would Abigail Griffen kill if that was the only way to end the threat?

  Griffen ignored Tracy and Barry Frame and walked over to Reynolds.

  "Have you been waiting long, Matt?"

  "I've been enjoying the solitude," Reynolds said as he stood up awkwardly while brushing dirt and blades of grass from his pants. "I'd like you to meet Tracy Cavanaugh, my associate. She'll be working with us. And this is Barry Frame, my investigator."

  Abbie acknowledged them with a nod, but didn't offer to shake hands.

  "Let's go in," she said.

  The Griffen house had the musty smell of a summer home on the first day of the season. The doors and windows had been closed since the murder, trapping the stifling summer heat. Tracy felt queasy, as if there was insufficient air.

  All the curtains were drawn and only a hint of sunlight filtered through them, giving the living room a pale yellow cast.

  Abbie went from window to window pulling back the curtains to let in the light. Tracy stood to one side near the entrance and watched Abbie move around her domain. The living room was spacious with a high ceiling. A white couch and several highbacked armchairs faced a stone fireplace. To one side of the grate, a set of wrought-iron fire-placetools hung on a long, twisted black metal hook. As Abbie opened the last curtain, a ray of sunlight illuminated the rich greens and browns of a forest scene portrayed in an oil painting that hung above an oak sideboard. Then Abbie threw open a set of French windows. A fresh breeze rushed into the room. Just outside the doors were a patio and a circular metal table shaded by an umbrella. Beyond the patio was a rambling lawn with several large trees and a pool. The property ended where woods began.