Foursome (34 page)

As the door closed, Davison came forward a little in his chair, hands folded prayer style on the Plexiglas. “You come to tell me something?”

“No. I’m here to see Anna-Pia Antonelli, but I’m guessing you told Dwight to let you know if I came back, and he told his watchdogs to let him know.”

Davison regarded me for a moment. “I seem to keep forgetting, I can’t very well play the bumpkin with you, son. I don’t like to find myself forgetting things like that.”

“I don’t think you forgot, Keck. I think you just try each part of your game plan each time. Most of them have worked in the past, you never know when one might work again in the future.”

He settled back in the chair, wiggling his nose to reposition the grannies a little. “I wonder, can we drop the sparring and get down to it?”

“We already have.”

The nose stopped wiggling. “Anna-Pia.”

Aunt Pee-yah. “That’s right.”

“Why?”

“Between her and me.”

“What if I say no?”

“Then I wait outside her place on Beacon Hill and catch her coming from or going to work.”

Davison considered something, maybe whether I’d been to Antonelli’s condo. He decided not to find out. “What if that might cost her this nice job she’s got here?”

“That would be your choice and probably her lawsuit.”

A grin. “You know, I thought about that before I hired her. I really did. A woman, good-looking like she is. What if there’s trouble, what if she causes an uproar, how’m I supposed to deal with a sexual harassment claim if it’s brought by the company’s own goddamned lawyer?”

“But you hired her anyway.”

“Because she was the best available. Not just the best woman. The best. You build a business by working hard, son. You keep a business by bringing in people who can keep it going. Anna-Pia’s one of those people.”

“And Steven Shea another?”

“Or Tyrone. Like we said last time.”

“I saw Xavier on the way in. Seemed pretty buoyant.”

“There’s reason to be. Looks like that sale is going to dose.”

“Despite Shea’s situation?”

“Because of Tyrone’s intervention. He’s done a fine job.”

“Xavier is good. Antonelli is good. Even Schoonmaker’s good, at least in doing what you tell him.”

“No vice in obedience, son.”

“Where does that leave Shea?”

“Welcomed back if he’s found innocent.”

“And if he’s not?”

Davison grinned again. “When I was in college, they used to say sociology was the restatement of the obvious. I never liked sociology.”

“Then let me see Anna-Pia, or you’ll be living with the obvious for a long time to come.”

He came forward more, reaching up and taking off the glasses at their bridge. “You think Steve didn’t do those killings.”

“That’s right.”

Davison’s eyes engaged me directly. “I want an honest answer to this next one, son, or I swear I’ll crucify you. You figure I got a skunk in my woodpile here?”

“I don’t know, and I won’t unless Antonelli answers some things for me.”

The man tossed his glasses to the side of the desk, hard enough to release some steam but not hard enough to break them. Then he pushed a button on a panel. I heard the bleating noise that Xavier had described.

When Antonelli’s voice came on, Davison said, “Anna-Pia, Mr. Cuddy’s going to be there to see you in about two minutes. You tell him whatever he wants to know.”

Without giving his general counsel a chance to reply, Davison pushed the button again and looked up at me. “You gonna let me in on what you find out?”

“Probably not.”

“Thought so.”

“It’s not his privilege to waive, John.”

We sat in her office, the plants providing a nice counterpoint to the austerity of the DRM standardization and her gray business suit. The Gucci garment bag occupied a corner on the window wall, the briefcase lying against it.

I said, “How was your trip?”

Antonelli tapped a pencil on her blotter. “Difficult. The meetings in Atlanta went poorly, and then we were dragged to an oldies disco where the waitresses jumped up on the bar to shimmy, and some of the female patrons sat on steps, doing chorus-line leg kicks to Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York.” The one hour I had to myself at the pool was shattered by some crazy guy in a jogging suit who race-walked around and around the atrium, headphones on and a book held up to his face.”

“We?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You said, ‘We were dragged to the disco.’ ”

“Yes, Tyrone and me.”

I pictured the wrinkles in his pants, the kind you get from sitting through a long flight. “He didn’t mention he’d gone with you.”

“Why would he?”

She had a point. “Let’s back up a step. Why isn’t it Davison’s privilege to waive? He’s the president of your client, right?”

Antonelli seemed more comfortable returning to lawyerly ground. “The attorney-client privilege belongs to the client, but here DRM isn’t the client. Steve came to me for personal legal advice.”

“Which you can’t tell me about.”

“Right.”

“Because his telling you is protected.”

“Not even a court could make me reveal what he said.”

“Even if it involved a future crime?”

She suddenly seemed less comfortable. “You’ve been talking to a lawyer about this?”

“Not yet. I had a year of law school a long time ago.”

“Well, if you talk to Gil Lacouture, he’ll tell you the same thing.”

I thought back to Nancy and her concern about conflicts. “Actually, I wasn’t so much thinking of seeing Steve’s lawyers in Maine as the Board of Bar Overseers down here.”

“The Board … ?”

“Right. The people who license you and who might want to hear about any conflict of interest that jeopardizes one or both of your current clients.”

Antonelli tapped the pencil harder, then realized it and stopped. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do. I think Shea told you something that strains his relationship with DRM, something you maybe didn’t see coming until the cat was out of the bag, and what you’d heard put you into a conflict of interest between him and the company. I think that’s eating you up because of the mess Steve’s in, otherwise you wouldn’t have raised it with me the first time I met you.”

She said, “It’s still Steve’s privilege to waive.”

“He won’t talk about it. I don’t understand why, but he won’t. And if it could help me get him off, your refusing to reveal what Steve told you is like sealing the death warrant he’s already signed.”

Echoing Lacouture, she said, “Maine doesn’t have the death penalty.”

“You saw Shea a few days ago, you might have some doubt about that.”

Antonelli blanched. “He’s … all right, isn’t he?”

“He’s going out of his mind, seeing the frame close in around him and not being able, or willing, to clear himself by telling me whatever the hell you and he talked about.”

“I don’t see … I don’t see how what he told me could help him in this.”

“Let me, or Lacouture, be the judge of that.”

“I can’t even tell Gil unless Steve allows it.”

“Look, counselor. I’m at an impasse here. Three people are dead in Maine, four more down here. I’ve been bouncing around, not finding much that will help Shea. If you’ve got—”

“But don’t you see, the information … What he told me can only hurt him, not help him.”

“Why?”

“Because it gives him … It could be construed as a motive for his wanting to kill … some of the people who died.”

“Let me guess. We’re back to the affair between his wife and Hale Vandemeer, right?”

Antonelli’s hand shook with the pencil in it. “I can’t tell you—”

“And you’re afraid that if Steve’s knowing about the affair came out, he’d be seen to have a pretty good reason for killing Sandy and Hale and probably Vivian as well to make it look like some roving psychotic had wasted the whole house.”

“You don’t—”

“Well, let me remind you, counselor, that little dose of extramarital poison isn’t exactly a secret anymore. Half the law enforcement personnel in two states know about it, so the only thing you can do is maybe give me some kind of antidote for it. Why did Shea talk with you about the affair?”

Antonelli put down the pencil. Standing, she went to the window and looked out. I was about to start again when she said, “Steve found out about the affair from the Vandemeers’ son, but he didn’t tell Sandy he knew. He really didn’t even blame her, he understood how all his traveling and her losing her job could send Sandy off a bit. Steve was just sorry he hadn’t seen the affair coming, especially since they were all such good friends.”

“What was Shea going to do about it?”

“He had an idea for maybe saving the marriage, but he wanted to pass it by a woman and a lawyer, and I was the only person he knew who was both. With the glory of hindsight, I think he kind of wanted to put me in a conflict. He’s like that, you know?”

“Always wanting to have an edge.”

“Yes.” She exhaled. “Yes, like putting me in a bind that I think he sensed without his maybe being able to explain it technically.”

“So?”

“So he told me his idea, which conflicted me because he obviously didn’t want anybody else at DRM to know about it, especially with his big deal coming down. Which is the only way he’d be able to afford to do it, anyway.”

“Afford to do what?”

“Y
OU MUST BE WICKED
in love with highway driving, Mr. Cuddy.”

“Sheriff, I’m not exactly thrilled about being up here again. And I wouldn’t have to be, if you’d put me through to Shea when I called from Massachusetts.”

Feet on the typing tray, Willis patted the sagging hank of hair on one side of her head. “Wasn’t me. Was your client.”

“My client?”

“Shea didn’t want to take the call. Not even sure he’ll see you in person.”

“I’d appreciate a shot at it.”

She patted the hank on the other side. “Well, you kept your promise about that gang stuff not coming up here.” A stern look. “You aren’t carrying a concealed weapon around my county?”

“Locked in the trunk of my car.”

“That where it’ll stay?”

“I hope so.”

Willis kept the stern look. I said, “How about Shea?”

She dropped the look and reached for her phone. “Long’s you’re here, I suppose it doesn’t cost anything to try.”

He shuffled ahead of the same guard. If I weren’t expecting my client, I’m not sure I would have recognized him.

There was a stain on the orange uniform shirt, and his pants drooped. He hadn’t shaved, probably not since I’d seen him Saturday, two days before. The eyes were bloodshot and vacant. A man losing a shaky grip on what he used to call his life.

Shea didn’t even wait for the guard to close the door to the room before saying, “What the fuck do you want now?”

“Steve, I need to ask you something.”

He stayed standing. “What?”

“Sit down.”

“Why?”

“Please?”

Shea dropped into the other chair as though he’d never be able to make it back up. “If you can’t get me out of here, why don’t you at least leave me the fuck alone?”

I didn’t have too much time before he’d walk on me. “I spoke to Anna-Pia Antonelli this morning.”

“So what?”

“She told me about your conversation with her, about your plan with Sandy.”

It turned out Shea did have the strength to get up. “That bitch! That fucking two-faced cunt! What the hell right did she have?”

He was looming over me in a menacing way. I kept my seat, waving through the glass that I was okay. The guard stopped coming forward, but didn’t go back to his station against the wall.

Shea’s eyes were blazing, then he slumped down into the chair again. “Christ knew about betrayal. Now I do, too.”

I gave him a minute. Then, “Steve?”

Nothing.

“Steve.”

“What the fuck more do you have to hit me with?”

“I think that your plan to save the marriage was a good idea.”

Shea lifted his chin an inch. “You do?”

“I do. It takes a pretty big man to get whacked with his wife’s affair, then try to save things without telling her what he knew.”

Tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. “I only wanted …” Closing the eyes, he lowered and shook his head.

I said, “To be willing to sacrifice your career, move up to Maine year-round to spend real time together. That took a lot of courage.”

Shea just kept shaking his head.

“Steve, why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

The head stayed down. “When Sandy was … alive, the plan made sense. Then when … everybody got killed, I realized the plan implied I knew about the affair, and that seemed … I don’t know, so
damning
somehow. Also, if I did beat this thing—” The head jerked up, the eyes blazing again. “And I am innocent. I didn’t do this!”

“I believe you.”

Shea looked at me, but I couldn’t tell what he was seeing. “When I did beat this thing, I wanted to be able to go back to DRM, start my life again. I couldn’t very well do that if they … if DRM knew about what I was going to do. Keck Davison wouldn’t welcome back somebody who’d been ready to jump ship.”

It made sense. At least to a man in Shea’s mental and emotional condition.

He shook his head some more. “Besides, I didn’t see any … point to it. I mean, what difference does it make that I was going to quit DRM and move up here?”

“That might depend on who knew about it.”

“Nobody.”

“Anna-Pia did.”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t supposed to tell anybody.”

“Getting your conversation out of her was like pulling teeth. I don’t think she told anybody else.”

“Then I don’t know.”

I remembered something that had bothered me. “The wine.”

“What?”

“You asked Ralph and Ramona to stock your favorite wine.”

“Oh, right. I wanted to see if they could get things like that for when we were up here year-round.”

“Could they have known about your plans?”

“Not unless Sandy told them.”

I stopped. “Your wife knew?”

Shea’s turn to stop. “Yes. I mean, I kind of … broached it to her a few weeks ago—no, a few weeks before … that night, to see what her reaction would be. It was more positive than I thought. She looked at it as maybe an experiment she could help manage, kind of a ‘Yeah, let’s give it a try,’ you know?”