Genuine Lies (65 page)

The moment she’d rushed up the stairs, Paul turned on him. “Did you have to do that to her?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. And worse before it’s over.” In an economic move, Lincoln turned over a page on his pad. “The prosecuting attorney is a very determined, very capable man. And like all men elected to office, ambitious and aware of the value of a celebrity trial. We’ll have to show a plausible alternative from every scrap of physical evidence he has. We’re also going to stuff reasonable doubt down the throats of not only a judge, a jury if it comes to that, but the public at large. Now I realize you and Julia have a personal relationship—”

“Do you?” With a slow, grim smile, Paul sat on the arm of a chair. “Let me spell it out for you, counselor. Julia and Brandon belong to me now. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to break several small, vital bones in your body for what you did to her. But if you’re as good as I’ve heard, if you’re her best chance to get through this, then whatever you ask me to do, I’ll do.”

Lincoln relaxed his grip on his pen. “Then I’d suggest the first thing be we forget about what happened between Julia and me more than a decade ago.”

“Except that,” Paul said, and smiled again. “Try again.”

Lincoln had seen more pleasant smiles on felons he’d convicted. “Your personal feelings about me will only hurt Julia.”

“No. Nothing’s going to hurt her again. Including you. If I’d thought differently, you wouldn’t have walked through the door.” With his eyes still on Lincoln’s he pulled out a cigar. “I’ve worked with scum before.”

“Paul.” Julia spoke quietly as she came downstairs again. “That won’t help.”

“Clearing the air always helps, Julia,” he contradicted her. “Hathoway knows that while he has all of my disgust, he also has all my cooperation.”

“I came here to help, not to be judged for a mistake I made over ten years ago.”

“Be careful, Lincoln.” Julia rounded on him before she could stop herself. “That mistake is upstairs, sleeping. I’m accepting your help not only for my own sake, but for his. He’s been fatherless all his life. I can’t bear to think of him losing me too.”

Only a faint flush rising up from his knotted tie to his cheeks indicated she’d hit any mark. “If we can all keep our personal feelings out of this, we have a much better chance of seeing that doesn’t happen.” Satisfied the subject was settled, he moved on. “You both knew the deceased, were privy to the workings of her household, her friendships, her enemies. It would be helpful if you told me everything you could about those close to her. Anyone who stood to gain by her death, financially, emotionally.”

“Besides me?” Julia said.

“Perhaps we’ll start with you, and Mr. Winthrop. Just a brief sketch, if you will. I’ve arranged for a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel, where I’ll be working. Meyers, Courtney, and Lowe have agreed to lend me two of their clerks, and my own secretary will be flying out tomorrow.” He checked his watch, which he’d already changed to West Coast time, frowned. “We’ll need more in-depth interviews once I’ve set up. First thing Monday I’ll petition for a postponement of the arraignment.”

“No.” Chilled, Julia began to rub her hands over her arms. “I’m sorry, Lincoln, but I can’t stand the idea of dragging this out.”

“Julia, I’ll need time to structure your defense. With luck, we can keep this from going to trial.”

“I don’t mean to be difficult, but I have to get it over with. Postponements only give more time to sensationalize. Brandon’s old enough to read the paper, see the newscasts. And I … to be frank, I can’t stand much more waiting.”

“Well, we have the weekend to think about it.” Or, Lincoln decided, to turn her around to his way. “For now, tell me about Eve Benedict.”

By the time Lincoln left it was nearly two A.M., and Paul had developed a grudging respect for his thoroughness. He might have found the attorney’s organization and neatness irritating. Lincoln always turned over a new sheet of paper for each change of topic, he ate the brownies Julia served with coffee using a fork, and not once during the long, repetitive evening did he loosen his tie.

But Paul had also noted that Lincoln’s eyes had sharpened when told about the notes, and that a look of pure pleasure had come into them when Delrickio’s connection had been explained.

When he left, he didn’t look like a man who had been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight, and had bid them good night as politely as if they’d just enjoyed a friendly dinner party.

“I suppose it’s none of my business.” Paul shut the door and turned back to Julia. She braced, resenting the fact that she would have to explain herself again, remember again. “But I just have to know.” He walked over to her, brushed the hair from her face. “Did he hang up his clothes and fold his socks before you made love?”

The giggle surprised her, the comfort she found when she rested her head on his shoulder didn’t. “Actually, he folded his clothes and rolled his socks.”

“Jules, I have to tell you, your taste has improved.” A quick, nipping kiss, and he picked her up to carry her toward
the stairs. “And after you’ve had about twelve hours sleep, I’ll prove it to you.”

“Maybe you could prove it to me now, and I’ll sleep later.”

“A much better idea.”

Even putting Brandon on the plane, knowing he was tucked away thousands of miles from the eye of the storm, didn’t console her. She wanted her child back. She wanted her life back.

She met with Lincoln every day, sat in the suite he’d booked and drank black coffee until she was certain she could feel it burning a hole in the center of her gut. She talked to the detective he’d hired—another intrusion in her life, another person to pry apart the tenuous threads on what had been her privacy.

It was all so ordered—the files, the lawbooks, the busy ringing of the phones. The unbroken efficiency of it began to lull her. Until she saw a headline, heard a broadcast. Then she was tossed back into the fear of it being her name, her face, her life under the public microscope. And her fate in the hands of justice, whose blindness was not always a boon for the innocent.

Paul kept her from going over that thin edge. She didn’t want to lean. Hadn’t she promised herself that she would never depend on anyone for her happiness, for her security, for her peace of mind? Yet, just the fact that he was there gave her the illusion of all three. And because she was terrified it was an illusion, she backed away, quietly slipping inches of distance between them until there was a foot, a foot until there was a yard.

He was exhausted himself, discouraged by the fact that his connections at the precinct weren’t bringing him any closer to the truth. Frank had let him come along when he’d questioned Lyle again, but the former chauffeur had refused to budge on his story to see, hear, and speak no evil.

The fact that Drake’s finances were in a mess didn’t
implicate him in Eve’s death. More, the fact that she had given him a large amount only weeks before she was killed worked in his favor. Why would he kill the golden goose?

Paul’s single interview with Gloria had only made things worse. With tears and trembling, she admitted to arguing with Eve on the day of the murder. Guilt poured out along with the words. She had said terrible things, then had left in a rage, speeding home to confess the entire business to her shocked husband.

At almost the same moment Julia had discovered Eve’s body, Gloria had been weeping in her husband’s arms, and begging for forgiveness.

Since Marcus Grant, the housekeeper, and the curious poolman had all heard the sobbing Gloria at one fifteen, and the drive from estate to estate couldn’t be managed in under ten minutes, it was impossible to tie her to the murder.

Paul still felt the book was the key. When Julia was out of the house he would listen to the tapes over and over again, trying to find the one phrase, the one name that would open the door.

When she came home, wired from another session of rehearsing her testimony with Lincoln, she heard Eve’s voice.

“He directed with a whip and a chain. I’ve never known anyone to use less finesse and get more results. I thought I hated him—did, actually, throughout the movie. But when McCarthy and his slimeball committee went after him, I was outraged. That was the main reason I joined Bogie and Betty and the others in their trip to Washington. I’ve never had any patience with politicking, but, by Christ, I was ready to fight tooth and nail then. Maybe we did some good, maybe not, but we had our say. That’s what counts, isn’t it, Julia? Making sure you’re heard goddamn loud and goddamn clear. I don’t want to be remembered as someone who sat on the sidelines and let other people clear the way.”

“She won’t be,” Julia murmured.

Paul turned from his desk. He’d been listening so intently, he almost expected to see Eve sitting there, telling him to light her cigarette or open a bottle.

“No, she won’t.” He switched off the tape to study Julia. In the past week, she’d rarely let him see that pale, haunted look. It was there, always there, just beneath the mask of control. But whenever that mask began to crack, she closed in on herself and away from him. “Sit down, Julia.”

“I was going to make some coffee.”

“Sit down,” he repeated. She did, but on the edge of the chair, as if she would spring up any moment if he got too close. “I got a subpoena today. I’m going to have to testify at the hearing tomorrow.”

She didn’t look at him, but focused on a point somewhere between them. “I see. Well, that isn’t unexpected.”

“It’s going to be rough on both of us.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Actually, I was thinking, as I was coming back this afternoon, that it might be best, easier, if I moved to a hotel—until this is all over. My living here is giving the press a lot of ammunition, and only adding more strain to an already impossible situation.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“That’s fact.” She rose, hoping for a grateful exit. She should have known better. He only stood and blocked her way.

“Just try it.” Eyes narrowed and dangerous, he wrapped his hands around her lapels and yanked her forward. “You’re here for the long haul.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might want to be alone?”

“Yeah, it occurred to me. But I’m part of your life, and you can’t shut me out.”

“I may not have a life,” she shouted. “If they bind me over for trial tomorrow—”

“You’ll deal with it. We’ll deal with it. You’re going to trust me, goddamn you. I’m not a ten-year-old boy you have to protect. And I’m sure as hell not some spineless prick who’ll let you carry the whole load while I run off to my own tidy life.”

Her eyes went to smoke. “This has nothing to do with Lincoln.”

“The hell it doesn’t. And don’t ever compare us in that sharp little brain of yours again.”

Her face wasn’t pale now, nor was her breath even. The flash of temper meant more to him than a dozen words of love. “Let go of me.”

He lifted a brow, knowing the gesture was derisive. “Sure.” He released her, stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“This has nothing to do with Lincoln,” she said again. “And it has nothing to do with you. It’s me. Get that through your surplus of testosterone. I’m the one whose life is on the line in that courtroom tomorrow. You can beat your chest and howl all you want, that’s not going to change. I haven’t got that many choices left, Paul, and if I want to walk out of that door, that’s just what I’ll do.”

“Try it,” he invited her.

Incensed, she whirled around. He caught her before she’d reached the stairs. “I told you to let me go.”

“I haven’t finished beating my chest or howling.” Because he was dead sure she’d take a swing at him, he cuffed her hands behind her back. “Hold it. Dammit, Jules.” Faced with a tumble down the stairs, he shoved her back against the wall. “Look at me. Just look. You’re right about choices.” With his free hand he forced her head up. “Do you want to walk away from me?”

She stared into his eyes and saw that he would let her. Maybe. And if she turned away now from this, from him, she would always regret it. Survivors lived with their mistakes. Hadn’t Eve told her that? But there were some you couldn’t afford to make.

“No.” She pressed her mouth to his, felt the heat and the strength. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” His kiss grew more avid, more needy. “Just don’t walk away from me.”

“I’m so scared, Paul. I’m so scared.”

“We’re going to make it right. Believe it.”

For a moment she could.

Drake was feeling like a million dollars. Or at least a quarter million. Within twenty-four hours he’d have the cash in
his hand and the world at his feet. He was dead sure Julia would go to trial, and, with any luck, be convicted. Once that happened—and with money in the bank—he figured it wouldn’t be to hard to get his piece of Eve’s estate. He resented Paul getting half, but he could live with it. With a good lawyer Drake was sure he could cop Julia’s share.

The law wouldn’t let her touch it. And anyway, where she was going, she wasn’t going to need it.

All and all, things had worked out fine.

Pleased with himself, he turned the stereo on blast and settled down with a racing form. By the weekend he was going to have a nice little stake to take to Santa Anita. He’d play it conservative, but with a few thousand on the nose of the little filly he had a tip on, he could finesse that first payment into the big time.

Of course, his backer didn’t know it as only a first payment. Drake hummed along with Gloria Estefan and figured he could milk his source for plenty over the next year or two. By then, his inheritance should come in. After that, he was taking off. Riviera, Caribbean, the Keys. Anywhere where the beaches, and the women, were hot.

He picked up a glass of champagne. The Dom Pérignon was an early celebration. He had a date to meet a sexy little number at Tramp, but the action wouldn’t start for an hour or two.

Christ, he felt like dancing. While he tried out a little conga, wine sloshed over his fingers. Gleefully, he licked it off.

He thought about ignoring the doorbell when it rang, then chuckled to himself. It was probably the lucky lady of the evening. Who could blame her for wanting to start things off early? Instead of meeting at the club, they would get things going here and now.