Indefensible (25 page)

Thursday, 10:52 a.m.

“W
e've got him.” Ethan waved the file folder as he strode into the war room. “We've got Randall Barrett.”

Deb stood at the front of the room, marking off sections of the map of Point Pleasant Park. Lamond and Warren were on the phones. “What exactly do you have?” she asked.

He passed the folder to her. Adrenaline pumped through him, washing away the bitterness he'd felt when he read the
Post
's front-page story. Neither he nor Barrett came out of it looking good. That Nat Pitts was a dangerous lady. She, out of any reporter, had honed in on the nuances of the dynamic between him and Barrett.

The story had made everyone on the team uneasy. More than once, he'd caught one of the investigators eyeing him speculatively. But now he had Dr. Gainsford's notes. The timing couldn't have been more propitious. What he was holding in his hand was incontrovertible. He couldn't be accused of being influenced by the old
grudges of the Clarkson case after the team read this file. “These are the notes from therapy sessions that Elise Vanderzell had with Dr. Jamie Gainsford. She clearly states that she is afraid her ex-husband will hurt her.”

Deb flicked open the envelope and pulled out the folder. She began flipping through the notes. “Recently?”

“Yeah. I marked all the instances with a tab.” There were at least five references. “She said that she was scared he'd hurt her if he found out she was pregnant. That he wouldn't want to pay more support.”

Deb's mouth tightened. “Figures. So is that why she got an abortion?”

“According to the notes.”

She frowned. “The last note is from early July. Did she have any more sessions with Dr. Gainsford after her abortion?”

Ethan shook his head. “No. There are no more notes. Her PDA doesn't have any records of appointments, either.” He shrugged. “Dr. Gainsford said she was recuperating. She had booked off sick time.”

“Strange, though, don't you think? An abortion can be pretty traumatic. You'd think she'd want to talk to her therapist.”

He shrugged. “Maybe she was feeling too sick to talk.”

Deb handed the file back to him and strode over to the whiteboard. “What do we have on Barrett right now?”

“The notes,” Ethan said, unable to stop grinning.

“Eyewitness testimony,” Lamond said.

“Just from one witness?” Deb asked over her shoulder.

“Yeah. The canvass hasn't turned up anything more.”

“And the search of the park hasn't turned up the weapon, either,” Deb added. “The M.E.'s report didn't give us any trace. FIS found fingerprints and some hair that match Barrett's at the scene, but he could argue that he left them there earlier. FIS hasn't come up with any blood besides the victim's.” She looked at Ethan. “We haven't found a thing to incriminate Barrett at his house or on his yacht. Right now, all we have is an eyewitness report and some therapy notes.”

“But we have a rock-solid motive, Deb.” Ethan wasn't going to let Barrett slide away from this. “He had an argument with Vanderzell just hours before she died. And his own son says he saw his father do it!”

She underlined “eyewitness.” “True. But that could go either way for us, Ethan. Nick Barrett hates his father.”

“Barrett has no alibi, either,” Ethan pointed out.

Lamond gave a slight nod.

“So what we've got on Barrett is his son's version of events, the therapist's notes, a public argument before she died, possible fingerprints from the scene and no alibi during the time she was killed.” Deb exhaled. “Not sure what the Crown will make of this.”

“We need to lay charges, Deb,” Ethan said in a low voice. “We can't let Barrett get away with this.”

She threw him a sharp look. “You mean we can't let the killer get away with this.”

“Who else would it be? Whoever killed her planned
this out. They left no evidence. Who did she know in Halifax who would want her dead?”

“Barrett,” Lamond said softly.

Ethan flashed him a smile. “Exactly. There is no one else.”

“A case isn't made by ruling out possibilities. A case is made by proving the possibility you believe is actually true.”

“There's enough there, Deb!”

Deb studied the list she'd made. “Barely. We're going out on a limb if we charge him now.”

“Look, I know most of the evidence is circumstantial. But we also know he spoke to Elise on the phone several hours before she died. And like I said, we have no other suspects. There was no one else with both motive and opportunity. Dr. Gainsford's notes confirm Vanderzell was afraid of Barrett. And his own son not only placed him at the scene but saw him commit the act.” Ethan ran his hand through his hair. “You know there's no point in doing a sting. He's too smart for that. We'll never get anything on tape. If we don't charge him now, he'll just walk away.”

“How about his kids, Ethan? Did they think their mom was scared of him?”

“Neither of them has come out and said it. By all accounts, Elise was a protective mother. Her therapist said that she didn't tell her children a lot about what went on between her and her ex-husband. She didn't want to traumatize them.”

Deb whistled through her teeth. “What do you think, Warren?”

Warren seesawed his hand. “I'm fifty-fifty. I can't
think who else would have done this. The scene is clean, Deb. Everything we turned up—as skimpy as it seems—points to Barrett.”

She turned to Lamond. “What about you?”

Lamond studied the list Deb had written on the whiteboard, pulling at his lower lip. “I think Barrett is smart enough to cover his tracks. If we didn't have the doctor's notes, I'd say no way. But…” He slapped his palm on the table. “I think we should charge him.”

Deb studied the whiteboard one more time. “Fine. We'll lay the charges. Do the paperwork, Ethan. This is your show.”

Relief spilled through Ethan at her words. Deb was on board. But when she turned to look at him, he saw the warning in her eyes.

If this explodes, you will be wearing it.

Because they both knew that in this case, there could be only one winner. If Randall was convicted of murder, the media would crown Ethan a hero for bringing the heinous, überpowerful ex-husband to justice. But if the Crown was unable to secure a conviction, then the media would crucify Ethan for allowing his personal grudge against a respected pillar of the legal community to color his investigation.

It was a very fine line.

He was doing his damnedest to walk it as straight as possible.

Thursday, 3:53 p.m.

R
andall stalked out of the elevator on MB's partner floor. He barely nodded to the new receptionist, not even trying to remember her name, and turned down the hallway to Nina Woods' office.

He flung open the door. “What the fuck are you trying to pull?”

She froze, the phone to her ear. “Can I call you back?” she said calmly before hanging up the phone. She rose to her feet. “You need to control yourself, Randall.”

“You are a sneaky, conniving bitch.”

Her face hardened. “I am doing exactly what you would have done. I am protecting the firm's assets.”

“That's bullshit.”

“Actually, it's not. We've lost three clients since Tues day. No one wants to be associated with a man who everyone believes threw his ex-wife off a balcony.”

Blood pounded in his ears. The pressure of his rage was so intense he could barely think.

But he knew that he could not lose control. Especially here.

“I have not been accused of any crime,” he said.

“Not technically. But in the court of public opinion, you are the prime suspect—and guilty as hell.” There was almost a look of sympathy in her eyes. She walked around her desk and leaned against it. “It doesn't matter what I believe, Randall. I take my duties as managing partner very seriously. The firm was teetering after TransTissue. We were only getting back on our feet when this happened. We have to distance ourselves from you until this matter is settled. Clients can forgive one bad apple.” He knew she was referring to John Lyons. “But they can't forgive two. Not when they're both senior partners of the same firm. And when both scandals transpire within months of each other. If we don't take preemptive action now, there won't be a firm to return to when this is all over.”

She was right. If he were in her shoes, he'd be compelled to do the same thing. “But you can still pay me.”

“Actually, I can't.”

“Why not?”

“Because your billables haven't been paid yet, Randall. Your clients aren't in a big rush to pay you, for some reason. And the compensation committee is sitting on your income share until it is clear that you have not been involved in any criminal activity.”

“I'm not charged with anything, Nina. You can't invoke the criminal activities clause of the partnership agreement unless I'm charged.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Why would they even do that? They're lawyers,
for Chrissake. They should be able to interpret the fucking contract.”

“Once bitten, twice shy, Randall. John Lyons has left everyone jumpy.” She eyed him. “You know what, I agree with you. We can't have our partnership agreements not honored. I'll call a meeting of the committee tonight and we'll discuss it.”

Her about-face threw off Randall. Had he misjudged her?

He couldn't tell. This could be another manipulation. He hated being in her debt. And he bet she knew it.

He hated being in debt, period. He'd reduced his income share to keep the other partners' income flowing after they lost all those clients, acknowledging his responsibility in overlooking John Lyons' fraud. Then he'd spent thousands of dollars on the new lobby. He should have financed it through the firm, but it was one more liability that the firm didn't need right now. So the partners had agreed to reimburse him at the end of the year, when they calculated their net profit.

Stress had driven him to buy the new car—the damage John Lyons had done to his old vehicle was minor, but he couldn't bear driving that car after it had been tainted by evil. He regretted it now. Combined with his larger support payments, reduced income stream, the capital costs of the home he had built when he moved to Halifax and the yacht he had purchased two years ago, he was up to his eyeballs in expenses. He had even reconsidered whether he could afford to take two weeks away from work, but had decided that Nick needed him more.

So here he was, his line of credit maxed out, his loan
payments due and no income to take the heat off. Hell, he couldn't even scrounge up the five grand for Eddie if he didn't get this check cut.

Nina shook her head. “I'm sorry, Randall—”

“Randall Barrett?”

Randall spun around. A man stood at the door, dressed in a sports jacket, dark pants and neutral tie. “Yes.”

“I'm Detective Constable Lamond from the Halifax Police Department. You are under arrest for the murder of Elise Vanderzell.”

Randall darted a glance at Nina Woods. Had she set him up? But her face had paled.

Ethan Drake stepped next to Detective Lamond. He held out the charge document and began to read: “Randall Barrett, you are charged with the murder of Elise Vanderzell…”

Randall stared at the two detectives. They were in plain clothes, their features impassive. But Randall thought he detected a gleam of triumph in Drake's eyes.

Why had they decided to arrest him at his firm?

The court of public opinion. People loved to see the guilty humiliated to the fullest extent.

Detective Lamond stepped forward with a pair of handcuffs. Nina's eyes widened.

“Sorry, it's police procedure.” Ethan Drake did not look sorry at all.

Detective Lamond pulled Randall's hands together behind his back and snapped the cuffs on his wrists. The cool metal rubbed against his skin.

The two detectives flanked him as they left Nina's
office. Randall's jaw tightened when he saw the entourage they had assembled for his arrest. Two more plainclothes detectives led the way, telling the shocked legal staff and stupefied lawyers to “get back, get back.” Behind them trailed two uniformed constables.

More lawyers came out of their offices as the procession filed down the hall. It was by the library that Randall saw Kate. She stood in the doorway, a stack of books in her arms. Her gaze darted to the tall dark-haired detective flanking him. The blood drained from her face. Drake did not acknowledge her.

Her gaze met Randall's. Then fell away.

His gut clenched. Did she think he had actually murdered Elise?

Randall didn't know if the detectives' pace was deliberately slow, but it took three times longer than usual to walk to the lobby. Finally, the elevator arrived. They stuffed themselves around Randall in the elevator, not allowing any passengers to get on as the elevator took them down to ground level.

Randall took one look outside and braced himself. News vans lined the front curb. He had the strongest urge to hide his face—his battered, bruised face—from the reporters who were gleefully taking advantage of this photo op. It had been bad enough walking through the hallways of McGrath Barrett with his hands cuffed.

But he knew that if he skulked under cover of his coat, he'd look guilty. So he stared ahead, his jaw rigid.

And remembered that he still had no funds available to lend Eddie Bent for his bar fees.

Thursday, 4:34 p.m.

“T
he police just arrested Randall Barrett, Kate,” Nat announced over the phone. “Were you there?”

Kate checked her office door. It was closed. “Yes.” She didn't think she'd ever forget it. To see Randall Barrett humiliated in front of his colleagues and employees made her feel sick. He didn't deserve to be treated that way.

What had the police found? What made them think Randall was guilty? “How did you know?”

“Well, no thanks to you, but I've got my sources.”

“You mean someone tipped you off?”

“Your ex, to be exact. Didn't think he'd ever speak to me again, but they wanted some media coverage.”

“How kind of you to provide it.” Kate knew she wasn't being fair. This was Nat's job. But how could she live with herself when she paraded a man's humiliation on the front page?

Probably the same way you live with yourself after
your client retains a biased medical expert to under mine a man's suffering.

“Listen, I know this is upsetting,” Nat said. “But I'm covering the story.” There was a note of pride in her voice. “Do you want to give me the insider's perspective?”

“Of course not.”

“Come on, Kate. Better you than someone else. At least you can give one side of the story.”

“Who are you going to call for the other side?”

There was a hesitation. “Nina Woods.”

“Shit, Nat. She'll skewer him!”

“Kate, I have no choice. This is my job. It's called journalism.”

“Not when it becomes a kangaroo court.”

“You're the one who is always talking about how the justice system ensures that the innocent aren't convicted. If Randall Barrett didn't kill his wife, he should be okay.”

“But he'll already have been pilloried by the media.”

“We're no worse than lawyers who argue in front of a judge, Kate.”

“Yeah, well, judges have laws to uphold.”

“But they can only apply the laws based on what facts they're given, right? That's the same with journalists. That's why I need your statement, Kate.”

The way Nat had turned the argument around almost made Kate smile. “You should have gone to law school.”

“No, thanks. Couldn't stand the company, with
the exception of yours truly. So when do I get your statement?”

“Come over after supper.”

 

The gravelly, smoke-stained voice was not one Kate recognized. “Kate Lange?”

“Yes.”

“It's Eddie Bent. Randall Barrett's lawyer.”

Kate straightened. “Hello, Mr. Bent. What can I do for you?”

“I take it Randall didn't speak to you before his arrest.”

She froze. She didn't think he was referring to that wine-laden confession in her house the other night. Surely Randall wouldn't have told Eddie Bent about that? “No.”

“Your boss needs your help.”

“I thought he had hired you.”

Eddie Bent cleared his throat. “He wants me to represent him, but there's a technical difficulty.”

Kate closed her eyes. “You're still suspended from the bar, aren't you?”

“Yes. For nonpayment of fees. Randall was hoping that you could handle the court appearances. I would help you prepare.”

“Shit.”

He laughed. “Not what I was hoping you'd say, but I understand your sentiments.”

“No, I mean, I don't do criminal defense work, Mr. Bent. I've never done any. I can't appear in court for him. He's facing a murder charge!”

“Listen, I won't beat around the bush. I wouldn't
normally agree to this. But your boss is desperate. I've known him since law school and I don't think I've ever seen him like this, not even when his wife screwed around on him.” His voice lowered to a deep grumble in her ear. “He assures me that you are capable. And trustworthy. Those are the only things he needs.” He paused. “Besides me.”

“What if I screw up? He could end up in jail for the rest of his life.”

“Ms. Lange, I don't know you personally. But I know what you've been through. If you can single-handedly kill a depraved killer—and believe me, I've met a few—you can do this.”

She stared at her office door. Outside, the firm had resumed its usual efficient rhythms. The earlier events were a grotesquerie that everyone had taken great pains to smooth over.

“We need you, Ms. Lange.”

She felt like banging her head on her desk. There was not a single cell in her body that wanted to do this. But how could she say no? Randall was currently up the creek of the criminal justice system with no defense lawyer to paddle him out.

She sighed. “Fine. I'll do it. But we can't meet here.”

“My offices close at 5:00 p.m. Could we meet at your house?”

She wondered why they couldn't meet at his place, but decided she probably didn't want to know. The guy had hit rock bottom. Maybe his dwelling reflected that. She gave him her address.

“See you at seven.”

It was only after he hung up the phone that she remembered she was supposed to meet Nat. She dialed her number.

“Nat, there's been a change of plans.”

“I can come earlier,” she said promptly.

Tenacity was her middle name, Nat liked to say.

“I can't give you the statement.”

“You can't bag on me now.” She hesitated. “I promise I'll print you verbatim.”

“It's not that…” Kate shook her head. At herself, not Nat. She could not believe she was doing this. “I'm representing Randall Barrett.”

“Shut the fuck up.” It wasn't too often Kate could surprise Nat. She wished she could see her face. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

“He just hired me.” She'd have to be very careful with Nat. She did not want to reveal Eddie's role in this legal triangle.

“First TransTissue, now this? How do you get these files?”

How, indeed?
“Just lucky, I guess.”

Nat laughed. “You always see the glass half-full, don't you, sweetie?” With those encouraging words, her friend hung up.

Kate headed into the library. She needed to get her hands on a copy of the Criminal Code. She found the thick black book and stuck it under her jacket, then hurried to the elevator.

She knew nothing about criminal law beyond her first-year courses in law school. No matter how hard she tried, she inevitably dozed off during her criminal
procedure class. Now she cursed her professor. If he'd been a little livelier, she wouldn't have slept through his lecture on Murder 101.