Invasion of Privacy (20 page)

In a bizarre turn of events, Reilly was representing the murder victim, Theresa London, on an apparently unrelated matter at the time of her death.

London was found shot to death on March 30, and Scott was charged with the killing based on eyewitness testimony.

The news that Reilly is the mother of Scott’s son has caused consternation among courtroom insiders. "I don’t think I’d go to a criminal lawyer who is the lover of an accused murderer," one source said. Questions have also been raised regarding what Reilly herself may know about the murders.

"It’s the most appalling conflict of interest," Jeffrey Riesner stated. "It makes me ashamed to be an attorney."

Reilly did not return repeated phone calls to her office.

"Delightful," Nina said between her teeth. So Riesner had surprised her with one trick after all.

The office phone buzzed, and she picked it up. "Mrs. Salazar on line two," Sandy told her, a warning in her voice. Nina punched the button and her client came on.

"Is that you?" Mrs. Salazar said. Nina had just finished drawing up a will for Mrs. Salazar, who had struck it rich with her three husbands and wanted to leave all her money to the local animal shelter.

"Hi, Mrs. Salazar. How are you?"

"I’m surprised you’re still showing your face around here," her client said. "If I had known more about you, I certainly wouldn’t have hired you. Consider yourself fired, and don’t bother sending me a bill—I won’t pay it."

"But, Mrs. Salazar, your will—"

Mrs. Salazar had already hung up.

"—is ready for signing," Nina said into the dead phone. "Okay, fine."

The phone buzzed again. Nina looked at it, then answered. "Do you want to talk to the Sacramento Bee?" Sandy said.

"Are you kidding?"

"You also have a call waiting from Judge Milne’s office."

"I’ll call back soon. I’m tied up."

"Did you see the pile of messages?"

"I’m looking through them now. It’s Riesner’s revenge," Nina said. "I meant to tell you about all this, Sandy."

"Don’t worry about me. Worry about your outraged public," Sandy said.

Nina filed the newspaper in her wastebasket. She had worked hard for the respect that had just been stripped away with that article.

Riesner had humiliated her, but she had to remember—she had won the first skirmish.

19

SANDY BUZZED. "MR. HALLOWELL IS OUT HERE. HE doesn’t have an appointment, but you do, in fifteen minutes."

"I’ll be right out." She opened her door to Collier’s back. Studying one of the Washoe hangings, he wore his usual rumpled gray suit, which blended with the silver in his hair, more silver than last year. Running for office could do that to you.

He turned a friendly smile on her. His eyes were old in his compact, middle-aged body. He looked unguarded, a little uncared-for. He was the kind of man who needed to be married.

He carried a heavy file box under his arm.

"It’s very fine," he said to Sandy. "It looks old. Nineteenth century? Hi, Nina."

"It is old," Sandy said. "My great-grandmother made it. How’d you know that?"

"My wife collected Washoe baskets," he said. "I still have them on a shelf in my kitchen."

"I know where you could get some more."

"No, thanks. I just want her baskets, the way she set them up."

"Sure," Sandy said, and for once Nina thought her irrepressible secretary seemed abashed.

"Come on in," Nina said. He followed her in and dropped into one of the client chairs.

"I apologize for showing up like this. I worked Sunday, and came in about seven this morning. I was sitting there in my office on about my fifth cup of coffee and the messenger came in to pick up this box of reports to take to you. I decided to go outside into actual sunlight and come here."

"It’s good to see you. We’re not at each other’s throats yet, are we?"

"Not yet. You haven’t insisted that your client is being railroaded. I haven’t said the needle is the only way to protect society from the likes of him," Collier said.

"It takes you a while to work up to that rigid, condemnatory mood," Nina said.

"And I have noticed you stay rational far longer than most defense attorneys." He looked at her with interest. He’d never seen her without her suit jacket. He seemed mesmerized by her pale orange sweater.

"You caught me," she said. "Sleeves rolled up, formality out the window."

"You look smaller," he said. "Like a girl who has somehow been forced into playing war with the boys."

Automatically, she reached for her jacket. "We may not enjoy it like the guys," she said. "We prefer not to judge and punish. But when we have to fight, we tend to annihilate the opposition quickly, so you won’t suffer for long."

"I see. I didn’t mean to offend you."

"Well," she said, forgiving him.

"Well. Why don’t we try to talk like pals this morning? I get tired of the gamesmanship. Here." He took off his own jacket, exposing a wrinkled white dress shirt, and hung it on the chair back. "Now we’re even."

"All right, let’s give it a whirl. Thanks for bringing over the reports."

Collier laid his file box on the desk and looked around the inner office. She saw it through his eyes, her oak bookcases, her brown leather couch, her certificates from the Monterey School of Law and various courts, and her prized fiddle-leaf ficus in its brass pot, taking a sunbath in the corner. "Very nice. You know, it’s too bad we can’t be friends. I like you."

Somewhat startled, Nina said, "I like you too. But at the moment I happen to be on one side of a war and you’re on the other. You attack, I defend, and if I’m lucky, I counterattack. We’re only human. We have to mobilize our emotions in line with the fight, or we’re weakened."

"I used to see it like that. I don’t anymore. I try to represent the victim in seeking justice. I try to prevent further harm. There’s nothing personal about it."

She had heard that old D.A. standby, "I represent the victim," before, but Collier had an earnest sincerity she believed. Unfortunately, so did most of his juries. "You’re light-years ahead of me," she said. "For me it’s often personal."

Collier said, "I guess that means you won’t have a drink with me after work."

"What?"

"Why not? Agree not to talk law at all. Talk about you, and how you like it up here in the mountains. Talk about the Washoe. Talk about ... I don’t know, just talk."

"I don’t think so. I wouldn’t feel right. I mean..." The sentence she didn’t finish would have sounded something like this: It’s complicated enough, without having to worry about how a friend on the other side is doing.

Collier may have mastered the difficult art of staying both disinterested and committed in his courtroom work, but she hadn’t.

You’re an admirable opponent, she thought, a worthy challenge; and perhaps he caught some of that thought in her eyes.

"Forget it," he said gently. "No problem. Let’s talk about the Terry London case. First of all, congratulations on wresting it away from Jeff. But watch out for him. He never forgives, and he never forgets. He’ll find a way to express his unhappiness."

"It’s too bad it turned out that way. With someone else I might apologize, but he’d bite my head off and feed it to his... exotic statuary."

He laughed at the characterization, a long-drawn-out growl ending in soft, friendly barks. "Now to business," he said. "Somewhere in that pile of papers on your desk you have Judge Milne’s Order substituting you in as defense counsel of record. I guess you know Scott’s already been arraigned in the Superior Court."

"I’ve just started reading the transcript of the preliminary hearing. This big package here is Jeff Riesner’s file on my client. After I’ve skimmed through everything, I’ll call you and we’ll set up a pretrial conference with Milne," Nina said.

"Okay."

Sandy buzzed again. "Your eleven-thirty is here."

"I’ll be a few more minutes," Nina said. She put down the phone. She walked over beside Collier, who was exploring her view of Mount Tallac. The eastern sun washed its jagged and tremendous flanks with golden light.

She looked at him, while he looked at the mountain. In spite of herself, she was seeing him outside his role. What she saw was a reflective, complex, somewhat sad and lonely man.

"The snow’s melting fast," Collier said. "I hiked up there with my wife one summer. We spent the night on top during the Perseid meteor shower on a warm, windless night. We watched them shoot across the sky."

"I’m sorry," Nina said, picturing him snuggling inside a sleeping bag with the woman he loved, watching the night sky spraying silver. "About your wife."

"So am I," he said. "She was only a little older than you. I can’t understand how it could happen. I lie awake at night, wondering how it could happen."

"How did she die?"

"She was a probation officer. Anna Meade. You may have heard the story."

She had heard the story from another defense lawyer a few weeks after her arrival at Tahoe. His wife had been killed by one of her case clients. She had suffered....

"Do you have children?" Nina said, inadequately.

"Nope. No luck in that direction. No luck at all." He ran a hand over his eyes, walking back to the chair. "Sorry, Nina. It’s been three years, but now and then I still lose it."

"Don’t worry," Nina said, handing him a tissue. "I have an unlimited supply."

"Anyway, Jeff was really after me to stop you from taking over. I decided not to become involved. Then I saw the news article, and realized you do have very close ties to Scott...."

"Old ties, yes."

"To be blunt, I think you’ve made a mistake." He tossed the tissue into her wastebasket, missing, and bending down to pick it up and heave it again. "I speak as one who wishes you well, no matter what I try to do to you in court."

"I know how to take care of myself."

"We have some camcorder tape that we are still working with," Collier said. "Terry London made it just before her death. The copy still isn’t ready, but it’s part of the discovery you’re entitled to. I think you may want to come over to my office and see it right away."

So she had heard correctly, that day in Collier’s office. Terry had filmed herself dying.

"It’s only about ten minutes long," Collier said. "Come over this afternoon, if you can. I have a break from court around one o’clock."

"I’ll be there."

"We consider it a dying declaration. She says your guy pulled the trigger."

"I might not accept that idea as easily as you. No matter what she says. But I’d like to see it. I’ll be there this afternoon."

"Fine. You may change your mind. All I’m saying is, don’t let him bamboozle you. Whatever hold he has on you, fight it. We’re looking into the possibility that he was involved in the Sweet girl’s disappearance. This case has a slippery, nasty quality to it that I don’t like. He’s a very dangerous, unpredictable man, Nina. I’m glad there’s glass between you and him at the jail."

"The situation’s under control," Nina said. "Don’t be such a worrier, Collier."

He moved to the door, his hand on the knob for what seemed like minutes. Then he turned back to face her. "My wife used to say that," he said, twisting the knob and leaving without saying good-bye.

She found Paul sprawled in a chair in the outer office, hands in the pockets of his beige chinos, his blond hair ruffled up like a rooster’s, dark rectangles shading his eyes.

"My eleven-thirty?" she said to Sandy.

"He was hoping you could fit him in." Sandy continued her stapling, her broad brown face as stoic as an Easter Island statue. She might have been making a joke. It was impossible to tell, because she didn’t give out the usual helper cue, a smile. Nina couldn’t recall ever seeing her laugh.

"I’m so happy to see you, I’ll even buy you lunch. Come on in," she said. "What are you doing here?" He followed her in and closed the door firmly.

"A birdie summoned me," he said. "I’m here to work for you, if you haven’t already made other arrangements."

"You’re going to help me with Kurt?" How off-balance she must have been feeling. In an instant she felt steadier. "Thank goodness.’’

"Not that you couldn’t handle it without me."

"Goes without saying." He bestowed a crooked smile on her, acknowledging the slight tone of reproof in her voice.

"Where do we start?"

"You sounded so definite. I didn’t let myself hope. What changed your mind, Paul?"

"Like I said. A. birdie. A large birdie in tennis shoes, with a sharp tongue. Called yesterday and said she was coming down to Carmel to beat the crap out of me. Either that, or I help you. Actually, she didn’t use exactly those words, but the intent was clear."

"Sandy."

"Sandy."

"I had nothing to do with it. I’ll talk to her—"

"Don’t bother. Talking to her is like talking to a lava flow. Besides, she was right. It didn’t take long to shame me into agreeing to come up."

"Wonderful! You’re staying at Caesars?"

"As usual."

Nina reached into her briefcase and handed him the police reports on Kurt’s arrest. "Read these. That is, if you can start right away?"

"I’m all yours. I just finished a job for Solly Lazar. He owns a Mexican restaurant in Monterey. Took exactly two days."

"That’s fast."

"His employee was perfectly happy to tell me his recipe for cooking books. A five-minute job. Then we worked on just desserts."

She laughed. She would not inquire further. Sometimes, she didn’t want to know. "You can get people to open up. It’s one of your strong points."

"Doesn’t work so well with you."

Giving in to impulse, she put her arms around him in a heartfelt hug. "You’re a good guy, Mr. van Wagoner. With you on our side, we can win."

"It’s for you, Nina. Not him." Paul was so wonderfully uncomplicated. He said what he felt.

"I know."

"I’ll go outside to read these. Then what?"

"Then we have an appointment to watch a tape."

Paul drove his van, and Nina the Bronco. Nina arrived at the courthouse complex first. "I’m not looking forward to this," she said, rising from her bench as he came bounding up the steps.

He took her by the arm, and they walked heavily, like an old couple who had been married forever, through the thick glass doors.

By the time they reached Collier’s office, Nina and Paul weren’t touching each other. Paul’s sunglasses had gone into his jacket pocket. Nina, lost in her thoughts, hadn’t said much, and Paul didn’t seem to mind.

Collier came out to meet them. He gave Nina a touch on the shoulder, shook hands with Paul, and sat them down in two chairs squeezed between file cabinets in his office.

Nina found herself quite interested in watching Paul and Collier measure each other. Paul, too big for the little chair, moved it back to give himself legroom, instigating a polite invasion of the other man’s territory. His body looked relaxed but ready for anything. His eyes moved curiously around, frank in his physical appraisal of the setting and the other man.

Collier, standing in front of his desk rather than sitting down, maintained a position of superiority, using the moment to make more circumspect but, Nina knew, no less acute observations about Paul.

She was drawing. She looked down at her yellow pad. Two toucans, beak to beak. Hastily she folded the sheet up so they wouldn’t see it.

"Thanks for setting this up, Collier. You could have made us wait. And I know it’s not easy for you to take the time," she said.

"As I mentioned, Nina, the certified copy hasn’t been prepared yet. I’m showing you the original."

"Isn’t that a little risky?" asked Paul. "I mean, video can be easily damaged."

"I’ll take that risk in order to dispose of this case promptly."

His words, his whole manner, sympathetic yet so very self-assured, stepped up Nina’s anxiety.

"I won’t make you wait long to make up your own mind," he said. His face assumed a look of unpleasant expectation, as if preparing for a bitter drink. "There are a couple of things I should tell you before we watch it. Nina, I know the victim was your client for a while there ..."

"I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be, Collier. I know from the police report that the camera caught her dying."

"It’s bad, Nina."

"Fill me in here," said Paul. "This film shows her death, that I get. But who filmed her?"

"The video camera, really just a camcorder, must have been knocked to the floor during a struggle. Looks like she managed to press the button somehow to record. No fingerprints, just smears. Like she used her toes."