Reilly 11 - Case of Lies (25 page)

“I thought you were-” Nina turned away.

“What? Your mama?” This stung.

“No. An honorable… an honorable lawyer.”

“You’re a funny one,” Betty Jo said. “Look, nothing personal. You’re causin’ me a lot of trouble, but I forgive you because you can still use the word
honor
in a court of law. I’m startin’ to figure you out. You’re an idealist, and you’re a romantic, and you have some ideas about lawyers being gentlemen champions on white horses.”

“I do not,” Nina said.

“White horses with gold stirrups, and a world just beggin’ to be saved.”

“I’m starting to figure you out, too,” Nina said, “and it’s too bad. A bright mind, a lot of life experience, and a strong desire not to rock the
Good Ship Lollipop
you find yourself sailing on. I was thinking you and I might become friends. It’s too bad, it really is.”

Betty Jo gave her a measured look. “No, I don’t think we’d ever be friends. You take things too personally.” She gave her umbrella a firm shake and opened it as they reached the portico.

“Yeah. And you don’t take them personally enough. I’ll let you know when I depose the three kids, so you can attend.”

“Do that.” They had reached the parking area. Rain fell straight down, mercifully free from wind. Betty Jo drove a Porsche Cayenne SUV, burgundy, water beading on its expensive hood. It let out a discreet burp as she used the remote to unlock it, and she swung into it. “Well, fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” she said with a trace of her former joviality. She closed the umbrella and tossed it into the back seat, then slammed the door.

Nina went to her beat-up white Bronco a few stalls away and got in. Betty Jo purred past her onto Johnson Boulevard, her profile vague behind the water-smeared driver’s-side window. But it seemed to Nina that on her way past, she gave Nina the finger.

Thus ended a beautiful friendship, which had barely begun, immolated, as Betty Jo might have said, on an altar to a blind Greek goddess who holds a set of scales. At least Flaherty had given her what she needed. Nina drove off, depressed because she liked Betty Jo, thinking about her unexpectedly rich vocabulary.

She had said Nina was trying to “ride piggyback.”

That word again. Nina remembered the dream of a couple of weeks before, when the case was just starting up. How had it gone? A scary old lady trying to climb on Nina’s back. All she wanted was a piggyback ride.

Some of her most important cases began with dreams, dreams that somehow meshed later with the case. They didn’t exactly provide clues-she didn’t believe in premonitions or any of that other New Age magic-but they sometimes did seem to pull something from her subconscious about the dynamics of the case.

She passed the small shopping center near her office, her wipers whapping across the windshield as the rain fell faster. The Starlake Building looked solid and warmly lit as she pulled into the lot. The
Titanic
had also looked solid and warmly lit. A killer was hiding somewhere, maybe still at Tahoe. It wouldn’t be wise to relax her guard…

What did it mean, to ride piggyback? To use another’s strength. To oppress someone, sit on them. To be an opportunist.

She shrugged mentally. If the dream meant something, it was something still in the future.

The Bronco door swung open and she struggled with her umbrella. What, really, was going on? Good thing the shooter couldn’t read her mind right now, rife with speculation, unreined and vulnerable.

Several long days went by. Two things happened in the Hanna case: The new defendants were served with the Amended Complaint and Notices of Deposition, in Boston and Seattle; and Dave Hanna was released from jail, not without having pled guilty and having his driver’s license taken away, among other punishments.

Chelsi’s father called as she worked through a stack of phone messages late in the morning. Rain still fell at lake level, with a blizzard above seven thousand feet on the cloud-concealed peaks ringing the lake. The radio in Sandy ’s office was predicting the ski resorts would open in a couple of weeks. Winter was lowering itself like a hearty lover upon the town.

“Dave won’t answer his phone,” Roger Freeman said. “I went over there, but he’d gone somewhere. A bar, probably.”

“How are you?” Nina asked.

“Not too good. Chelsi’s mom called me last night from Arizona. She was thinking about her and started feeling like it’s all my fault. She wanted to take Chelsi to live with her when she left with her boyfriend years ago, but I fought her and got custody. If I hadn’t, Chelsi would be sunbathing in Tucson right now. My beautiful little girl. Excuse me.” He set the phone down and she heard snuffling and nose-blowing. Nina steeled herself not to fall into her own grief about Chelsi. She could grieve later, after she went to bed.

“She’s very sad right now, Roger, and not thinking clearly,” Nina said in a matter-of-fact tone when he picked up again. “You mustn’t take it personally. It’s not your fault.”

“I have to ask-are you going to stay with the case? I couldn’t blame you-you almost got killed yourself.”

“I’ll stay with it as long as Dave can stand me,” Nina said.

“I’m glad to hear it. It would seem like this monster got his way, if we stopped now. But I’m worried that Dave doesn’t understand that. He had already spent that settlement money in his mind. He’s not too happy with you.”

“I have to keep the motel in, until the case solidifies a little more. That’s the way it is. That’s my professional opinion.”

“Fine, just fine, but I don’t think Dave agrees.”

“I’ll come down there and talk to him.”

“Don’t come. If he sees you, he’ll fire you. He needs money to pay his DUI fine and a bunch of back bills, Nina. He gets his disability, but he spends it on booze in the first week. I keep thinking he’s not responsible anymore, can’t take care of himself. I keep thinking-about what I told you, that he needs, you know…”

“A conservator?” Nina said. “I think that’s what you mean. Someone to take care of his money for him.”

“I would be willing to do that.”

“Just thinking aloud, and this shouldn’t be construed to be a piece of legal advice, but a conservator would take care of his legal affairs, too.”

“Like deciding whether or not to stay with this case,” Rog said.

“But I can’t advise you about that.”

“Why not? Aren’t you supposed to be looking out for his best interests?”

“I suggest you consult another lawyer down there.”

“I will. Right away. Nina?”

“Yes?”

“Could we let Dave out and bring me in as the plaintiff? I’d be a much better plaintiff.”

“Believe me, I’ve thought about it, Roger,” Nina said. “You have a cause of action for the loss of your sister, but it’s not very strong, not like Dave’s legal position. And it’s too late in the game.”

“Could I sue for Chelsi’s death?”

“Sue who?”

“I don’t know. The John Does.”

“It’s all wrapped up in Dave’s case,” Nina said. “He has to hang on.”

“Okay. I’ll do what I can to help you. You need another check?”

“I’m afraid the bill’s in the mail.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay it. This is my daughter and my sister we’re talking about.” He hung up. Nina walked out to Sandy ’s office. Fresh coffee was brewing in the espresso maker through the half-open door of the conference room. Sandy and Wish sat at the table in there.

“I was just about to call you,” Sandy said.

“I never smelled anything so good.” Nina went to the coffee and started steaming some milk. “You know, it’s odd how allies turn into enemies and how new allies appear just when you need them.”

“If you say so,” Wish said. He was so soaked that rivulets of water were coursing onto the rug from his pants. His hair was plastered to his head, and his eyes were wild.

“Why, what is it, Wish?”

“I just heard from Ed Vasquez in Boston. He served the couple yesterday, then watched to see what they would do. They made a trip to the law offices of John Branson a couple of hours ago, about two P.M. Boston time-that’s eleven A.M. here-”

“Too bad,” Nina said. “I was hoping they would retain some charming, reasonable Harvard lady lawyer. I’ve already met that guy.”

“Listen,” Wish said. “They came out of the law offices, which are located on Boylston Street near Boston Common, at 2:35 Boston time. They walked to the side street where they had parked the car, a blue 2001 Corvette. The guy-Raj-got in the driver’s seat and the girl got in the other side. Ed was watching from across the street in his car. After about ten seconds they jumped out and ran into a bank right there on the street.”

Nina was still standing, her cup in her hand. “I’m getting a headache,” she said. “I just know I am. Go on.”

“The ’Vette blew up. That’s what Ed said.”

“It blew up?” Sandy said. “Ed said it blew up?”

“Exploded. Some people passing by got hit by glass. The bank windows were blown in. The car jumped about ten feet in the air and landed on its roof in the middle of the street.”

“The couple?” Nina said.

“Unharmed.”

Sandy and Nina looked at each other. Nina said, “Thank God.”

“They came out a minute later, looked around, then left. They flagged down a taxi and-”

“Their car blew up, you say?” Sandy said. “Is this a joke?”

“I am not kidding, Mom.”

“Someone went all the way to Boston to kill them,” Nina said. “Right after they got served.” She burned her tongue on the coffee, needed it too much to care, and drank some down, destroying a few taste buds in the process. “Because they got served. Someone knows exactly what’s going on in this case, minute by minute.”

“You make it sound like we have a mole here at the firm,” Sandy said. “Which consists of you and me and Willis, so I don’t think so.”

Wish was nodding fast. “It was the next morning after they were served, Nina! It has to be about our case! Anyway, so then they got in a taxi and Ed followed them. They went directly to the airport in Boston -Logan-and they went to the Lufthansa counter and bought tickets for a flight to Frankfurt, Germany, leaving in four hours. Ed called as soon as he could. They’re still in the waiting room, but they’re about to board-he couldn’t call right away-”

“They’re going a long, long way away,” Nina said. “Maybe they should.”

“Shall we call the police in Boston? Try to stop them?”

Nina said, “My thought exactly.”

“Have Ed tell them everything?”

“Sure. Have him call right away and report that the owners of that Corvette are fleeing the country.”

While they waited for Ed Vasquez to call back, Sandy made Wish take off his sweater and shirt and gave him a sweatshirt she had tucked in the drawer. They all drank espresso. Cars sloshed through the traffic light on the boulevard outside. Although it was barely past noon, night seemed to be falling, the day so dark the streetlights began to sputter on.

Nina went to the ladies’ bathroom at the end of the hall and took two ibuprofen, washed her face, forced a yawn or two.

When she came back, Wish’s long face told her all she needed to know.

“The police didn’t make it, Nina. Red tape. Ed doesn’t really know why. He couldn’t do anything to stop them himself. They’re at thirty thousand feet by now. I’m sorry.”

Sandy said, “How bad is it?”

Nina said, “I’m going into my office now. And I’m going to think about things. I’ll be back out in fifteen minutes with assignments.” She closed her door, gravitating as always to the window. Mist overspread the marsh leading toward the lake and she could hear rain pouring down the drainpipes, like Raj Das and Silke Kilmer, down the pipes and out.

20

A MAN RANG THE DOORBELL AT ELLIOTT’S house on Vashon Island. Elliott rushed downstairs. His father was coming from the kitchen, walking slowly, having a good day. He held a finger to his lips and his father said, “What’s gotten into you?” but in a whisper.

Peering through the peephole, he saw a stranger in a black windbreaker and jeans on the porch, carrying a clipboard, looking at his father’s roses.

“Yes?” he had opened the door a crack.

“Oh, hi. Mr. Elliott Wakefield?” The man smiled and held out his hand to shake hands, and Elliott said “Uh-huh,” and opened the door wider, automatically polite. Instead of a hand, a manila envelope full of papers came through the door.

“You’vebeenservedwithlegalpapersandyoushouldconsultanattorneyrightaway.” The smile never left his face. He turned and jogged back down the path.

Elliott closed the door.

“Why, El, you’re as white as a sheet,” his father said.

“It’s all right, Pop.”

“Who was that?”

“Just someone bringing me some papers on a consulting job. Pop, listen to me. You have to let me open the door. Don’t answer when I’m not home.”

His father looked stricken. “What is happening?”

“Just-someone is trying to find me. It’s a business thing. We have to be careful.”

“Who was it that called you last night and got you so upset?”

“An associate.” Silke, calling from Germany.

“Are you in trouble with the law? The IRS or something?”

“No.”

“Well? What is it, then? Don’t try to protect me.”

“I have to go to a meeting today,” Elliott said. “In the city. Please. Don’t answer the door when I’m away.”

“Take the ferry to Seattle?” He was tiring. A smell of burning bacon came from the kitchen.

“We’ll have breakfast first.” Pop nodded and went back to his cooking. Elliott showered and shaved, and when he came back down, dressed in a heavy sweater and jeans, he managed to deflect his father’s questions pretty well. He made sure his father was tucked into his favorite chair by the fireplace and that Gloria was on her way before leaving.

He hadn’t even opened the envelope. On the ferry he pulled it out of his backpack. It came from the Law Offices of Nina F. Reilly, Esq. When he read the contents, he groaned.

Now what? Wasn’t it enough that the shooter had tried to kill Silke and Raj, was probably looking for him, and he had to go talk to these corporate honchos today when he wasn’t feeling well?