The Big Fix (10 page)

“Yeah, about that … you know Nigel Overholt is representing Lily-Ann Conrad—you remember Nigel, don’t you?”

“Of course,” I said. “He’s—and I’m quoting
you
here—brilliant. I saw him on TV talking about the case.”

“He called me for some advice—it’s not looking good for Ms. Conrad. I mentioned you had done some work for Gunn in your capacity as professional problem solver, and he’d like to meet with you as soon as possible.”

“Does he know about us?” I asked. Thomas knew I was referring to adaptors.

“No. Never had occasion to tell him.” Thomas was almost as tight-lipped about our kind as Mark was.

“So what can I do for him?”

“I told him Gunn hired you to help him cope with his snake phobia, and that you probably learned quite a bit about him and his family in the process.” Thomas knew how thorough my client questionnaires were—he’d helped me draft them. “In cases like this one, information gathering is key. You never know what might prove crucial to your defense. So, will you meet with him?”

“Sure. When? After the wedding?”

“Tomorrow.”

“
What?
Thomas, I can’t go back to L.A. now—what about your shower? If I screw that up, Mom will fricassee me.”

He held up one hand in the universal calm-down gesture. “Relax. Nigel’s coming to D.C. tomorrow. You can meet with him here”—he looked around—“or maybe my place would be better. I’d suggest my office, but the fewer people connecting you to him, the better.”

Sinead and Siobhan, finished storing the leftovers, joined us and started talking excitedly about a shopping expedition they wanted to drag me on.

“We found the best store,” Siobhan said. “Four whole floors of nothing but wedding paraphernalia.”

Gah! Kill me now.

Molly plopped down beside me. “And then we’re going to the comic book store for the new Spider-Man. I brought the rest with me—we can stay up all night reading them again!”

More fun than wedding shower shopping, granted, but all night?

Before I could temper Molly’s enthusiasm, Brian wandered over and plucked a stray seed from my hair. “Hey, you guys almost done talking? The rest of the band will be here to rehearse soon, and I need to move the couch to make room for the drums.”

I felt my eyes widen in horror. Stood up, grabbed Thomas by the hand and said, “Um, yes, of
course
I’ll meet with Nigel for you. Let’s go!”

“But it’s not until—”

“Now or never, bro,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. He got the message.

Chapter 10

Nigel Overholt was even more impressive in person than he was on TV. His smile was blindingly swoon-worthy. Think a young George Clooney, with a touch of Karl Urban. My first thought after being flashed by those pearly whites was,
I’ll bet you don’t have a bit of trouble convincing the ladies to go for a ride on your chair.
But I repented immediately.

I’d stayed the night on the love seat in Thomas’s living room. It was comfortable, and I’m short enough that I wasn’t too compressed. But honestly, how can you live in a million-dollar-plus home in D.C. and not have a guest room? I suspect it’s intentional on my brother’s part. I mean, did he really need a library, a study, a music room,
and
a sitting room, on top of the living room? It was just his fiendish way to avoid playing hotel every time a friend or family member came to town.

Nigel had been waiting for me in Thomas’s study when I finished showering and changing into the clothes I’d hastily packed the day before (good pants, nice shirt, not-sneakers—it was a business meeting of sorts, after all). He’d rolled over to greet me, adjusting the height of his wheelchair so that we were eye level. I thought it was thoughtful of him not to try to intimidate me by towering over me, though he easily could have with the flick of a switch.

“Miss Halligan, so nice to finally meet you. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

I returned his smile, hoping I didn’t have any stray poppy seeds stuck in my teeth from the bagel I’d just devoured in the kitchen. I held out my hand, and was pleased to note he had a firm grip. “Please. It’s Ciel, and I’m happy to help a friend of Thomas’s.”

“If I call you Ciel, I’m afraid you’re stuck with calling me Nigel. Not nearly as pretty.” Again with the smile. Almost made you forget about the wheelchair, because honestly, who wanted to look down when you could stare at that face?

“Coffee?” he asked. “Thomas left the pot.”

So that was where it was—I hadn’t been able to find it when I was scarfing my bagel. “Coffee would be great. Where is my brother, anyway?”

“He had to make a quick visit to his office, but should be back soon,” Nigel said, and handed me a beautifully crafted pottery mug. “What can you tell me about Jackson Gunn? Other than that he’s afraid of snakes.” Guess he didn’t believe in wasting time on chitchat.

“Well…” I said after a fortifying sip of the strong brew, and then paused, considering how best to answer the question. I sipped again. And again, figuring it was probably best for me not to engage fully until I’d been properly caffeinated, or no telling what might spill out of my mouth. Besides, this was the good stuff. French-pressed dark roast, possibly Hawaiian, and smooth as silk.

I put the cup down and pulled myself back to reality before I got lost in the flavor. “Snakes were mainly what I worked on with him. I’m not sure what else I can tell you about him that isn’t general knowledge.”

“Did he talk to you at all about Angelica? Are you aware they were having marital difficulties?” Boy, he really didn’t beat around the bush, did he?

“On the contrary, I was under the impression he was very much in love with his wife,” I said. Which was true—nothing Jack had told me in our prejob interview led me to believe he was anything other than the most adoring of husbands. “Look, my job was to help him get through the snake scene without embarrassing himself in front of all his fans.” Absolutely true, on the face of it. “We really didn’t talk about much other than, um, coping mechanisms.”

Nigel looked at me thoughtfully, and seemed to come to a decision. “I know you’re a busy person, so I’m going to speak plainly to you about some of my client’s private matters. Maybe it will trigger a useful thought or memory. Anything. Of course, I’m hoping what I say won’t go any further.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not even to Thomas?”

“I’ve already discussed it with him. I know he would never be the source of any embarrassing leaks.” There was the slightest emphasis on “he,” which I supposed was his subtle way of letting me know if anything got out, he’d know it was me.

I nodded. “There won’t be any leaks from me either. You might say discretion runs in our family.”

“Ms. Conrad feels there’s a strong possibility that her brother-in-law hired someone to kill her sister, and has set her up to take the fall.”

My heart started beating faster. If Jackson had motive to want his wife dead, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to think maybe he
had
used me as an alibi. My fix-it-fast instinct revved into high gear. I could
not
have that on my conscience.

“Why on earth would she think that?” I said, hoping like heck Nigel was grasping at straws.

“Because she was having an affair with him, and he promised her Angelica would be out of the picture ‘soon’—which Lily-Ann assumed meant a divorce was imminent.”

Shit.
An affair with his wife’s sister? My idol? That was low. “Even if that’s true, why
not
a divorce? Why would he have her killed?” I said.

“Angelica found out about the affair and confronted Lily-Ann. There was a huge blowup. Angelica told her sister she’d been collecting information about Gunn since early in their marriage, to use in case of a divorce, as proof he broke their prenuptial agreement. She intended to use it to destroy him. Apparently—again, according to Lily-Ann—Angelica had quite the dossier built up.”

I shook my head and lifted my hands slightly. Put them back on my lap when I saw they were trembling. “I still don’t know how I can help you with your case. It seems to me, if Jack really were having an affair with Lily-Ann, he must care for her. I’d think he’d be the last one to want to set her up for murder.”

“Lily-Ann broke it off with Jackson after Angelica found out about them. He didn’t take it well, told her women did not leave Jackson Gunn,
he
left them, and only when he was through with them.”

“That doesn’t sound like the man I met,” I said carefully.

Nigel shrugged. “I can only report what Lily-Ann told me. She thinks he might be afraid Angelica showed her the dossier—though Lily-Ann claims she never saw it—and that it has him spooked. She thinks this might be his way of getting rid of them both.”

I thought back to the hipster girl I’d seen yelling and cursing on the TV screen. Somehow, I couldn’t picture her paired up with Jackson in the first place. “And do you believe her?”

Nigel cocked his head. “That’s where I’m hoping you can help me. Lily-Ann is, I believe, innocent. But her public persona is … prickly. Put her up against a likable celebrity like Jackson Gunn, in a he-said she-said situation, and she won’t stand a chance. Especially when my sources at LAPD tell me they haven’t been able to find an iota of evidence to show Gunn, or anyone else, tried to hire a killer.”

Judging by the little I’d seen of Lily-Ann on TV, he was right about her prickly nature, and about the public—from whom the jury would be pulled—being much more likely to sympathize with Jackson.

I screwed up my eyebrows. “This may sound like a silly question, but why doesn’t Lily-Ann just tell the police about the dossier? Wouldn’t that provide motive for Jack and, at the very least, reasonable doubt for Lily-Ann?”

“Frankly, she’s afraid of what the dossier might say about her—that it might appear to give her even more motive for the murder herself, and I have to say I agree. I’d prefer to leave the dossier—which, at this point, is only a matter of hearsay, in any case—out of the equation if at all possible. Any insight you can provide into Jackson Gunn—anything at all—would be very much appreciated.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “The thing is, there’s this small matter of confidentiality. My setup with my clients isn’t all that different from yours—there’s trust involved.”

He nodded, understanding. One look in those expressive eyes and I felt terrible for letting him down.

“Look,” I said, “if it’s any help at all, I’m not holding anything relevant back. I honestly don’t think there’s a thing I learned about Jack that would be of use to you.”

Now, the fact that what I
did
for Jack might be extremely relevant was another thing entirely. But not practical, since it wasn’t something Nigel could use in court, not without outing adaptors to the world. And what would be the point of doing that if it turned out Lily-Ann was spinning bullshit in order to save herself from prison?

He shrugged. “You never know what might prove useful. But I understand your reluctance to divulge a client’s secrets. Though, in the case of a murder, one might expect a certain flexibility in such ethical matters would be equally understandable…”

I felt myself getting sucked into Nigel’s imploring gaze. The pull wasn’t in any way sexual—it was more like I suddenly felt compelled to do everything I could to
help
him. Boy, he was good. Where the hell was Thomas? I could use a little brotherly support.

“Listen,” I said, breaking eye contact, “did you ever consider that Lily-Ann might be playing you? That
she’s
the one who’s trying to set up Jackson? Who inherits Angelica’s estate if Jackson is convicted of her murder, anyway?”

Nigel shrugged. “It’s possible Lily-Ann is trying to do that, yes, but my instincts tell me otherwise. And my duty is to my client. At the very least, I’d like to get her out of jail until her trial. Jail can be a very unpleasant place for a young woman.”

No shit,
I thought, swallowing hard.
Especially if she’s innocent.

I’m no idiot. I knew exactly what kind of subtle pressure Nigel was applying, hoping to get me to say more. Engage my sympathy, get me to help him deflect the assumption of guilt from his client to mine. Fortunately, I’m stubborn enough to dig in my heels when someone is trying to get me to do something before I’m good and ready. And I wasn’t ready yet, not before I’d had a chance to talk to Jackson myself.

Besides, I couldn’t fail to notice Nigel hadn’t answered my question. Who would inherit?

*   *   *

After Nigel left I cornered Thomas in the kitchen, where he was cleaning up after the light lunch of crab salad on toasted croissants he’d prepared for the three of us when he returned from the office. (Thomas loves to feed people. Which is handy, because I love to be fed.) I’d avoided answering any more of Nigel’s questions about Jackson, and he’d been too polite to push it.

“What the hell, Thomas? Do you think my client did it? Do you think I helped somebody commit murder?”

“Jesus, Ciel, of course not. I’m just trying help Nigel with his case. That’s
all.
”

“Well, who do
you
think did it, then? You’re always right,” I said, grabbing some plates from him and putting them in the dishwasher. I might not particularly enjoy food preparation, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be helpful in the kitchen.

He hesitated. I could see he didn’t want to answer me. “I’m not
always
right,” he said eventually, relocating the plates to a better position on the bottom rack.

“Oh, yeah? Name a case you weren’t right about.”

“O. J. I totally thought he did it.”

I rolled my eyes. Big-time.

“Hey, he wasn’t convicted,” Thomas said. “Sis, it doesn’t matter whether Jackson did or didn’t do it.
You
are not responsible.”

Okay, so he obviously assumed Jackson was guilty. And I hadn’t even told him about finding the gun. Should I mention that? Nah, he’d only worry, and he already had enough on his mind with getting married.