The Undertaker's Widow (34 page)

“You know the first thing I'm gonna do when I'm elected to the United States Senate, Henry? I'm going to get the embargo of Cuba lifted so I can smoke these cigars in public.”

Orchard grinned broadly. “That's my girl! Now, I've got some ideas about how we can use Judge Quinn's statement.”

“Hold on to them until tomorrow, Henry. I'm meeting with Mary Garrett tonight. I might have something that will bring us back, but I've got to talk to her before I tell you about it.”

“What's Garrett have to do with your campaign?”

“I can't tell you. But it will be worth the wait. If I decide to go public with what I know, I've got to make sure that I don't burn myself. So hold on until tomorrow. Then we'll see.”

The Multnomah County District Attorney's Office was deserted on Sunday afternoon, so Leroy Dennis and Lou
Anthony were the only people who witnessed Cedric Riker's tirade.

“Can you tell me what the fuck is going on here?” Riker swore when the detectives finished their account of the Saturday shoot-out at the courthouse.

“It's confusing, Ced,” Leroy Dennis told the D.A.

“Confusing?” Riker raged. “What do you find confusing? It looks like simple math to me. By my count that bitch has now killed two people. We usually send serial killers to death row. What are you two geniuses proposing? That I give her a marksmanship medal?”

“Just listen to Leroy, Ced,” Anthony told the D.A. in his most conciliatory tone.

“I'm all ears.”

“Before Saturday, it looked like Senator Crease paid Jablonski to kill her husband. Then the evidence started pointing to Lamar, Jr. Now there's a possibility that Senator Gage is involved.”

“Gage! What are you talking about? Are you accusing Benjamin Gage of murder?”

“We're not accusing anyone right now.”

“Well, that's a relief. Ben happens to be a close personal friend of mine and one of my staunchest supporters. Not to mention the fact that he is a United States senator.”

“I'm just saying that there is a lot of circumstantial evidence pointing at people other than Ellen Crease. We may have acted too hastily when we arrested her.”

“Lou, I went to the grand jury on Crease on your say-so. Are you telling me that we indicted an innocent woman?”

Anthony flushed. “We might have.”

“Where does Senator Gage come in?” Riker asked.

“Karen Fargo was paid to come forward. The day after she came in to see me five thousand dollars was deposited in her bank account and she was offered a job
at a business owned by one of Gage's supporters. This morning I took Fargo to a TV studio to view a videotape that showed Ryan Clark, Gage's administrative assistant. She identified him as the person who bribed her.”

“Shit!” Riker swore as he paced back and forth in front of the detectives.

“There's a lot of circumstantial evidence linking Brademas to Junior,” Leroy Dennis said, “but Brademas could have sold out Crease to Gage. We think we have enough to bring in Gage for questioning.”

Riker spun around and glared at Dennis.

“You are not going to drag a United States senator down to the station house.”

“Where do you suggest that we question him?” Anthony asked calmly.

“Damn,” Riker muttered. He paced to the window and back. “I'll call Gage. We'll talk to him someplace where the press won't see us.” Riker pointed a finger at Anthony. “I don't want one word of this getting out. Meanwhile, you concentrate on Lamar Hoyt.”

Anthony did not say anything. He knew Riker owed Gage. Everyone knew that. But he didn't owe Gage a thing and he would follow the investigation where it led him.

Mary Garrett closed her office door behind Ellen Crease and studied the senator as she crossed the room. After what her client had been through, she expected some sign of wear, but Crease looked confident, poised and full of fight. Crease had asked for this emergency meeting, so Garrett waited for her client to explain what she wanted.

“Mary, I need your advice,” Crease said without preliminaries.

“That's what you pay me for.”

Crease told her lawyer what had happened at the courthouse. When she finished, she hesitated and suddenly looked troubled.

“This is the difficult part, Mary, because it may mean betraying the trust of someone who came to me for help. But we're also dealing with political realities here and the current reality is that I don't stand a chance in hell of winning the primary if something dramatic doesn't happen quickly.”

“If the police pin your husband's murder on Jack Brademas and Junior, that will be pretty dramatic.”

“We don't know if that will happen. Gage is already using his stalking horses to suggest that I may still be guilty and that Brademas could have been my accomplice. If Junior doesn't confess, the killing will remain officially unsolved.”

“What about going public with the fact that Gage bribed Fargo to come forward?”

“I've thought about that. Gage can admit he paid Fargo, then claim credit for bringing a witness forward. Some people will think what he did was sleazy, but they're not going to vote for me if my name hasn't been cleared.”

Crease looked very uncomfortable. “Before I tell you anything more, I need your promise that nothing I say will leave this room unless I consent to it.”

“Of course. That's all covered by attorney-client confidentiality.”

“Would attorney-client confidentiality cover information I gave you about the criminal actions of another person?”

“Yes. It covers anything you tell me with a few exceptions that don't apply here.”

“Would the privilege apply even if the person who committed the criminal acts was a judge and he committed them while acting in his capacity as a judge?”

Garrett frowned.

“What's this all about, Ellen?”

Garrett had never seen her client look so uncertain.

“I feel awful about this, but my political future and my reputation are at stake.”

Crease told Garrett what Richard Quinn had confided to her on the night that he was attacked in the garage. As Crease related the details of the blackmail plot, Garrett looked incredulous. When she explained Paul Baylor's alternative explanation of the blood spatter evidence, Garrett took careful notes. When Crease told Garrett that Quinn had confessed that he fixed the motion to suppress, the lawyer looked stunned.

“This is very bad. I've never heard of anything like it.”

“It happened. Brademas hired Jablonski to kill me and Lamar, then he used this call girl that Junior knew to coerce the judge into assuring my conviction.”

“And you think that Junior was Brademas's partner?”

“Junior is the most likely person to have been in this with Jack, but there is another possibility. Benjamin Gage could have learned about the Ritter woman while trying to find dirt to use against me in the campaign. That must be the way he found out about Fargo.”

“Do you have any proof of that?”

“No, but the blackmail plot required money and a high level of planning. Jack could have worked it out, but Junior never could have. Whatever else I think about Gage and Clark, there is no denying that they are extremely intelligent.”

“You still haven't told me what you want from me, Ellen?”

“Advice. If I hold a press conference and go public with the fact that I was the victim of a conspiracy, I might turn the voters around. But Judge Quinn trusted me. He saved my life by ruling as he did. I don't want to hurt him. And there's the legal problem. I need to know what would happen to Quinn's order if Riker learns that the judge fixed my case. Would I be back facing a murder charge?”

“I'm pretty certain that the order would be null and void if Quinn admits he lied about his legal conclusions, but Riker would have real problems continuing his prosecution. Even if the blood spatter evidence was ruled admissible by a new judge, we now have a reasonable explanation for it, and that's the only concrete evidence the State has to contradict your version of what happened on the night of your husband's murder.

“Then, there's all this new evidence about Jack Brademas and Junior, and Gage bribing Fargo to come forward. The fact that someone tried to blackmail Quinn into assuring your conviction also makes it look like someone else was behind your husband's murder.”

“What will happen to Judge Quinn if I go public with the information that he fixed my case?”

Garrett sighed. “He'll be ruined. Even if he fixed the case with the best of intentions he'll be removed from the bench. He could be disbarred. He could even face criminal charges.”

“So Judge Quinn will be destroyed if I go public.”

“I'm afraid that's what it comes down to.”

“And if I don't go public, my reputation and my political career are over.”

Henry Orchard and Ellen Crease sat in the back booth of a dimly lit downtown restaurant and discussed the campaign.

“I don't know what to do, Henry.”

“It's a no-brainer, Ellen. You've got to hold the press conference and blow this blackmail scheme wide open. It's the only way you can give yourself a real chance to become a United States senator.”

“I'd be climbing into national politics over the judge's body. It'd kill him, bury him so deep he might never crawl out.”

“What if Gage is behind Lamar's murder? If you do nothing, Gage will win. You could be sending a murderer to the United States Senate. There's more at stake here than the career of one person. Quinn will still be alive. You've got money and influence. You can help him after you're elected.”

Crease leaned her head against the back of the booth and shut her eyes.

“I wish this would all go away, Henry. I wish Lamar was still alive and I never
decided
to challenge that son of a bitch Gage.”

“Yeah, well, those are wishes that won't come true, Ellen. And you're going to have to decide what you're going to do now. The days are slipping away. The primary is in May. If we're going to repair the damage
caused by your murder indictment, we have to act. I agree with Garrett. Riker would be a fool to pursue his case once you reveal what you know. It's true that there are going to be casualties and Quinn will be one of them, but we're talking about your life here and about bringing your husband's murderer to justice.

“Look, why don't you talk this over with Quinn? Maybe he'll join you at the press conference and tell everyone how you saved his life and how this masked guy tried to force him into convicting you. If Quinn will help, it could be the break we need.”

Crease sighed. “How soon can you set up the press conference?”

“I'll have you on the air Thursday night, prime time. We might even get national coverage.”

“Then, God help me, let's do it. And God help Richard Quinn.”

Quinn threw two more logs into the stone fireplace in the living room of Frank Price's beach house.

“You warm enough?” Quinn asked Laura.

“Uhm.”

Laura was bundled up in a wool sweater and jeans. A glass of wine sat on a low table at her elbow. Quinn settled on the floor beside Laura and they both stared through the huge picture window at the rain that pounded the beach and the boiling whitecaps that rolled over the beleaguered sand. The fire crackled and Quinn felt the heat on his face. He had good memories of this rustic cabin where he had spent many of his summers growing up. He was sorry that he would have to drive back to Portland tomorrow.

“What are you thinking about?” Quinn asked. “If it's business, you're in big trouble.”

Laura laughed. “Believe it or not, I haven't thought about my practice since we crossed the coast range. The mountains must block the brain waves from Price, Winward.”

Quinn put his arm around Laura's shoulder. He, too, had felt a lessening of tension as the landscape changed from urban sprawl to farmland and forest during their Sunday morning drive to the coast. By the time he and Laura were finishing bowls of thick, steaming clam chowder at a ramshackle restaurant of weathered wood on the Newport waterfront, he was a different person. An hour after lunch, Quinn and Laura were making love to the sound of rain pattering on the shake roof of the beach house and the murders were a universe away.

When they awoke Monday morning, a storm was brewing in the Pacific, but the rain held off until three. Quinn and Laura had walked the beach, driven into town for lunch, then spent the afternoon reading in front of the fire.

“If it's not business, then what caused that glazed look in your eyes?”

Laura looked a little guilty.

“You won't be mad at me?” she asked sheepishly.

Quinn squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

“Speak. I know you. You'll brood all night if you don't get whatever is bothering you off your chest.”