Ties That Bind (17 page)

“Yeah.”

“I was watching a TV news story about Mr. Hayes’s death. The station had pictures of him going through the metal detector. Were they filming Mr. Hayes during the search?”

“I guess so.”

“So those bright lights were still on and there were a lot of other distractions?”

“Yeah, but I was thorough.”

“Think hard about this, Officer McKenzie, please. Did you hand back Mr. Hayes’s jacket and briefcase before or after he was through the metal detector?”

McKenzie hesitated for a moment. “After.”

“Is it possible, then, that Mr. Hayes could have slipped something by you in his jacket or briefcase while he was talking to you about the Blazers and the reporters were distracting you with their bright lights and chatter?”

“Something like what?”

“Something like Exhibit One.”

McKenzie’s mouth gaped open, Kerrigan shot Amanda an incredulous look, and a low rumble erupted in the spectator section. Judge Robard rapped his gavel.

“It didn’t happen like that,” McKenzie insisted.

“But it could have?”

“Anything is possible. But Hayes didn’t smuggle in a knife, and even if he did, your boy committed murder.”

“Move to strike that last response, Your Honor,” Amanda said. “And I’m through with the witness.”

“I’ll strike it, Miss Jaffe,” Judge Robard said, “but I’m having trouble seeing where you’re going with this. I assume you’ll clear up my confusion when you make your argument.”

“I don’t have any questions for Officer McKenzie,” said Tim Kerrigan, who looked amused.

“Any other evidence for either side?”

“No,” Amanda and Kerrigan said.

“Argument, Mr. Kerrigan, since you’ve got the burden.”

“The question before the court is whether the state has met the burden imposed by ORS 135.240(2)(a) of proving that Mr. Dupre’s guilt in the murder of Wendell Hayes is evident and that the presumption of that guilt is strong. If we do, the court must deny release. Officer Buckley testified that there were only two people in the contact visiting room—the victim, Wendell Hayes, and the defendant—and they were locked in. He also testified that he saw Mr. Dupre stab Mr. Hayes, and it is stipulated that Exhibit One is the weapon that was used to kill Mr. Hayes. I don’t think I’ve ever heard more convincing evidence of guilt, Your Honor.”

Kerrigan sat down and Amanda stood.

“Let’s cut to the chase here, Ms. Jaffe,” Robard said. “Are you going to argue that Wendell Hayes smuggled Exhibit One into the jail?”

“There’s no evidence that contradicts that position.”

Robard smiled and shook his head. “I have always considered you to be one of the brightest and most creative attorneys in the Oregon Bar, and you have not disappointed me, today. Why don’t you tell me the next logical step in your argument.”

“If Wendell Hayes smuggled the knife into the jail, my client acted in self-defense, negating Mr. Kerrigan’s proof of guilt.”

“Well, that’s right, if there was any evidence that Mr. Hayes attacked your client, but the only thing I heard was that Mr. Dupre was wielding the knife. He even threatened Officer Buckley.”

“Officer Buckley didn’t see everything that happened in the interview room during the crucial time between locking Mr. Hayes and Mr. Dupre in together and seeing my client stab Mr. Hayes.”

Robard chuckled and wagged his head. “You get an A—no, an A-plus—for effort, but no cigar. I’m denying release in the case involving Wendell Hayes, and setting bail of one million dollars in the case involving the murder of Senator Travis. Unless there’s something else, this hearing is adjourned.”

“He didn’t listen to a thing you said,” Dupre said bitterly.

“I didn’t expect him to, Jon.”

“So you’re saying I’m dead?”

“Not at all. I told you that our forensic expert will testify that your cuts are defense wounds that you could only have gotten if you were being attacked by a knife.”

“Why didn’t you tell that to the judge?”

“I don’t think it would have swayed a hardnose like Robard, and I want to save some surprises for trial. We’re working on other leads, too, so don’t give up.”

Amanda and Dupre spoke for a few more minutes before she signaled Larry McKenzie that her client was ready to go back to the jail.

“I hate to see this cockroach jerking you around,” McKenzie said as he tugged on Dupre’s chains to get him to stand.

“I’m sorry if I surprised you, but I didn’t think of calling you until Officer Buckley testified.”

“No hard feelings,” McKenzie told her, but Amanda wasn’t certain that he meant it.

“I appreciate the preview of coming attractions, Amanda,” Tim Kerrigan said when Dupre was out of earshot.

“We aim to please.”

“You’re not really going to argue that Dupre killed Wendell Hayes in self-defense, are you?”

“We’ll see.”

“Good luck.”

Amanda was stuffing her file into her attaché case when Grace Reynolds, a reporter from the
Oregonian
, walked up to the low fence that separated the front row of the spectator section from the counsel tables. Grace was a slender brunette in her late twenties. She’d interviewed Amanda on two occasions for feature stories and had once double-dated with Amanda when they were both going out with attorneys from the same firm.

“Hi,” Grace said. “You certainly wowed the judge. I haven’t seen Ivan the Terrible smile that much since he imposed his last death sentence.”

“Are we off the record, Grace?”

“You’re not going to be Amanda ‘No Comment’ Jaffe with your old drinking buddy, are you?”

“Afraid so.”

“I was hoping you’d give me an exclusive on the homicidal pimp.”

Amanda winced. “You’re not going to call him that, are you?”

“We’re taking it up at the editorial meeting. Of course I might argue against it if you gave me some reason to believe that I’d be committing libel. And don’t try to sell me on the cockamamie story you gave the judge.”

“I must be losing my debating skills.”

“Or your mind. That was the most outrageous argument I’ve heard since the Twinkie Defense.”

“Didn’t that win?”

“I don’t remember. So, do I get my exclusive?”

“No can do, right now. But I’ll promise to think of you when the time is right, if you’ll answer a question for me.”

“Ask.”

“You were at the jail when Hayes was killed, right?”

“Down in Reception.” She shook her head. “What a bummer.”

“I checked with Harvey Grant’s clerk. Grant appointed Wendell Hayes to represent Jon Dupre a little before one on the day that Hayes was killed. He made the appointment in his chambers, not in open court, and the press wasn’t invited. Hayes walked over to the Justice Center half an hour after he was appointed. How did you and the other reporters know that Hayes was going to be at the jail?”

“We got a tip.”

“From who?”

“Mr. Anonymous.”

“Do you know if the tip was anonymous for everyone?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“What’s going on, Amanda?”

“I promise you’ll be the first to know when I figure it out.”

“Lets get together for a beer or a movie sometime,” Grace said. “No business.”

“Sounds good.”

Kate had watched the exchange. “Why the question?” she asked once Grace left the courtroom.

“Only Judge Grant, Wendell Hayes, and Grant’s clerk knew that the judge was going to appoint Hayes. If Hayes wanted to distract the guard at the desk so he could smuggle in the shiv, it would help to have a pack of howling journalists flashing lights in Larry McKenzie’s eyes and causing their usual havoc.”

“What did you think about the hearing?” Kerrigan asked the detectives.

“Slam dunk,” Gregaros answered. “You’re gonna have a ball at the trial if Jaffe sticks with her bullshit theory that Dupre acted in self-defense.”

“We’ve got some more evidence to use against Dupre,” McCarthy said. “Remember Rittenhouse telling us that Travis said that ‘Jon’ was going to make everything okay on the night of the murder?”

Kerrigan nodded.

“I had Dupre’s phone records sent over. A call was made from his house to Travis’s place in Dunthorpe on the evening Travis was killed.”

“Another nail in Johnny boy’s coffin,” Gregaros said.

The detectives and the prosecutors conferred for a few more minutes before Tim and Maria took the elevator to the district attorney’s office.

“I’ve actually got some work to do in another case, Maria,” Kerrigan said. “Why don’t you do some research on the evidentiary issues we talked about and we’ll touch base tomorrow.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

Maria walked away and Kerrigan entered his office. He dumped his files onto his desk and hung his jacket on a hook, closing the door behind him. As he was loosening his tie, he found himself remembering the blonde he’d seen briefly in the courthouse. Something about her seemed familiar.

Kerrigan’s intercom buzzed.

“There’s a Miss Jasmine on line two,” his secretary said.

Kerrigan froze, and in that second he pictured the blonde again and knew for a fact that she was Ally Bennett.

Kerrigan lifted the receiver.

“Hello, Frank,” a husky and familiar voice said.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” he said carefully.

“Do I,
Frank
? Should I go to the press and let them sort it out?”

“I don’t think you’d get very far.”

“You don’t think they’d be interested in a story about a DA who is prosecuting a pimp while having
very
raunchy sex with one of his whores?”

Tim closed his eyes and forced himself to stay calm. “What do you want?”

“Let’s meet where we did the last time and I’ll tell you in person. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late,
Frank,
or Jasmine will be very angry.”

Kerrigan felt himself begin to grow hard as an image from their last meeting was triggered by her words. An insane desire to have sex with Jasmine again welled up in Kerrigan, despite the knowledge that meeting with her could only lead to his destruction.

Then he thought about Cindy. Something was going on between them that he hadn’t anticipated. They had grown closer since she’d comforted him after his return from Senator Travis’s crime scene. When he made love to his wife, there was none of the energy he’d felt with Bennett, when lust and shame had combined to produce a cocktail of illicit pleasure, but he’d felt dirty when he left the motel and he’d felt at peace when he was in Cindy’s arms.

For a moment, Kerrigan thought about defying Ally, but he didn’t have the courage. There were so many things she could do to hurt him; she could go to the press, to Jack Stamm, or, worst of all, she could go to Cindy. Tim felt defeated. Ally Bennett had ordered him to return to the motel and he was too weak and afraid to disobey.

“Miss Hamada?”

The woman spun in panic, her eyes wide. Kate held out her credentials.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. My name is Kate Ross. I’m an investigator working for the lawyer who’s defending Jon Dupre. Do you have a minute?”

“You’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know this man.”

“I’m talking to you here, Miss Hamada, because I don’t want to embarrass you in a more public setting.”

“I’m late. I have to go,” Hamada said as she opened the driver’s door.

“You were arrested for prostitution three months ago but the charges were dropped. Jon Dupre posted your bail and paid Oscar Baron’s legal fees. That’s a strange thing for someone you don’t know to do.”

Hamada swore and her shoulders slumped.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not interested in things you may have done. I just want to talk about some things that might be relevant to Jon’s case.”

Hamada sighed. She got into the car and motioned Kate around to the passenger side.

“Ask your questions,” Hamada said when Kate shut the door.

“Why don’t you start by telling me how you met Jon?”

Hamada laughed, but her eyes didn’t. “I was fresh off the bus from Medford, my first time in the big city, if you can believe that. About two weeks after school started, I went to one of the clubs with some girls from school. Jon made a move on me and I didn’t know what hit me. He’s this great-looking, older guy, he dresses well, and he’s ultrasmooth, not geeky like most of the freshman boys. The next thing I know I’m in this house I’d only seen in the movies, high on cocaine, and he’s fucking my brains out. I thought I’d died and gone to Hollywood.”

“How did he convince you to work for him?”

“I don’t want to get into that stuff. I’m out of the life now that he’s locked up.” Hamada paused and shook her head. “The way he killed that lawyer, that could have been me.”

“Did Jon ever hit you?”

“Yeah,” Hamada said, hanging her head.

“Why didn’t you leave him?”

She laughed harshly. “You think it’s easy to walk away from someone like Jon?”

“Jon says that you were at his house with another girl on the evening that Senator Travis was killed.”

“So?” Hamada asked defensively.

“Were you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember Jon calling anyone that night?”

“He was always on the phone. I didn’t pay any attention.”

“Did you hear him mention Senator Travis?”

“No, but we weren’t always in the same room. Besides, we left early.”

“Why is that?”

“Jon got pretty fucked up on some drug he was doing, and Ally chased us out.”

“Ally Bennett?”

“Yeah. She was like a mother hen when she was around Jon. Always trying to act important.”

“You and Bennett didn’t get along?”

“It wasn’t like that. She’s just territorial where Jon is concerned. She could be nice, too.”

“The DA may subpoena some of the women who worked for Jon to convince the jury that he has a violent nature. If you’re a witness, what can we expect from you?”

“He roughed me up once when I didn’t want to go out on a job. He scared me more than hurt me. Once I did what he wanted he was nice again.”

“Can you think of anything that would help Jon?”

“Not really. I’m sort of relieved that he’s in jail. I wanted to quit, but he made it hard. I hated it, really. Having some fat pig slobbering over me. I always took a long shower afterwards. Sometimes it didn’t help. There’d be this smell that would stay with me.”

“Was being afraid of Jon the only thing that made you stay?”

“Look, the money was great. My folks don’t have much and it really helped. But, all in all, I’m glad I have an excuse to get out.”