Eyeshot (18 page)

She needed to know why the first wife had to go.

33

The office was a mess. Boxes of files, loose rolls of faxes, and a coating of multicolored strings of confetti.

They were drinking champagne out of little plastic champagne glasses. Mia edged close to Collie, who edged close to Sonora. Collie took Mia's hand, and Sonora noticed that the second Mrs. Gage Caplan was trembling.

It could have been a scene from a movie. A young woman, blazer off, in a tight black skirt and tuxedo-style white shirt, perched on the edge of a desk, legs swinging, medium high heels slipping off one slender ankle. She wore a gold ankle bracelet. Sonora noticed Collie studying it.

Collie's ankles were very likely thick and swollen in this heat and at this stage of her pregnancy.

Gage had his sleeves rolled up precisely two turns, exactly right for the sexy man about town. He looked good. He felt good. Physically large, dominating the room with presence and personality, a come-and-get-me-and-I'll-eat-you smile on his face. He had a nice tan.

Sonora wondered how he managed the tan with all the hours he had to have been putting in.

Collie had changed out of the shorts, making the unfortunate choice of a maternity ensemble that was just cause to have the designer shot or sentenced to a pregnancy of his or her own. It was a two-piece affair, in palest pink—tiny puff sleeves and an overblouse draping a pleated skirt with a stretch panel in front.

Sonora had seen better looking lampshades.

The overblouse tied in the back, empire style, with a big bow that would have been appropriate for Mia. It had large pockets, and baby blocks sporting the ABCs had been stitched on each side.

Sonora had always wondered why you could never find maternity clothes in shiny black leather.

“Here they are!” Caplan's voice was a boom of pleasure. Collie blushed. “Come on in, we don't pay rent on the hallway.”

A smatter of laughter, cool amusement from the girl in the ankle bracelet.

“Come on, Mia. Give Daddy a hug and tell him you're proud, then I'll get you your first glass of champagne.” Caplan poured a tablespoon of liquid into a glass, handed it to his little girl. He squeezed her chin, and she smiled up at him.

“I knew you'd win, Daddy.”

There was a wave of approval and Caplan picked Mia up and set her on the desk next to the girl with the ankle bracelet.

The room went tense. Sonora looked up, watchful. For a moment everyone seemed to hold their breath, looking from Collie to Ankle Bracelet. Sonora knew, then, that Caplan and Ankle Bracelet were deep in an affair, one of those office things that everyone knows about except the wife.

And while Collie did not know, she sensed something. She looked like a deer in a headlight, awkward and large in her pink puffed sleeves amidst the leather briefcase set. Her lower lip trembled.

Caplan turned, smiled at her with such tenderness that Sonora doubted what she had just seen. “My beautiful wife.”

Too precious by half, Sonora thought. Rude to ask for a barf bag?

A lesser man could not have carried it off, but Caplan managed. Sonora looked around, decided she was the only one there feeling nauseous.

Formidable, she thought.

“Detective.” Caplan handed Sonora a glass. He turned to Collie. “I know, I know, you're pregnant. We have to be careful of the
bay-bee.
Help me celebrate with
just
a taste.” He pushed a glass into her hand. She pulled her hand away but he reached for it and made sure she had the glass secure in her fingers before he let her go. She smiled at him.

Quit smiling, Sonora thought.

Collie did not drink.

“It's a major victory, you know.” He spoke softly. If Sonora had not been standing so close she'd never have heard him. Someone was telling a joke. “Celebrate with me, Collie girl. It's our big day.”

“
Mr.
Caplan.” Bea Wallace swooped over to Collie and relieved her of the glass. She smiled at Collie. “Men.” Looked over at Caplan. “Sometimes I think you have the brains of a gerbil.”

It took him aback. Sonora hoped, for Bea Wallace's sake, that she was a state employee and impossible to fire.

Caplan gave them a smile. “
Don't
drink then. This wife of mine has a mind of her own.” He looked at Sonora. “Between the two of them, they'll keep me from getting a swelled head.”

“Too late.” Sonora said it softly enough that she did not think anyone heard. But Bea Wallace cracked a reluctant smile, and Caplan gave her a look.

“Pardon?”

“I said it's late. Maybe we should talk some other time. After your celebration.”

“No, no. Come on in my office a minute.” He raised his glass at the room. “Party on without me.” No one paid any attention except Mia, watching Daddy-the-Hero. “The detective and I have business. I'll be—”

“Hell, Gage, don't you ever get a break?”

He stiffened. He did not like anyone saying hell in front of his little girl, Sonora guessed. He waved a hand, turned to Collie. “Starting tomorrow, I'm taking some time off.” He grinned at Mia. “How'd you like to go down to London and see Gramma?” He looked at Collie. “You and me can take the canoe out. We haven't done that in ages.”

Sonora saw Collie's hesitation, the shadow in her eyes.

“It'll be hot,” Collie said.

Gage tucked his chin to his chest. “Sorry, hon. I was just wanting a break.”

“Oh no, we can go. I can wear shorts, we can swim. It'll be fun.”

“You sure?”

“Sure.”

He squeezed Collie's shoulder. “There
is
more to life than eating and sleeping, I promise.” He waved Sonora into his office.

She noted Collie's crestfallen droop and Bea Wallace's frown. She studied the fold of flesh that lapped over the starched back collar of his shirt.

I
will
get you, she thought.

34

Sonora was disappointed when Caplan closed the door and she had a chance to look around his office. She had expected to dislike him for keeping it neat and orderly, in spite of the pressures and long hours he'd been working to put Drury away.

But the computer was still up and humming. One file cabinet was open.

Caplan moved a stack of files and videotapes off a chair. “Why don't you take the one behind my desk? You might be more comfortable, everything else is in such a mess. Just let me do one thing—”

Caplan scooted behind his desk—box of files under one meaty arm—and touched the keyboard of his computer.

The sounds of a crowd going wild filled the room, with the loud announcement that
Elvis has left the building.

Caplan grinned. “Better than a beep.”

“This chair's fine,” Sonora said, taking the one he'd cleared. She rested one foot on the edge of a box of papers. Waited for him to get comfortable in his chair. His intercom buzzed. Bea Wallace sounded harassed.

“WSTR, on line three. You want to take it?”

“Tell Sly I'll be issuing a statement at four-thirty, as planned.” Caplan paused. “But tell him I'll beep him and try to talk to him personally first, if I get a chance. Oh, and if the
Inquirer
calls, put 'em through.”

Caplan looked up at Sonora, leaned back in his chair. “I'm all yours.”

“Congratulations on the verdict. I honestly didn't think you had a prayer.”

“Me neither.”

“And you still prosecuted? You're either honest, ethical, and not too bright, or a big-time gambler.”

He smiled at her, twisting gently from side to side in the well-padded leather chair. His eyes were very blue.

“Enjoying yourself?” Sonora asked.

“A prime moment,” Caplan said.

Mistress and wife toasting his success in the next room, television and newspapers at four-thirty to announce the big victory in court. A man riding so high might well believe he could get away with murder twice.

“So. Detective Blair. No blacks or Indians in homicide these days?”

Sonora tilted her head to one side. “Both, I think. So?”

“So what did you do? Who'd you piss off? Must have been that thing last year when you brought in that serial killer—what did you guys call her? Flash?” He stuck his tongue in his right cheek, making it puff out. “Heard you slept with a witness, or some such thing. I guess somebody in this man's army is out to get you, Detective.”

“I don't follow you.”

“Smart girl like you? Come on. Here you are on my doorstep again. Questions, concerns, problems.” He waved a hand. “You suspect me of some kind of involvement in this Julia Winchell thing, God knows what or why. Cards on the table, Madam Detective? I'm a popular guy, I got your clout, I got your pull. I'm the hot potato, so I'm just curious how I managed to land in your lap. You got my sympathy, though, you surely do.”

“That's kind of you,” Sonora said mildly. “Maybe we're in the same boat. You went up against the football alumni, and I'm going up against a popular district attorney. But hey. Worked for you, didn't it? You're my hero, I guess.”

“What is it you want, Detective?”

“Your alibi, Counselor.”

“My alibi for what?”

“Tuesday, July eighteenth, from, say, eleven-thirty
A.M
. till eleven
P.M
.”

“Pretty broad time spread you got there, podna.”

Sonora opened her notebook. Looked up innocently. “You have a problem answering the question?”

Caplan shook his head, cheeks drawn, bottom lip pursed. “No. Let me think a minute.” He closed his eyes. “Working, I think. Pretty much all I have been doing, these last few weeks. But no, I remember that Tuesday because Collie and Mia went up to Cleveland to go fishing with Ralph. Ralph is her dad.” He said the name like it was funny.

“They catch anything?”

“Collie? Doubt it. Dad probably did. I think Mia said she got something. Pretty excited about it, as I recall.”

“So you went home about what time?”

“Two-thirty. I'd left my laptop at the house, and I had a file I wanted on it. And I hadn't had lunch. I knew Collie and Mia were in Cleveland with old Ralph, so the house would be quiet. I went home, put on some sweatpants, made myself a sandwich, and worked till late.”

“How late?”

“Some time after eleven. I stopped and watched the news, drank a brewski. Claire Pritchard was on with the stock market report, so it was already part way over. Must have been between eleven and eleven-thirty.”

“Anybody come to the door?”

He shook his head. “If they did, I didn't know it. Never heard the doorbell, but sometimes I don't hear it when I'm working at home.”

“Anything else?”

He paused. “A confession.”

Sonora raised an eyebrow, wary of his tone.

“I made myself
two
sandwiches. And ate a box of glazed Krispy Kreme doughnuts.” He slapped his gut. “As you can see, I'll eat anything. Oh, look, she's trying not to laugh. Don't hold it in, Detective, could be harmful to your health.” He was smiling, but his eyes looked sad. “This brings back memories, Detective.”

“Of what? Micah's murder?”

“I was under suspicion then, too.”

“And now?”

He shrugged. “I survived that, I can survive anything.”

That Sonora might believe. “Anybody call while you were there, at home?”

“Several people. I didn't pick up. Bea knew where I was, but nobody else did. I was hiding out, trying to get some work done. You don't believe me.”

“I think what we've got here pretty much counts as no alibi.”

“Pretty much.” He picked a pencil up off his desk, balanced it in the groove between his nose and upper lip. “Tell me, you think I ought to grow a mustache?”

“That's of absolutely no interest to me.”

“What is of interest, then?”

“What did Julia Winchell look like?”

“Never saw her.”

“Want to see a picture?”

“No.”

“You kill her?”

“No.”

“You cut her up?”

“God, no. Can't even carve meat.”

“If you did cut her up, what tool would you use?”

He looked at her. Perturbed, finally.

“You own a hacksaw, Mr. Caplan?”

He hesitated.

“Let me help you on this one. Your wife says you own a hacksaw.” She hadn't, but Caplan didn't know that.

“I guess I might have one out in the garage somewhere. So?”

Sonora leaned back in her chair, stretched out her legs. “Most of the men I know have a pretty accurate mental inventory of what tools they have, in the garage or anywhere else.”

Caplan grinned. “I'm not most men. I'm pretty secure about my tools, so I don't spend a lot of time taking inventory. You impressed?”

“Believe me when I tell you that I'm not. Are you willing to submit blood and hair samples, Mr. Caplan?”

“For what possible reason?”

“How about a look in your garage? Turn over that hacksaw?”

“Play by the rules, Detective, I have faith in our system of justice. Get a court order and I'll cooperate.”

Sonora stood up. “Enjoy your victory, Mr. Caplan. We'll talk again soon.”

“I'm sure we will.”

Sonora headed for the door.

“Detective. I was wondering—”

She paused, hand on the doorknob.

“What
does
it take to impress you?”

She studied him a minute, caught sight of the file drawer that was hanging open. She indulged herself and crossed the room, snapped it shut. Headed back to the door, looked at him over her shoulder.

“I guess if you got away with murder twice, that would impress me.”

35

Sonora walked into the women's bathroom in homicide and headed for the sink. She was hot and sweaty and wanted to wash her face. She should not have made that last comment to Caplan. Never issue a challenge to a stone-cold killer; she had learned that the hard way.