Hardy 11 - Suspect, The (8 page)

"He's not my client. He's my friend. He'd be your client."

"Okay," she said. "But make sure you tell him what I told you. He's got to know who he'll be dealing with."

"So you're coming down?"

"Give me a half hour."

"Gina. Thanks for coming." Jedd reached out to shake her hand. His eyes took in all of her with one approving glance. He covered their grip with his other hand and held it. "I thought under the rules we were supposed to look older as time went by."

She shook her head, smiling up at him. "Don't start. You haven't held up all that badly yourself." She tightened her grip briefly, then withdrew her hand. "Am I on time?"

"Neither the police nor the press have reappeared yet, if that's what you mean."

"That's what I mean."

"Then you're on time. Come on in."

He turned to reveal the two people who'd just gotten up off the couch behind him. "Gina Roake, Stuart Gorman. And this is Debra . . ." He stopped on a questioning note.

The beautiful young woman stepped forward. "Dryden," she said, shaking Gina's hand with a cool, firm grip. "Debra Dryden. I'm Stuart's sister-in-law. Caryn's sister." She half-turned and rested her hand protectively on Stuart’s arm, bringing him up into the introduction, her body language trumpeting at the very least a strong attraction for her dead sister’s husband. "We're so glad you could come."

"I just hope I can be of some help." Gina reached around Debra and extended her hand. "Mr. Gorman, nice to meet you."

"Stuart," he said, "not Mr. Gorman." He took her hand. "Everybody seems to agree that I need a lawyer, so thanks for coming."

Gina cocked her head. "So I gather you don't agree."

He shrugged. "As I've mentioned to all and sundry, I wasn't here when my wife died, so I think it might be a stretch to conclude that I killed her."

"It might be at that," Gina said. "But you want to be careful what you say when you talk to the police. Did Jedd tell you that just coincidentally I had lunch with Inspector Juhle today? I didn't get the impression that he thought your wife's death was a suicide. Or that you couldn't have been involved."

Stuart lifted his shoulders, then dropped them. "Well, he'll find out. I wasn't around."

"Where were you?"

"Up at my cabin. We've got a place up on Echo Lake."

Gina took a beat. "You were at Echo Lake this last weekend?"

"Yeah. Why's that such a surprise?"

"Because so was I. Tamarack Lake, actually, right beyond Echo."

"Hey, I was there too. I mean, at Tamarack. God, could that have been just last night? It seems like a year ago. You really were at Tamarack?"

She nodded. "Camping. On the western shore."

Stuart was warming to the conversation, his face showing signs of animation now through the fatigue. "I was on my favorite rock on the east side just at sundown."

"Oh my God." Gina was caught up in it herself. "I think I might have even seen you."

But Debra cut in. "Well, all this is really special, but whether or not anybody saw Stuart up there isn't really the point, is it? Unless"— she spoke to Gina—"unless you saw him leave his cabin early this morning."

Debra's tone brought Gina up short. There was more, it seemed to her, than mere protectiveness here. It struck her as jealousy, which might mean something going on between Debra and Stuart.

Debra again put her hand on Stuart’s arm, and this time he covered it with his own and left it there for a moment. "It doesn't matter where you were last night at sundown, Stuart. It matters that you didn't leave your cabin until sometime early this morning."

Gina realized that everybody else in the room knew more about the particulars of the case than she did. "What time, Stuart?" she asked.

"Two," he said.

Gina's face showed her dissatisfaction with that answer. "Two in the morning?"

"Maybe we all ought to sit down?" Jedd said. "Catch up on our facts."

Two chairs bracketed the small couch. Gina and Jedd took them as Stuart and Debra went around the coffee table and sat next to each other on the couch.

As soon as everyone was settled, Gina came forward in her chair and repeated her earlier question. "Stuart, you're telling me you left your cabin at two this morning?"

He nodded. "I couldn't sleep, so I decided to drive on down and beat the traffic."

"Did you stop anywhere for gas or anything like that?"

Another nod. "I pulled off and got gas just outside Sacramento. Used the bathroom." He suddenly shifted and brought his arm off the back of the couch, reaching into his back pocket, coming out with his wallet. "Here you go," he said after a quick search. "ARCO All-Nite in Rancho Cordova. Four fifteen a.m., this morning." He held the receipt out to Gina.

But striking quickly, Debra took it first and gave it a glance.

When she was done, she passed it over to Conley, who looked at Stuart and said, "Well, there's your alibi." Finally, he gave it to Gina.

"I told you," Stuart said. "I wasn't here."

"If they've got a security video there," Gina said, "it's even better."

Jedd Conley nodded. "There you go."

"Well," Gina added, "it's not a lock, but it's a help."

Finally, the pressure and weariness seemed to weigh in on Stuart. He came forward on the couch, frustration etched in his features. For the first time, he raised his voice. "I don't understand how I keep hearing things like 'It's not a lock.'
What's
not a lock? I didn't kill my wife. What's so hard to understand about that?"

Debra put a restraining hand on his knee and left it there. Depleted, Stuart sank back into the seat of the couch.

Gina, noting the physical connection, drew a breath to give herself a minute. If Stuart and Debra were lovers, it complicated matters considerably. She forced a conversational tone. "Stuart, she had a large bump on her head."

"I know that," he said.

"Possibly enough to have knocked her out."

"Possibly," he said, "but even Juhle said not definitely. Maybe she fell down. That happens too."

"Yes, it does." Gina wasn't going to argue. "You told Inspector Juhle that she told you Friday she was filing for divorce. Yes?" She didn't wait for a reply. "How much insurance did your wife carry?

"I think the policy was for three million on each of us."

Gina's eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch. "Three million," she said flatly. "And besides that, how much money are you worth today?"

"I don't really know. I haven't thought about that."

"All right. But in any event, your own personal net worth is many millions more than it was on Friday, isn't it?"

"I suppose so."

"You suppose so. And Inspector Juhle knows that too, doesn't he? Because you told him, am I right?"

"Maybe not all the details, but yeah. All right. Generally."

"And you also told him about how resentful you felt toward your wife? And in fact, that you'd spent all of this past weekend just thinking about how much you hated her?"

Jedd spoke up. "You didn't say that, did you, Stu?"

A shrug. "I might have. 'Hate' sounds a little strong. I don't remember saying I exactly hated her."

"I don't think Juhle was making stuff up when he was telling me about it at lunch, to say nothing of the fact that he'll have your exact words on tape anyway," Gina said.

Clearly, the fact that Juhle had secretly taped him began to sink in and shake him.

She softened her voice still further. "All I'm saying, Stuart, is that you are a big blip on Juhle's radar, and you shouldn't let the bare fact of your innocence, and even an apparently strong alibi, lull you into thinking that you couldn't find yourself in a world of hurt and charged with your wife's murder. That bump on her head is bad news. So is your newfound wealth, like it or not. And let's not even talk about the fact that you have something of a public face, which the media will eat up before you know what hit you. Even innocent, even with your alibi, you could turn into the next O.J. Simpson in a heartbeat." She sat back, nearly finished. "That's why it's better to err on the side of caution here, and not let you talk to the cops alone anymore."

"But unlike me, O.J. actually did it," Stuart said.

"No." Gina shook her head. "According to the law, which did not prove him guilty, he was innocent, even if in fact he was not. And— listen up, Stuart—just as easily, the law could find that you did kill your wife, even if in fact you didn't. You've got to understand that and take it very, very seriously. The law is not about the fact of guilt or innocence. It's about the settlement of disputes. So basically what we're trying to avoid here is having you become any part of the dispute about who killed your wife. And you're already damned close to being smack in the middle of it, which is where you don't want to be. Is that clear enough?"

Stuart said, "I think it stinks."

"I couldn't agree more. But it's reality. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to place a call to Inspector Juhle and tell him that you've retained me and that of course we're anxious to cooperate with his investigation in any way we can, but that I've instructed you not to talk to him outside of my presence from now on. You think you can live with that?"

Stuart still didn't like it, but he gradually started to nod. "It sounds like I have to."

"That's the right answer." No nonsense now. Gina got her cell phone out of her briefcase and started punching numbers.

"And now, if both of you don't mind," Gina said, "I wonder if Stuart and I could have a private discussion."

Debra's back straightened, an electric shock through her. Her eyes suddenly blazed as she whirled around on the couch. "What for?"

Gina, annoyed, threw her a quizzical look. "I'd think that would be obvious enough. We need to talk about strategy and then he can catch me up on everything I've missed."

"You haven't missed anything. Haven't we just established here between us that he didn't do anything wrong? He got home this morning and called emergency, then had the talk with your inspector, which you already seem ..."

Stuart butted in. "Deb. It's okay. That's why she's here."

"But you need ... I mean . . ." She couldn't express exactly what she meant, and tried it again. "I don't think we should have to go. We can be here to help you if you need anything."

"It's the attorney-client privilege," Jedd said. "If you talk to your lawyer and you let somebody else listen in, the privilege doesn't apply."

"But," Debra said, "this isn't a good time for him to be alone."

"He won't be alone," Gina told her. Matter-of-factly, putting on a tight smile, she added, "I'm afraid that this isn't really a request." She spoke to Stuart. "It's a condition."

Stuart nodded. "Don't worry, Deb. I'll be fine. She's on our side."

Jedd was already on his feet. "Stuart's right, Debra. The best thing we can do is let them go to work."

Worrying her lower lip, Debra seemed to be fighting it for another second, but finally she shrugged, huffed an "Okay, then," and stood up. Stuart got up with her. She put a hand on his arm one more time and told him she'd be on her cell phone if he needed her. "Have you had anything to eat? I could bring you dinner when you're done here. Or we could go out."

"Maybe," he said, "but I've got to be picking up Kym sometime. She's taking the bus up from Santa Cruz."

"Oh God, that's right. Kym. We could go down to Greyhound and get her together. Just let me know."

"I will."

Jedd Conley was standing by the open door, holding it. "Gina, if you need anything else from me, you've got all my numbers. And again, thanks for coming." He cast an expectant glance at Debra, motioned to the doorway.

Debra turned and clipped a cold "Yes, thank you" in Gina's direction.

When they'd gone, Gina sat down in her chair and let Stuart get comfortable on the couch. Meeting his eyes, she smiled. Sitting back, adopting a casual air, she crossed her legs. "So," she said, gently now, "how are you holding up?"

The question caught him off guard. He rubbed a palm along his unshaved cheek. Finally, he drew in a lungful of air and let it out. "Not too well. I keep thinking this can't be real, that I'm going to wake up and it won't have happened."

"I know. That's how it feels at first." Gina took in her own deep breath. "My fiancé was killed a few years ago. Sometimes it still doesn't feel real."

"I'm sorry," he said.

Gina shrugged. "You go on." Regrouping, not having meant to reveal even so little about herself, she said, "But you've already told Inspector Juhle that you and your wife were having troubles."

"Having troubles doesn't mean I wanted her to die."

"No, of course not. But how you felt about her may become an issue. It is an issue."

"Is that a question?"

"This is one: Did you love her?"