Most Wanted (28 page)

“I made a few phone calls, it wasn't that difficult,” Christine answered, without elaborating.

Marcus's lips parted. “
Why
would you help him?”

“Because he said he'd tell me anything I wanted to know if I helped him, and I wanted to know if he was our donor, so I helped him.” Christine glanced at Gary, who sat listening, his hands still.

Marcus's eyes flared. “He's a serial killer, he manipulated you, don't you see that?”

“No, he didn't,” Christine answered, trying to reason with him.

Gary put up a hand. “Marcus, let me handle this. We need to keep it on a legal track.”

“Why? I can talk to my own wife.”

Gary turned to her. “Christine, did Jeffcoat ask you to help him get a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ask you anything else?”

“Yes.” Christine hesitated, but whatever, it was too late now. “He asked me to pay half the retainer, which is $5,000.”

“What?” Marcus shifted toward Christine in his chair. “How could you even think of helping him?”

“I didn't.”

“But did you consider it? How could you?”

“How could you not?” Christine thought it was time to stand up for herself. “Let's assume that he's innocent and behind bars for a crime he didn't commit. That means our donor could spend the rest of his life in prison, wrongly accused. Am I just supposed to turn my back on him?”

“Yes,” Marcus answered instantly.

“Yes,” Gary added, a second later. Both men exchanged glances, then Gary turned to her. “Christine, let me explain the legal reason you can't help him. You're about to sue Homestead because of their negligence in using Jeffcoat as a donor. Even if Jeffcoat isn't technically a party to this litigation, his interest is adverse to yours. He's on their side.”

Marcus interjected, “That's what I tried to tell her.”

Gary kept speaking to Christine. “I understand why you went to see him, and you got good information. But my legal advice to you is, this far, and no further.
Capisce?
Understand me?”

“I understand you.”

“Good.” Gary leaned over the keyboard, newly urgent. “Now for my non-legal advice, Christine. I've been in more prisons than you. I've known more inmates than you. I've known more con artists, bullshit artists, and every other artist there is. Everybody in prison says they're innocent.”

Marcus interjected again, “Exactly.”

Gary ignored him, his dark eyes trained on Christine. “Even my uncle and my nephew, when they went before the parole board, they said they were innocent. Take it from me, they weren't. Now, a guy like Jeffcoat, he's in a heap of trouble. He will grasp at any straw and he can manipulate, deceive, and use you to get what he wants.”

“He asked for $2,500 for a lawyer. It's not like he asked for the moon.”

“So far. That could just be the beginning. Besides, it might not be money that he wants from you. He can want a willing ear, a sympathetic shoulder. A friend. You're a nice lady, and he's got nothing but time.”

Marcus interrupted, speaking to Gary, “She doesn't even consider that he could be lying about being our donor. Why should we even take his word for it?”

“We're not going to, Marcus,” Gary answered calmly. “When I call Homestead, I'm going to tell them what we know and how we know it, and I'm going to ask them to confirm or deny.”

“Good.” Marcus nodded, sitting back in his chair. “He's taking advantage of her, and she's falling for it.”

Christine looked over. “No, I'm not, Marcus.”

“
Silenzio.
” Gary waved them both into silence. “You two have to get on the same page. You're in this together. Go out to coffee, talk this over. You're going to get through this together, you'll see. Now, meeting's over.”

“Thank you,” Marcus said, rising, but Christine knew it was only because he finally felt validated.

Her cell phone rang again, so she pulled it out, and when the name
GRIFF
reappeared, she hit the red button.

Marcus frowned. “I don't want you to return his call, obviously.”

“Why not?” Christine stood up, getting her purse.

“We're going to leave Jeffcoat to his own devices. You got him a lawyer, and now you have to wash your hands of him.”

Christine didn't like being told what she could and couldn't do. “Griff is not going to represent him if he can't pay the retainer.”

“It can't be our problem.”

Gary rose, flashing a forced smile. “Okay,
basta
! Get out of my office, you crazy kids. Go out, have a cuppa coffee together. You can figure this out. I have faith in you.”

But Christine didn't.

 

Chapter Twenty-seven

“That was enlightening,” Marcus said, exhaling, when they were outside the tony brick building that housed Gary's offices. It was located on the business end of Main Street, which morphed into one of the most expensive shopping blocks in town, containing ritzy boutiques, interior designers, a custom wedding-cake baker, and imported English antiques so exclusive that a sign in the window read
BY APPOINTMENT ONLY
.

“Marcus, maybe he's right, we should just go sit down and talk a minute.”

“I can't, I have to go, my car's over there.” Marcus gestured to the right, where there was a small parking lot between restaurants that opened only for lunch. Dappled sun shone on the sidewalks, which were neatly swept or hosed down for the day, and the stores were just beginning to open. A pretty young salesgirl unfurled a navy-and-white striped awning over the gourmet chocolate shop, her long hair swinging each time she turned the old-school brass crank.

Christine said, “Let me walk you to your car. We can talk on the way.”

“No, where's your car? You shouldn't walk that much, and we don't need to talk any more.”

“Marcus, please. Don't you think—”

“I can't talk right now. I have to get to work.”

“Marcus, you own the firm, you can be late. You're clearly pissed.”

“Yes, I am. What are you going to do about it?” Marcus eyed her, his lips pursed.

“I can't do anything about it except help you understand it.”

“I don't need your help, and I do understand it. I disagree with you.”

“What do you disagree with?” Christine asked, pained.

“Everything you did. That you went there. That you're fine with that. Even that
he's
fine with that.” Marcus nodded in the direction of Gary's office. “He thinks he understands, but he doesn't. You think you understand, but you don't.”

“Then make me. Explain it.”

“How do you think that makes me feel, finding out that you helped Jeffcoat get a lawyer? That the lawyer is calling you? That you call him by his
nickname
? That you would even consider giving him
our
money?”

“I wasn't going to use our money, I was going to use my own, and I didn't.”

“Still,” Marcus shot back, and the young girl looked over, having unfurled the awning.

“Marcus, I'm sorry if it makes you feel bad.”

“Try humiliated.”

“It shouldn't be humiliating.”

“Well it is.” Marcus's blue eyes looked wounded and tired. “Didn't we learn in therapy that you're not supposed to tell me how I should feel? Isn't that what I learned from you and Michelle? What do you want from me?”

“Okay, well, I'm sorry you feel humiliated.” Christine felt for him, because she could see he was hurt, not angry. “I didn't mean to humiliate you.”

“Fine, but that's not the point either.”

Just then, Christine's phone began ringing in her purse. “Sorry, I'll send it to voicemail.”

Marcus stepped closer. “Check your phone. I want to see if it's that lawyer.”

“Fine.” Christine bristled, but she slid her phone from her purse. They looked down at her phone screen, which read:
GRIFF
.

Marcus pursed his lips. “Man, he wants his money. Are you going to help pay for his defense?”

“I don't know.” Christine's hands fumbled as she hit the button to decline the call.

“You better not give him a cent, Christine. Not one cent.” Marcus's tone turned bossy, and Christine looked up sharply.

“Don't speak to me that way.”

“What way, like a good husband? I'm trying to protect you.”

“I'll spend my money the way I see fit, and I'll take the calls I want to. I'll decide about the retainer, but it's a bigger issue than that.” Christine tried to think of a way to reach him. “We can't ignore reality. We used a donor, we agreed to. We know his name now. He exists, and we can't pretend he doesn't.”

Marcus stepped away, waving her off. “I have to go to work. Everything blew up this weekend and I have to deal with it.”

“Then we can talk about it tonight?”

“No, we're going out to dinner with Dad and Stephanie, remember? It's his birthday.”

“Oh, right.” Christine had forgotten or maybe blocked it. An evening with her in-laws would be the perfect end to a perfect day.

“I got him that putter, but if you could pick up a card, that would be great. You have the time, right? I have to go, bye.” Marcus walked away without another word.

“Good-bye,” Christine called after him. She watched him go, then realized her car was in the opposite direction. She turned around and walked the other way, trying not to see it as symbolic.

 

Chapter Twenty-eight

Christine sat in her car in the parking lot, letting the air-conditioning blow on her face. She took a sip of an overpriced iced tea she'd bought on the way. She still had another half-hour on the meter and she was eyeing the phone in her hand. Griff had called the first time at nine forty-five, so she assumed that it was right after he'd met with Zachary. She would have to make a decision about the retainer, now.

Christine mulled it over. After what Gary had said, she wasn't sure she should contribute, but she did want to call Griff back, even though Marcus didn't want her to. Griff was only following up on something she'd asked him to do, and she hated to drop out of the picture without any explanation, even a fake one. She took another sip of tea, wondering if she should call Lauren to see what she thought. They hadn't talked much on the way home since Christine had fallen asleep after her crying jag. She scrolled to
FAVORITES
and pressed Lauren's cute profile picture. Any reason was a good reason to call your best friend in the world.

“Hey, honey!” Lauren said, picking up after the first ring. “I was just about to call you. How are you?”

“I've been better. Just got out of Gary's.”

“Ruh roh. Did you get yelled at? And what happened last night? Tell me fast, I'm picking up Seth at the orthodontist.”

“The headline is I didn't get yelled at, but they don't want me to call Griff and pay any retainer. Griff called.”

“What did he say?”

“I couldn't get it. Marcus was right there, and we had a fight.”

“Oh no.” Lauren groaned.

“Oh yes.” Christine sighed.

“Christine, I don't think you should help with the retainer. Paying, even lending him money, is crossing some line I don't want you to cross.”

“I get that, but what about calling Griff back? Can't I call and tell him that? The lawyer said not to and so did Marcus, but they just don't want me to get involved. I felt majorly bossed around.”

“Aw.” Lauren clucked. “They're not the boss of you. So what, you want to call Griff?”

“Yes.”

“Then call him, but make sure it's the last time.” Lauren paused. “I have to tell you, Zachary scared me yesterday with all that talk about how you cut into a heart. That was creepy, you have to admit. I started to wonder if he was guilty.”

“I know, but then again, it shows he's not the killer, or he wouldn't even go there.”

“So are you completely sold?”

“No, but I'm inclined to think he's innocent, that's why I feel so crappy about washing my hands of him. Gary gets it, but Marcus doesn't. Last night is a story you don't have time for.”

“Okay. Call me later, I want to hear.”

“After dinner with my in-laws.”

“Big Frederik and his trophy wife? Lucky you.”

“You got that right. Bye, love you.”

“Love you, too.” Lauren hung up, and Christine pressed
END
. She took another sip of tea, scrolled to recent calls, and pressed Griff's number. It rang twice, then he picked up.

“Griff.”

“Yes, hi. It's Christine. Did you get to see Zachary this morning?”

“Yes. I'm going to represent him, if he can get the retainer.”

“Griff, about that.” Christine hesitated. “I don't know if I can give him half of it.”

“His girlfriend's lending him the other half.”

“Really?” Christine felt confused. “I thought they broke up and—”

“Gah,” Griff growled, impatient. “I don't care. I didn't call you to talk about romance. I called about that woman you told me about. The neighbor who told you Robinbrecht used to have men up all the time. Did she see anything that night?”

“I got the idea that she did, but she wouldn't say.”

“What was her name again?”

“Linda Kent. She lives around the block from Warwick Street, but I don't know her house number.”

“Then it is the same one. The house number is 505. I went over there. She's dead.”

“What?”
Christine asked, shocked.

“It was an accident.”

“How? What kind of accident?”