Motion to Dismiss (19 page)

"You asked?"

"I'm sure I wasn't the first. Anyway, she hasn't seen Xavier in a couple of months. Hasn't seen much of her daughter either, but that's another story. According to Marsha Bryant, Xavier isn't the most reliable sort of guy. In fact, I got the impression that on a scale of one to ten, he'd be down in the decimal range. Something like .02."

"She's not likely to be his staunchest defender."

"True." Hal rubbed the back of his neck. "I left my number, and yours as well. She said she'd pass them on to her daughter when she saw her."

"Then the daughter's not with Xavier?"

"She's at some private youth camp. The mother had her locked up for being incorrigible."

When Hal left, I went back to sorting the papers on my desk. The record of telephone calls was on top of one of the stacks I'd made. I picked it up and examined it again. Pressing my fingers to my temples, I focused on the day of her death. Four calls. Grady Barrett, Sheila Barlow, Judith Powers, and the mother of one of Adrianna's friends. I could imagine what Madelaine Rivera would do with that. The dutiful mother and loving sister on the last afternoon of her life. It made a heartrending picture.

Out of curiosity, I picked up the receiver and punched the number listed in the phone log as Grady's private line at ComTech. If he hadn't received Deirdre's call, maybe it was because the police had misidentified the number.

A male voice picked up after two rings, catching me off guard.

"Who's calling?" he asked.

"Marc?" I thought I recognized his voice, but in my amazement at having the phone answered, I wasn't sure. "It's me, Kali."

"Hey, surprise. I was just thinking about you."

"You were?"

A soft chuckle. "I think about you a lot lately. How'd you know to try this number?"

"I didn't. I mean, I didn't know you'd answer. I was going through the calls Deirdre Nichols made the day she was killed. We got a sizable package of discovery material from the D.A.'s office today, including phone records."

"Any bombshells?"

"Not that I've seen so far. How's the damage control going at ComTech?"

He gave a snort of disgust. "The offering is on hold. Technically anyway. In truth, it's dead. The investors are nervous, the employees are walking on eggshells, and the business press is having a field day. But the company hasn't managed to self-destruct yet, so that's something."

"I'm heading out to Santa Rita in a bit to see Grady. You want to come along?"

He hesitated, then said, "Sorry. I'd love your company, but I've got too much to do here. Tell Grady we're working to keep it together. I'll bring him up-to-date as soon as I can."

I heard a voice in the background. Marc turned away from the phone and said, "Tell him to hold, I'll be there in a sec." Then he was back to me. "You going to be at the office later?"

"Probably."

"I'll be by about six. I'll help you go through the stuff from the D.A. Maybe we can get takeout and make an evening of it."

"Wow, the good life." The funny thing was, I found myself looking forward to it.

The drive to the county jail at Santa Rita, where Grady had been moved following his arraignment, took me past mile upon mile of business parks and housing developments -- all of which had sprung up in what ten years ago had been open pasture. Whole towns created anew, almost overnight.

The jail, once located in the hinterlands of the county, now sat on prime real estate. Not that it helped the prisoners any.

The rain had stopped but the sky was still gray and dark, casting the afternoon in a somber light. Water puddled in the parking lot, and I stepped carefully to avoid getting my feet soaked.

I checked in, then made my way down the long, airless corridor through a succession of double doors. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. But I found the journey just as unnerving as I had on previous occasions.

At each junction, I slowed as I waited for the automatic doors to swing open, then felt my stomach clench as they shut tight behind me. The metallic click of the lock sliding into place echoed in my ears. Despite the cameras that were mounted overhead, monitoring my progress, I felt utterly alone, afraid that I'd never find my way out again. It was frightening to be so much at the mercy of a faceless monolith.

Finally, I reached the interview room, then waited while the guard brought Grady through the door on the other side of the glass partition. The room was warm, almost steamy, and smelled of an unpleasantly heavy aftershave, but I imagined the odors on Grady's side were far worse.

Grady entered with his eyes lowered and took a seat. His face showed signs of fatigue, and his shoulders slumped forward like an old man's. The orange jump suit made him appear both ridiculous and pathetic. I was sorry I hadn't thought to ask for a contact room where I might at least have been able to offer the assurance of a touch.

I picked up the telephone, which was our sole means of communication. It was an uncomfortable way to relate to another human being, especially one who appeared so obviously in need of solace.

"You managing okay?" I asked.

"As well as can be expected." Despite his shrunken appearance, Grady's voice was strong.

I relayed Marc's message about ComTech. Grady nodded noncommittally, but I noticed his grip on the phone intensified.

"How much longer until the hearing?" he asked.

"It's set for a week from Wednesday."

"Good."

I didn't want to mislead him. "That's only one step in a long process though. Nothing is going to be resolved until trial."

Grady sat up straighter, shook his head. When he spoke, his voice had the ring of authority. "I can't wait that long. I need this cleared up now."

What he needed was a reality check. "I'm afraid the judicial system isn't overly concerned with a defendant's
needs
."

He shot me a quick look of surprise. "It is when the case is pure crap. That's what the preliminary hearing is about, isn't it? To throw out the cases that should never have been brought to begin with."

"In theory. But practically speaking it's rare -- "

"I don't give a shit about the way things usually go." Grady's voice was intense. "I want this settled next week at the hearing."

"You don't understand!"

He cut me off again. "It's
you
who doesn't understand. I want you to sock it to them hard, you got that? Show the prosecution their case stinks."

The sympathy I'd been feeling moments earlier was clouded by rising irritation. "That's not the best way to handle it."

"Says who?"

"Me."

His mouth was tight. "I'm paying the bills here."

"But I'm the attorney." I took a breath and tried to explain. "The more we give them at the prelim, the easier it will be for the D.A. to put together a winning case at trial. They'll be able to see how we're thinking, and what our line of defense will be. We don't want to show our hand before we have to."

Grady leaned forward so that his face was almost touching the glass. His eyes were narrowed and his forehead shone with a film of perspiration. "I can't afford to wait," he said brusquely.

"You can't afford to jeopardize your best shot at a winning defense either."

"That's for me to decide."

"You hired me to give you the best defense I can."

He shook his head. "With all due respect, there's no way in hell you know what's best for me."

"But I do know the way the system works."

"I don't give a fuck about the system. Nina needs me. I've got to get out of here."

Nina. I reminded myself that I was doing this for her. The thought helped quell my rising irritation. "I won't deny that it would be easier on her if none of this had happened, but Nina is a strong woman. She'll manage."

"She's having my baby, dammit. I want to be there for the birth of my son. And think about Emily. How strong is she? How well will she manage?"

"Don't you think it's better that they get along without you for a year, even a rough year, than for decades?"

Grady licked his lips. He rocked back in his chair and locked his arms across his chest. "The company needs me as well. If I don't get this turned around soon, the press will destroy me. I won't let that happen."

"We're talking fifteen to twenty-five years, Grady. Maybe life. Your freedom is at stake here, not just the damn company."

He bent forward again, clasping his hands between his knees. "You think I don't realize that?"

I rubbed my forehead. "Look, I know you're used to calling the shots. But this isn't something you can make go away just because it's a nuisance in your schedule."

"You're not listening. If the company goes down the tubes, I'm on the street. Everything I own is in the business. I'm leveraged to the hilt." His voice thickened. "Think about Nina. She's already got the pregnancy and cancer to contend with. You want to add poverty to the list?"

In my view, poverty with a loving husband at your side was preferable to poverty with a husband in prison, which seemed to be something Grady was overlooking.

"Their case can't be very strong," Grady urged. "Mostly it's that little girl's story about seeing a convertible parked in front of the house."

"That's damaging, Grady."

He waved a hand as if dismissing the thought. "You know how kids get confused. You ought to be able to tear her testimony to pieces."

"You're forgetting the size-ten shoe print at the side of the house, the phone call to your office, your clothes that are conveniently missing." I took a breath, reminded myself that Grady was my client, not my adversary. "And now there's a new development."

"What is it?" An edge of wariness had crept into Grady's tone.

"I spoke with Deirdre Nichols' sister yesterday. She apparently heard the message you left on Deirdre's machine."

A vein in Grady's temple throbbed and his gaze flattened, but his expression remained neutral. "Which message was that?"

"The one where you threatened her."

The look in his eyes was suddenly charged. "I
what?
"

"Threaten. As in drop the case or 'you'll live to regret it but not for long.'"

"She says I left
that
message?"

"You didn't?"

Grady shook his head in disbelief. "You think I'd be stupid enough to put something like that on tape?"

Nothing about being stupid enough to make a threat in the first place, I noticed.

"Does she have the tape?"

I shook my head. "Says she doesn't anyway."

"There you go. The woman has obviously made up her mind that I'm guilty. She'll say anything to see me put away."

"You think she's lying?"

"Damn right. I
know
she's lying. Or maybe it was someone else who left the message. Ever think of that?"

I wondered, not for the first time, why righteous indignation and outright falsehood often sound so much alike. I wondered which I was hearing in Grady's voice.

"Could be a lot of things," Grady added. "Like I said, she probably has it in for me."

"Actually," I told him, "she offered to speak out for leniency if you'd plead to a lesser charge. She's worried about the effects of a trial on Adrianna and Emily."

Grady shook his head emphatically. "Not a chance. No way am I going to end up in prison for something I didn't do."

"That's more or less what I told her. But still, it's an option you ought to consider. Going to trial is a gamble. You may end up with your freedom, but you could just as easily end up behind bars."

"But I didn't kill anyone." His voice arced.

"At this point, whether you did or not isn't the issue. The issue is whether the jury
believes
you did."

"That's outrageous."

"It's also reality."

Grady's shoulders sagged, and for the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. "God knows I've done some stupid things in my life," he said. "And I admit that I messed up royally by sleeping with Deirdre. It happened before I even thought about it. But I love Nina. I love her with all my heart, and I did
not
kill Deirdre Nichols. I swear to you, I didn't." His gaze met mine. His voice was barely audible. "You do believe me, don't you?"

I looked through the glass at Grady, a man I'd never really warmed to. A man who at times made me uncomfortable. Yet there was something genuine in his expression at that moment. Though I hadn't expected to, I found myself nodding.

"Yes, I believe you. And so does Nina."

Grady closed his eyes. "Thank you," he said.

On the way back to the office, I stopped off at Stoneridge Mall, which was, aptly, only a stone's throw from the freeway. It wasn't so much that I was in the mood to shop, but I wasn't eager to return to the stacks of paper waiting on my desk either. More than anything, though, I simply wanted to immerse myself in the ordinary, to wash away the gloom of jail that clung to my skin like an invisible web.

I wandered the mall, bought some purple eyeliner I didn't need, and a pair of green suede pumps I needed even less. As I was leaving, I relinquished all claim to sanity and bought a Mrs. Field's oatmeal and raisin cookie to nibble on the way home. Two hundred calories, nine grams of fat -- and worth every one of them, I thought, until I remembered that Deirdre had been making a similar type of cookie the night she was killed. That simple reminder of life caught short added to the gloom.

By the time I arrived back at the office, Rose had left for the day. I made myself a cup of coffee, went through my messages and returned a few phone calls, then got down to work. It was almost dark outside, and the rain had begun again.

Marc showed up a little before seven, lugging a pizza box and six-pack of beer along with his briefcase. Three flights of stairs and he wasn't even breathing hard.

He shut the outer door with his foot. "No anchovies, right?"

"Right."

His grin brought a twinkle to his eye. "All these years and I still remember." He set the box down on my desk. "Half with, half without."

Just like countless evenings we'd spent together during law school. Memories rolled over me like a wave and caught me by surprise. I felt an unexpected flutter in my chest.