Motion to Dismiss (23 page)

I nodded. "It's just that I didn't know he was at the party that night." Since he spent a good deal of time at ComTech, it wasn't surprising that he'd have been included.

"He wasn't there for long. But Deirdre had her eye on him."

That I found more surprising. But maybe it explained how he'd wound up with a pen from Rapunzel. "They talked?" I asked.

Judith shook her head. "He left before she managed that. I got the impression she knew him."

"Knew him how?"

"I don't know. Maybe she'd just seen him before."

An enormous orange cat meandered through the patio doors and leapt up on the sofa next to Judith. "Hello, Alley," she said, stroking his fur. "No food today, I'm afraid. Only soda." She turned to me. "Alley's a stray we've kind of adopted here at ComTech."

"Looks like he eats well." He was, in fact, one of the largest cats I'd seen.

"He eats a lot anyway. None of it's probably very good for him."

I turned the conversation back to the reason for my visit. "Do you think Deirdre was telling the truth about the rape?" I asked.

"I don't know. Honestly. And I guess I don't really
want
to know either."

"How about the murder charge against Grady Barrett?"

Her green eyes darkened. "I suppose anything is possible."

It wasn't the ringing endorsement of innocence I'd been hoping for. "How do you get along with Grady?" I asked.

"I don't have much to do with him directly, but he's always been nice to me. Most people here feel the same way. We're all kind of in a state of shock right now."

"You'd say he's a decent man to work for?"

She nodded. "He's fair and honest and willing to listen. That's true whether you're going to see him about a complaint or some far-out new idea."

But he was still used to calling the shots, I reminded myself. And Deirdre Nichols's rape charge had changed that.

Setting my soda on the Formica tabletop, I asked, "How long had you known Deirdre?"

"A little over a year. We met in exercise class. We're actually quite different, but we got along well and we enjoyed a lot of the same things."

"Like what?"

Judith smiled, looking slightly abashed. "Parties, meeting new people." She stroked the top of Alley's rust-colored head. "But I'm serious about my job too, and about building a career. Deirdre didn't like to think too far beyond the moment, and she had no sense of money at all. She went through it like it was tissue."

The same thing Sheila had said. "What did she spend it on?"

"You name it. Clothes, restaurants, doodads. Her credit cards were always maxed out." Judith shook her head in disbelief. "I'm careful with money, always looking for a bargain. I put as much as the law allows in my 401(k). I deposit a regular amount into savings each month as well. But some people don't have that kind of control."

"Maybe they don't have the money to do that either."

She ran a finger along the seam of her soda can. "Deirdre's salary wasn't much, but she could have found a better job. Or gone back to school to get her degree. Her sister offered to help out."

"Why didn't she?"

Judith shrugged. "Deirdre wasn't one to look at the big picture. Although you'd think she'd have learned after being burned once before."

Alley stretched, then left Judith's side and joined me. I shifted position to make room for him, and he curled up with his back against my legs. "What do you mean about being burned once before?"

"Deirdre had to declare bankruptcy after her husband died."

I hadn't known that.

"Although she never told me so directly, I got the feeling that's maybe why he killed himself. Because of all the debts."

I hadn't known this either. "Her husband committed suicide?"

"Shot himself. Deirdre didn't talk about it a lot. I don't blame her. It must be a pretty painful memory to carry around all the time."

It was. I knew that from personal experience. "Do you think Deirdre was close to bankruptcy again?"

"I couldn't say for sure. It seemed she usually managed to bail herself out just when things were looking really bad. Money couldn't have been too tight, though, because she was planning a trip to Florida."

"When?"

"I don't know. Soon. She happened to mention it in passing a few days before she died."

"Why Florida? Was she going alone?"

Judith held up a hand to stop the questions. "I don't know any more than that. But I think she was going to take Adrianna, because she mentioned Disney World."

A trip to Florida. It wasn't such an odd thing in itself, but a bit surprising for someone who had trouble making ends meet.

I ran a hand along the cat's smooth fur. "Was there anything else unusual that came up the last few times the two of you talked? Disputes at work, or with neighbors, maybe? Any new men she'd been seeing?"

"Nothing that I can recall. The police asked me the same question."

That was too bad. It would make it harder to argue that the police had latched on to Grady without conducting a real investigation.

Judith leaned back, held her soda with both hands. "I wish I knew something that could help Grady. In my heart, I can't believe he really killed Deirdre. But I don't know who else might have either."

"How about Tony Rodale? Do you know him?"

"The guy Deirdre was seeing? I never met him, but I heard her talk about him. He's apparently one of those men who's into control -- big time. He wanted her to be what he wanted her to be. Didn't like it when she showed any signs of being her own person at all."

"That didn't bother her?"

Judith laughed. "Oh, it bothered her all right. That's why she talked about him so much. But she liked the things he could give her too. He travels a lot, and he'd take her along. Seems like he was always buying her stuff. Deirdre was pulling back though. She'd just about decided to dump him. Said the fun wasn't worth the price."

Interesting, that wasn't the story Tony Rodale had told us. "Getting ready to dump him, or had dumped him?" I asked.

"She never said she'd done it." Judith paused. "But come to think of it, she did say she was ready to celebrate her independence."

"When was that?"

"The night we talked. That's why we were going out for drinks next day. To celebrate."

"She didn't elaborate?"

"I asked, but she said she'd tell me about it when we met."

Had Deirdre recently broken off with Tony? And if so, had it angered him enough that he killed her? Maybe Hal was onto something after all.

"Do you always walk this fast?" Hal grumbled.

We'd barely begun our trek around Lake Merritt and already he was winded.

"You were the one who suggested a walk," I told him.

"I should have specified a
leisurely walk
."

From a distance, Lake Merritt glistens like a jewel in the center of Oakland. A diamond in the midst of steel and concrete. Up close, the lake looks, and smells, a lot less pristine. Nonetheless, its three-mile perimeter and the surrounding parklands are a favorite with everyone from joggers to Rollerbladers.

I slowed my pace. "If you'd give up cigarettes and junk food, you'd be able to keep up."

"No offense, Kali, but I
prefer
leisurely walks. If God meant us to scamper everywhere, he'd have given us four legs."

I laughed. "On this point, intelligent people can disagree." I didn't bother to tell him that with the cuts on my back and legs still smarting, I'd already slowed from my usual pace. "Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?"

"The Carsons." He paused, breathing heavily. "You know, the people Deirdre Nichols was house-sitting for."

Each word came as a separate puff. When I stopped to let him catch his breath, we were almost mowed down by two women runners pushing baby strollers.

Hal glared at them. "What is it with women these days? I thought this was a park, not a track."

"Fitness," I told him, giving him a gentle nudge in the shoulder. "A word that's not part of your vocabulary." When I thought Hal had rested long enough to speak in more than one-word increments, I asked about the Carsons.

"They'd been having some problems with a guy by the name of Eric Simpson," Hal said. "He was apparently harassing them. They got a restraining order against him about eighteen months ago. I guess maybe it didn't do much good, because last June they just up and left their home in New Hampshire."

"They moved?"

"Moved, but without the usual forwarding address and such. Left their furniture and car. And their phone number here in the Bay Area is unlisted."

"I remember one of their neighbors telling me they weren't registered to vote."

Hal nodded. "I believe it. They've kept a low profile. On purpose, I suspect. That may explain why they've taken off without a word to anyone. Maybe Simpson found out where they were living."

We started to walk again, at a decidedly slower pace. "Do you know anything about this guy? Why was he harassing them?"

"The Carsons were in an auto accident a few years back in which Simpson's wife was killed. According to the report, it wasn't their fault. But Simpson apparently blames them. He's kind of gone off the deep end about it."

"And you think he traced them here?"

"It's a possibility." Hal paused. "Makes me wonder if Mrs. Carson looks anything like Deirdre Nichols. He might have gotten the two of them confused."

"But he'd have to have been standing right next to her to push her over the railing. Wouldn't he have known it wasn't Mrs. Carson?"

"It's just a theory. According to a neighbor I talked with, the two women had a similar build."

"Why would Deirdre have let him in?"

Hal shrugged. "He could have said he was with the telephone company or something. Or maybe it wasn't a case of mistaken identity. Maybe the guy simply lost it. Deirdre couldn't tell him where the Carsons were, and he thought she was holding out."

As Hal had said, it was just a theory. A fairly far-out one at that. But I felt a flicker of excitement all the same. Sometimes a theory was all you needed. Plant the seeds of doubt in the jurors' minds and let their imagination do the rest.

"Where was Simpson last seen? How do we get a line on this guy?"

"Calm down. I'm working on it. He's not in New Hampshire anymore, left there about four months ago. No one seems to know where he is at the moment."

"Do we know what he looks like? We could ask the Carsons' neighbors, see if anyone has noticed him around."

"I thought of that. I don't have a picture yet, but according to his driver's license, he's six foot two, two hundred and ten pounds."

"Big guy."

"And probably strong. He works construction."

"You'll keep on top of this?" I asked. I could hear the eagerness in my voice.

"You bet." Despite the slowed pace, Hal was dragging. "Can we sit for a minute?" he asked. "My knee is killing me."

"You've got a bad knee?"

"Yeah."

"A bad knee, easily winded. Why did you suggest we take a walk?"

"I wanted to talk in private."

I looked around at all the joggers. "This isn't exactly private."

"Private enough."

We sat on a bench looking out toward the lake, where colorful sails billowed in the wind and crew sculls glided across the water in silence. When Hal still hadn't said anything after several minutes, I turned to him. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"I get the feeling you and Marc are ... well, if not involved, getting there."

I felt a slow-forming smile. "Not that it's any business of yours, but yes, I'd say we are." Getting there, at any rate. It had been only two days since I'd spent the night with him, but there was a definite change in our relationship.

Hal pulled out a pack of red licorice and offered me a piece. I bit into it and chewed off a strip. It was practically tasteless.

Hal, however, seemed to like it just fine. He finished the first piece and peeled off a second. "I'd go slow if I were you," he said at last.

"With Marc?"

He nodded.

I laughed. "Since when did you trade places with Ann Landers?"

"I was afraid that would be your reaction."

"What's the problem?" I gave him an impish grin. "You're not jealous, are you?" And then a thought struck me. I turned serious. "Marc's not gay, is he? I mean, bi?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

I heaved a dramatic sigh of relief, but Hal didn't smile.

He chewed on a piece of licorice. "I'm not sure you know him as well as you imagine."

"I know enough."

"I just think you should be careful, is all."

That wasn't like Hal. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm not sure myself." He paused to toss tiny pieces of candy to the pigeons at our feet. "As you know, I've been keeping an eye on Tony Rodale."

I nodded. That reminded me that I'd meant to tell Hal about my conversation with Judith Powers.

"I told you I got a no-good feeling about him," Hal added.

"Right, you did. And I'm thinking maybe you're onto something."

He looked at me and sighed. "Last night I thought I saw Marc's car pull into Rodale's driveway."

"You
thought
you saw it?"

"I'm not absolutely, positively sure. But ninety-nine percent there."

My response was automatic. "So?" But even as I said it, I had trouble coming up with an explanation.

"So it seems odd."

"Maybe Marc wanted to question Rodale himself," I said.

"At ten o'clock in the evening?"

"Well, then, you must be mistaken." I didn't realize how lame the words sounded until I said them aloud.

"Could be," Hal said, clearly not convinced.

"Why would Marc hang out with a guy like Tony Rodale?"

Hal rubbed a finger along his chin and gazed pensively at the drab gray of the lake. "That's what I'd like to know."

The office was empty when I returned, but Rose had left a handful of message slips on my desk. Two on other legal matters, one from Nina, and one saying that Xavier had called. My pulse jumped when I saw the name. Unfortunately, there was no message, and no return number.