Motion to Dismiss (9 page)

Before I had a chance to frame a response, Grady nodded. "Yes, she is," he said emphatically. I left it at that for the moment.

"No need for an attorney, really." Flores pulled at an earlobe. "We're merely checking with people who knew Ms. Nichols, trying to piece together what might have happened the night she died."

Sure, and you just happened to start with Grady Barrett.

"Makes me wonder" -- Newman nodded toward Grady -- "why you're so eager to have an attorney present. You got something to be nervous about?"

Grady managed a stiff laugh. "I'm head of a major company in a competitive and cutthroat market. I've learned not to sneeze without an attorney present."

"That so?" The cop wasn't impressed. "An investigation like ours is a little different, see. We like to think we're all on the same side, just trying to find out what happened. Kind of raises my hackles when a citizen thinks he needs an attorney."

I leaned against the bookcase. "Cut the crap, Detective. If you have something to ask my client, go ahead and ask. Otherwise, you'll have to excuse us. He's a busy man."

"Yeah, I've heard he gets around." This was said with a pointed smirk.

Flores rocked back in his chair. "Before you arrived, we were asking about Mr. Barrett's activities Saturday evening. He claims he was here at the office, working late."

"Not unusual," I said.

"Unfortunately, there seems to be no one who can verify that."

I looked at Grady, who nodded imperceptibly. "As far as I know," he said, "the other offices were empty."

"I fail to see what my client's work habits have to do with your investigation of Ms. Nichols' death."

"Might be no connection at all." The cop turned his attention back to Grady. "Anyone call you that night?"

"No."

"Maybe you called out?"

Grady hesitated, thinking. "No, not that I recall."

"What kind of car do you drive, Mr. Barrett?"

No doubt they knew the answer already.

"I have two," Grady explained. "A Mercedes and a Suburban."

"And which were you driving Saturday night?"

"The Mercedes."

"What color is it?"

"Silver."

A smile pulled the cop's lips taut. "A convertible?"

Grady nodded.

"Ms. Nichols' little girl saw a silver convertible in the driveway sometime in the middle of the night."

Grady shrugged, but he wasn't quite able to pull off the show of indifference he was after. "Mine is hardly unique."

"She also saw a man in the driveway." The detective paused. "'Course, if it wasn't you, I imagine she'll be able to tell us that."

I'd forgotten Deirdre's seven-year-old daughter was with her that night. Had she recognized Grady? Were the police withholding that critical piece of information in the hope of tripping him up?

I pushed the thought aside. If Adrianna had seen her mother fall from the deck, she wouldn't have waited until morning to call 911.

Unless she'd been scared, said the voice at the back of my mind. Unless she'd been hiding
.

I rose and stepped between the cops and Grady. "This sounds like much more than a friendly discussion about Ms. Nichols' accident."

"Well, see, that's one of the things we're trying to find out. If it
was
an accident."

"Mr. Barrett has told you that he was at work Saturday night. That means he knows nothing that will help with your investigation. I suggest you leave now."

Newman stood and leaned forward, resting a hand on Grady's desk. "You don't have any plans to leave the area, I hope."

Grady shook his head.

"Good. We just might have a few more questions for you."

As soon as the detectives had gone, I crossed my arms and turned toward Grady. "In case you don't realize it, you're in big trouble. You'd better get yourself a good attorney. And fast."

"I've got one."

"A criminal attorney. Marc's sharp, and he knows the business side of things, but we could well be talking a homicide investigation here."

Grady raised his eyebrows. "I was talking about you, not about Marc."

I shook my head.

"Why not?"

Because I don't trust you
. "Because I'm not a criminal defense attorney either."

"What do you mean? You've handled criminal cases before, including murder. And you were doing all the work on the rape trial."

"This is different."

Grady's eyes narrowed with indignation. "I didn't kill her."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"That's not really an issue."

"The hell it isn't. That's exactly why you don't want to be involved."

I shifted my weight to my other foot. "I have this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, Grady. Three nights ago you as much as told me not to worry about the rape charges, that you'd take care of things."

"I didn't mean -- "

"You're a winner there, you know. The D.A.'s office won't go forward without the complaining witness."

Grady's face grew flushed. "I didn't rape her either."

"So you said."

He pushed back his chair and stood, leaning forward over his desk. "Goddammit, I didn't do anything wrong. Hurtful to Nina, yes. Stupid, you bet. But criminally culpable, absolutely not."

"Maybe you'll get lucky and the police will see it that way too."

An exasperated sigh. "I don't have time for this nonsense. First the alleged rape, now these suspicions about Deirdre's death. The next couple of weeks are crucial if we're going to raise the kind of capital we need."

I crossed my arms and glared at him. "Life is what happens while you're making other plans."

Grady looked uncomfortable. He came around the desk and tentatively touched my shoulder. "Please, Kali." His voice had a quiet urgency to it, and a sincerity that surprised me. "If it comes to that -- if it turns out Deirdre Nichols was murdered -- I'd like you to represent me."

"Why?"

"Because you're conscientious, and you've handled this kind of case before."

I shook my head. "There are a lot -- "

"But mostly because you care." He must have read the look on my face, because he was quick to clarify. "Not about me. I know that. You hold me at arm's length as much as possible. But you do care about Nina."

"You need an attorney you're comfortable with."

"I'm comfortable with you. Please. For Nina's sake."

I felt the beginnings of a headache. I pressed a palm against my forehead. "Let's hope it never becomes an issue."

There was a glint in his eye. I couldn't tell whether it reflected genuine need or simply the masterful "I got you" maneuver.

In either case, he was right about Nina.

The afternoon sun, filtered by high clouds, bathed the hills in pale light. I drove through Montclair and into the wooded canyon where Deirdre had been living for the past month. I wound up and around, through a maze of hairpin turns and roads narrowed by erosion from the winter's heavy rains.

The house was shingled. It appeared to be newer than its neighbors, or maybe it had been remodeled more recently. It was set on the downslope, the kind of house that clings to the hill, descending three or four floors as it follows the terrain. I could tell, even from the vantage point of my car, that it would be a long drop from an upper deck to the ground.

Because of the narrow, winding streets, parking was always a problem in the hills. Deirdre's house was on a curve, which made it worse. I drove past, up the hill about a hundred yards, and parked in a wide spot near another house, then headed back down the road on foot.

When I got closer, I saw a strip of yellow police tape tacked diagonally across the front door. A moment later, a female officer in uniform emerged from the walkway to the side of the house. She had a pert nose, short blond hair, and a belt so loaded with weapons and other paraphernalia I didn't see how she had the strength to stand.

I nodded toward the tape. "Looks like you folks think her death wasn't an accident."

"There hasn't been a determination one way or another."

"Any idea when they'll release the scene?"

She squinted at me. "Are you a friend?"

For a second I considered going with it, then shook my head. "An attorney."

"You figuring there's a lawsuit in this somewhere?" Her tone was more amused than pointed.

I shook my head again. "Ms. Nichols was involved in a case I was working on."

The explanation was broad enough to cover a multitude of sins, and I'm sure she knew that, but she didn't ask me to elaborate.

"I don't imagine they'll want people tromping around the property for a day or two. Things like this take time. With it being outdoors and all, well, it's harder to make sure you've looked at everything you need to. That's why I came back here today, to check something for my report."

I peered around the side of the house and into the ravine in back. It was a sheer drop from the street-level deck to the ground. "Does anyone know yet how it happened?"

"Looks like she came off the deck. There were some abrasions on her legs embedded with wood splinters." She nodded toward the back of the house. "Like the redwood in the railing."

Not likely that she'd end up with scrapes and splinters if she'd jumped or fallen accidentally. I could understand why the police were being cautious.

"It must have been terrible for the little girl," I said. "I heard that she was here when it happened."

"I don't know how much she actually saw. I've been on cases where kids have witnessed some really awful stuff. Sometimes there's no one there to help them deal with it. Those cases break my heart."

I nodded. I'd been fourteen when I lost my own mother. Not a child, certainly, but it left an emptiness inside of me. A void that has never been filled.

"At least here the child has family," the officer said. "An aunt she's close to. That's who she called after she called 911."

It was a small consolation, but better than nothing. "Were you one of the officers who responded to the call?"

"Right. I got here a few minutes before the paramedics. But as soon as I saw the body, I knew she wouldn't be needing them." The cop paused. "It was almost surrealistic, like something out of those art movies. That head of coppery curls, the white of her nightgown, the spring grass such a lush green. There were even daffodils nearby."

"Nightgown?" I asked.

"Not the kind you sleep in. At least, not the kind I sleep in. It was one of those filmy ankle-length things. Maybe it's more like a robe than a nightgown." Her radio crackled just then and she stepped away to listen.

I wandered down the road a bit to eyeball the house from a different perspective. From where I stood, I could see most of the deck. It wasn't large, but it was wide enough to accommodate a chaise, barbecue, and a small table. It appeared also to be relatively private. There were no houses directly below that I could see, and the places to either side were angled in the opposite direction.

You seem like a real person
, Deirdre had said to me that day in the rest room.
Like someone who has feelings
.

We'd been adversaries in the strict sense of the word, but that didn't stop me from liking her. I looked again at the precipitous drop off the deck to the ground and felt a wash of sadness at her death.

I was headed back up the road, when a man, laden with plastic grocery bags, emerged from a parked car. As he reached his front steps, one of the bags ripped, sending canned goods cascading down the hill. I crossed over to help.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem. I dropped a bag of oranges once and they rolled forever, probably all the way to the bay. I was able to salvage only about half of them."

He laughed. "Been there myself. Some days you wonder why you bother to get out of bed." He stopped. "'Course, compared to that poor woman up the road, I've got nothing to complain about. You heard what happened, didn't you?"

He'd obviously mistaken me for a neighbor, and I didn't bother to correct him. "Yeah, they said she fell from the back deck."

"From the looks of all the activity down there, I'd say they think there might be more to it than that." He nodded in the direction of his own house. "I was awake most of the night surfing the Net. Was probably sitting there at my desk when she went over. I keep thinking that maybe if I'd looked up, I'd have been able to help."

"You can see the back of her house from yours?"

"If I look. The road loops back on itself between here and her place."

But he apparently hadn't been looking. "How about sounds? Did you hear anything unusual that night?"

He shook his head. "I thought about that too. I keep the windows closed whenever there are people down in the canyon. The sound floats right up. Seems amplified almost. And I'm sensitive to noise."

I stuffed the last of the runaway cans into a bag. "Did you know her?"

Another shake of his head. "Don't think I've ever seen her, to tell the truth. How about you?"

"To say hello to. Nothing more."

"Only reason I even knew the Carsons were away and had someone staying in the house is because my son is their paperboy. You know the Carsons at all?"

I equivocated. "Not really."

"Funny couple. Didn't have a stick of furniture when they moved in. I thought they might have been burned out of their previous place, but my son says they just move around a lot."

After the 'ninety-one firestorm in the Oakland hills, there'd been a lot of people moving into new homes with literally nothing. It wasn't surprising the image stuck in our minds.

"I don't think I've said more than five words to them in the whole year they've been here. Every time I try to be friendly, they act kind of huffy and walk off." He hoisted the newly packed bags with both arms. "Well, I'd better get this all put away before the ice cream melts. Thanks again for the help."

As I drove back by the Carsons' house, I slowed, wondering where Adrianna had been standing when she saw the silver convertible in the driveway. And why Deirdre would have been dressed in a nightgown if there'd been someone else there. I'd spoken the truth when I told Grady I wanted nothing to do with this, yet I found myself, almost against my will, thinking how I would argue the evidence in court.