Suspicion of Innocence (39 page)

Whom had he kissed last night, that deep, drugging kiss that stopped them dead in the living room, sinking to the rug, not even getting so far as the couch?

And in that instant before he entered her, before the barrier of flesh was breached, her fingers loosened from his shoulders as though she were dropping from the edge of a cliff. He could have done anything to her then.
No pares.
Don't stop.

Gail hadn't known who she was in that moment, couldn't have said her own name if he had asked her.

Her eyes opened. The room was intensely hot and still and her dress was soaked with sweat. She got up, pulled down the window, locked it, then picked up her jacket and purse from the bed.

She called Anthony from outside the post office on Grand Avenue. "It's me," she said. "Checking in before I go downtown. What did you find out from Britton?"

"Where are you, Gail?"

"Coconut Grove."

"Good. Not far. I want you to come to my office, right away. Can you do that?"

There was something else. Gail tensed. "Why?"
 

"Frank Britton wants me to bring you in."

Nineteen

Anthony was waiting for her when she arrived at Ferrer & Quintana. He closed the door to his office and told his secretary they were not to be disturbed for any reason.

Standing beside his desk, Gail managed a small laugh. "I was afraid there would be a SWAT team outside waiting for me."

He smiled gently and gestured toward one of the client chairs. "Sit down. I have some good news. The State Attorney has agreed to bail."

Gail sank into the chair, her legs going weak beneath her. "You did that? Oh, Anthony. How?"

"It wasn't easy. Listen carefully. We don't have much time. I told Frank Britton I would have you at his office by two o'clock and it is nearly that now. I expected you to call long before you did."

She wanted to reach for him, but the formality of his manner confined her hands to her lap.

He sat in the chair next to her, adjusting the knee of his gray suit. He wore a silver and black tie, a spotless white shirt. “I called Britton at seven-thirty this morning. He said he had intended to call me anyway, because you gave him my name. He wil’ allow me to take you to his office. You will be arrested, paperwork will be filled out, and then you will be taken to the Dade County Jail. There is more paperwork, the bail bondsman will appear and— if all goes well—you will be released." Still trembling, Gail nodded.

Anthony said, "After I spoke with Frank Britton, I called your house but there was no answer."

''I was—I took Karen to the marina early this morning. She's with Dave now in Key Largo. He plans to take her to my mother's."

"Good. I telephoned your cousin, Ben Strickland, and suggested ways in which we might obtain your release. First, he assured me that he and your mother would take care of the bond, whatever it was. Then we discussed how to approach the State Attorney. It had to be done by persons who know you but who are not friends of the State Attorney. If the
Miami Herald
could suppose for a minute that favors were granted, you would have no chance at bail. None.

"Judge Strickland and I made a list. Jack Warner and Larry Black from your office, the president of the Florida Association of Women Lawyers, the priest at your church, a few others. No politicians. By noon all of them had spoken on your behalf. They said that you are not going to flee Dade County, that you have long-standing ties to the community, that you have never been charged with a crime . . ."

Gail listened while Anthony quickly related the discussions with the prosecutors, who had finally agreed to a bond of $1,250,000. Ben had made arrangements with the bonding company.

"So much. Dear God."

He seemed still incredulous that it had happened. "I did not dare expect this, Gail. It is, as I have told you, very rare."

"Then I chose a good attorney."

Leaning forward, he took her hands. His felt so warm she knew hers must be frozen.

He said, "I'll go with you to Metro-Dade headquarters, and through the procedures there, but after that you will have another attorney. No, you must listen. Ben Strickland recommended Ray Hammell. I agree. He's an excellent lawyer. One of Hammell's associates will meet you at the jail. Do you understand?"

She closed her lips on what she had started to say, then nodded. She studied the dark edge of his coat sleeve on a white cuff, a platinum ring, the fingers curled tightly around her hand.

He said, "I can't represent you."

"Because of what we did?"

"Yes."

She smiled a little, looking away. "You shouldn't have let that happen."

"I know. But if I were in trouble myself, I would trust Ray Hammell. I trust him with you."

"Not that." Gail looked back at him. "You should have told me about Renee."

"Renee?"

"You were her lover." When he didn't reply, she said, "Am I wrong?" He finally shook his head. "How did you know this?" "It doesn't matter." "It was over a year ago," he said. "No explanations."

"Gail—" His eyes followed her as she rose to her feet. She said, "It's five till two. We don't want Frank Britton to come looking for me."

The next hours ran together, one into the other. Frank Britton received them in the lobby of the Metro-Dade Police Department building. He and Anthony shook hands, exchanged pleasantries. And then Britton led them up the same way he had taken Gail the day before. He sat her down in his office, asked if she would like a cup of coffee, had someone bring it. Anthony gave Britton a document signed by Raymond F. Hammell, Esq., that said she would make no statements. Britton had a search warrant and asked for her house and car keys. He promised to return them. Paperwork was filled out, copies given. Then Frank Britton said it was time to take Gail down to be photographed and fingerprinted. A uniformed officer walked with her, and she looked back over her shoulder at Anthony standing at the other end of the hall.

She rode to the Dade County Jail in a green and white Metro-Dade patrol car, handcuffed. A female officer sat in back with her, not saying much. There were scuff marks on the Plexiglas behind the front seat, and the handles had been taken off the doors. The car smelled like dirty underwear. Traffic was beginning to stream out from the city.

Inside the jail, the corridors echoed, fluorescent lights glared overhead. A guard—a black woman in a gray uniform—guided her by the elbow. She took off the handcuffs and put Gail in a plastic molded chair in a small room to wait with several other women, most of them poorly dressed and sullen. They stared at her. After nearly two hours the guard came to get her, but didn't put the handcuffs on again. She took her to the lobby where a young man in a dark blue suit was waiting. He handed her her purse. He said his name, that he was from Ray Hammell’s office, and that he was here to take her home.

In Renee's old bedroom at Irene's house, Karen lay under the quilt with all three cats stretched out around her, one across her chest, the others curled up by her hips. Gail scratched between the orange cat's ears and it began to purr.

"Well, if the kids at school tease you, what are you going to say?"

Karen sighed. She looked tired, Gail thought.

"I am going to say ... the police have made a big mistake and my mom didn't do anything wrong and she will prove it."

"Good girl."

"And if they don't shut up I'll punch them." "Not good."

They both smiled. Then Karen said, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

Gail straightened the lace trim on Karen's pajama top. "No. Not if you really don't want to. See how you feel about it in the morning."

"Are we going to live with Gramma now?"

"For a while. Is that okay?"

Karen pulled the sleeping cat up to her chin and stroked its back. "I wish we could go home. Daddy too."

"Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry things are so hard right now."

Gail could think of nothing else to say. She kissed Karen, holding her for a while, feeling the warmth of her small body. She smelled of soap and freshly laundered cotton. Gail finally pulled away, turning out the lamp on the nightstand. Dim light came from the hall.

"Mommy."

"What, baby?"

"Are you scared?"

"Not so much anymore. It'll be okay."

Karen said, ' 'You can sleep in here with me if you want to, so you don't get nightmares."

Gail tucked the quilt around her. ''Well, maybe I will. Thank you."

She heard Ben's voice at the door. "Are you girls turning in?" He came in quietly. "Good night, Little Bit."

Karen held up her arms. "Good night, Ben."

He leaned down and kissed her. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

"Your beard is itchy."

He lightly pinched her cheek. "And you're my little flower, aren't you?"

Gail smelled the bourbon on his breath. "Ben, please. It's nearly ten-thirty."

She left the door open a crack so the cats could stick a paw through and get out. They walked toward the living room, Gail in her robe and pajamas.

Ben put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer. "My God. Seeing you and Karen in there—It's like Renee was back again, alive. Sweet Jesus, what's happened to us all?"

She maneuvered out from under his arm. When he looked at her, she said, "Sorry. I'm tired."

"You going to work the rest of the week?"

"Of course. This is no time for an unpaid vacation." Dave had made a trip to the house and brought back her clothes and makeup. He planned to stay there through the weekend, in case she needed anything.

Ben said, "All right, Friday I'll come by and take you over to Ray HammelFs office." She had an appointment at four.

"You don't have to. He'll probably make you stay outside."

"No arguments. You're not going to go alone." Ben spotted his glass on a coaster on the coffee table and went to retrieve it.

Irene, wearing her glasses, was still curled up on the far corner of the sofa with the phone at her ear, her address book open on her lap. She was calling everyone in the family, in-state or out. Earlier she had phoned both the headmistress of Biscayne Academy and Karen's third-grade teacher to prepare them for the eleven o'clock news.

Gail followed Ben into the kitchen, where he set his glass in the sink. She poured herself a mug of milk.

Ben scowled. "If we'd had Ray Hammell on this from the beginning there might not have been an arrest. I'm talking from the minute Britton got that bug up his ass. Hammell can smell a lousy case before it gets to the State Attorney's Office and the cops know it. That Cubano attorney of yours waited till Britton was about to come get you before he did anything about it."

"He got me out, Ben."

"Bull. I got you out. He called wanting to know what the hell to do. I was the one who got you out. What's he doing, taking the credit? And who's going to pay a hundred and twenty-five grand in bondsman's fees?"

Gail put her milk in the microwave and pushed the buttons. She hated it when Ben started raving. She told him what she had already told him several times tonight. "I appreciate what you did for me, Ben. You know I'll pay you back."

"That's not the point. How many murder cases has he done? He's a damn drug attorney, don't you know that? He defended some of the biggest cocaine cowboys in South Florida. Where do you think he got his money? All those guys are hand in glove. Wouldn't surprise me a damn bit if he knew what Renee was into even before she did, he came in so fast after she was arrested."

She stared at the numbers counting down on the microwave. "He had nothing to do with what happened to Renee. It was Carlos."

"What do you mean?" Ben crossed to the cabinet where Irene kept his Wild Turkey.

"I think Carlos was involved in that drug operation she got caught in. I can't prove it, but that's what I think."

Gail explained what Dave had told her—the boat, the botched drug run. That Carlos used to supply Renee with cocaine.

She said, "He needed money because he was embezzling from Ernesto Pedrosa's construction company. He tried kiting checks on closings at Vista Title. Renee found out about it. Maybe they both planned the drug run to the Bahamas, I don't know. But if it had succeeded, he'd be home free. As it turned out, she was the one who got stung."

Ben eyeballed an ounce of bourbon into his glass. "The guy's a damn menace. And he thought he was going to buy my property. I'm glad I told Quintana to forget it."

"When?"

"Today during one of our many phone calls. I told him to tell his cousin Carlos the deal is off. I tore up the check and mailed it back." Ben tipped back his glass, then said, "With what you tell me now, I think Ray Hammell better put an investigator on Carlos Pedrosa."

"So do I."

Irene appeared at the kitchen door. "Well, I've called everyone I can possibly think of," she said. "And tomorrow I'll stop your newspaper for the next two weeks. You'll be here that long, won't you? And Dave's going to see about the lawn man." She tossed her notepad on the table. "Anybody want some tea?"