Читать книгу Waking The Serpent - Jane Kindred - Страница 14

Chapter 7

Rafe felt himself go pale. Hearing Matthew’s name in connection with a shade unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

“Are you sure?”

Phoebe gave him an almost apologetic nod. “I couldn’t get much else. It was like something was blocking the shade from stepping in. But that name—it was almost tangible.”

He tried Matthew’s phone once more on the way home, but this time he got a recording instead of Matthew’s voicemail: “The wireless customer you are attempting to reach cannot be located.”

The phrase had a terrible finality, and the appearance of the owl this afternoon took on an ominous significance. One of the things that had drawn Matthew to apprentice with Rafe was his interest in Aztec studies. Mictlantecuhtli and the underworld of Mictlan, in particular, had fascinated him. Born on the Day of the Dead, Matthew had identified strongly with the skull-faced god. And now Mictlantecuhtli’s nagual was hanging about Phoebe’s backyard.

Rafe glanced at the clock on the dash as he arrived at Stone Canyon to find Hamilton waiting for him. The lawyer was early. Hamilton waved to him from in front of the red convertible parked beside the gate and stepped up to the truck, sticking out his hand as Rafe rolled down the window.

Instead of shaking his hand, Rafe nodded and handed him a guest card for the gate. “Hamilton.”

The lawyer flashed his improbably perfect teeth. “Call me Carter. It’s better if we’re on a first-name basis. And I hope I can call you Rafe?”

“Rafael.” He wasn’t sure why this guy rubbed him the wrong way, but something about him made Rafe want to be difficult.

Hamilton followed him up to the house and parked in front of it, admiring the décor as they entered and Rafe ushered him into the great room. “The construction business seems to be treating you well.”

Rafe crossed his arms as he sat in the leather armchair. “We do all right. As I’m sure my father must have told you when he hired you.”

Hamilton paused in opening his briefcase on the couch. “The Covent hired me, Rafael. I am acquainted with your father, of course.”

“Of course.”

Hamilton took a pocket voice recorder out of his briefcase like a flashback from the 90s and set it on the table between them. “Do you mind if I record this meeting? It helps me keep track of what we’ve agreed on.” Rafe nodded and Hamilton hit the record button. “So, Rafael, in your own words, please tell me exactly what you recall from the night of July 29 and the morning of July 30.”

For the dozenth time, Rafe went through the details he remembered.

Hamilton nodded as Rafe spoke, making notes as Phoebe had, only his tablet was old school. “And how would you characterize your relationship with Barbara Fisher?”

“I’d met with her a few times prior. As a client.”

“So it was cordial but professional.”

Rafe shrugged. “Yes.”

“There was no intimacy between you?”

“Intimacy?”

“I have to ask. Anything that might be relevant to the prosecutor’s case is liable to come up in the preliminary hearing. I need to be sure there aren’t any curveballs being thrown. I’m sure you’d prefer to avoid an indictment so we don’t have to build a defense for a criminal trial.”

“Right.” Rafe’s skin felt clammy. This was all beginning to seem a lot more real than it had yesterday.

Hamilton gave him a reassuring smile. “Relax, Rafael. I’m going to be with you every step of the way. I know it all seems pretty overwhelming now, but the evidence is purely circumstantial.” He paused, waiting for Rafe to say something, then prompted, “You didn’t have an intimate relationship with Ms. Fisher?”

“No. I barely knew her.”

“So the police aren’t going to find any of your DNA on her. Or in her.”

“Jesus. No.”

Hamilton made a note. “You mentioned you thought the tea she gave you might have been drugged. Can you think of any reason Ms. Fisher would want to drug you?”

“No, of course not. She seemed like a very nice woman. Honest. Her abilities seemed genuine.”

“But people aren’t always what they seem. If she wasn’t what she appeared to be, what reason do you think she might have to drug you?”

Rafe raked his fingers through his hair. “To rob me, maybe? Wouldn’t be a very smart way to go about it, though, with a client in your own house. I don’t know. What I thought, honestly, was maybe one of the shades was controlling her.”

Hamilton paused. “You know that’s not going to wash in court. The Covent might find it plausible, but the government rarely takes the word of a witch in such matters.” He made a rueful face. “Going back to the Dark Ages.”

“I know. I’m only telling you what I think happened. If you’re going to defend me, I assume you want the truth.”

“Of course. We just need to come up with something more plausible to the general public so shades and spells don’t get brought up. People are generally okay with someone going to a medium for a reading, maybe even amenable to the idea that it’s possible to contact someone who’s passed on. But the minute you say ‘shade’ or ‘possessed,’ your credibility is shot.”

Rafe nodded tightly. He knew all this. Which was why he needed to find out who’d killed Barbara Fisher—and find evidence tying the killer to the crime—before his case went to trial. “And if she was shade-walked...or I was...what then?”

Hamilton turned off his digital recorder. “If you say anything like that in court, I won’t be able to help you. Your defense simply cannot be ‘I was possessed when I killed her.’”

Rafe didn’t flinch from the serious pale gaze. “Then I guess we’d better hope there’s not enough evidence to charge me.”

“Well, we may have a problem, given your answer about your level of familiarity with the victim.”

Rafe blinked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The police have a witness who alleges to have seen you and Ms. Fisher together on multiple occasions engaged in behavior that didn’t appear to be related to palm reading.”

“What?” Outrage spiked in his blood. He leaned forward in his chair, his posture challenging, as if Hamilton had made the false accusation himself. “That’s ridiculous. I only met Barbara Fisher a week ago, and saw her exactly three times, including Friday night—as a client.”

“That’s what the witness is implying. That you were a client of Ms. Fisher’s—in a rather different sort of business.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Barbara Fisher operated more than one business out of her home. She also advertised her services on adult websites as a masseuse—for very personal massage, if you catch my drift. The police tracked IP addresses of her correspondents on the site—and one of them matched yours.”

Rafe’s hands clenched around the armrests. “That’s impossible. I’ve never even been to any adult services websites—or any high-end masseuses.”

Hamilton set down his pen and paper. “Then I’d have to conclude, Rafael, that someone must be setting you up.”