Читать книгу For The Defense - M.J. Rodgers - Страница 10

JACK COULDN’T BELIEVE what a great case this was.

He had an interesting mystery to solve, some mind-boggling investigative work to do, and he was being given a chance to help a nice woman who was far more of a victim of a crime than a perpetrator. Finally, after enduring nearly a decade of being thrust into villainous roles, Jack had been cast as a hero.

Hot damn. He couldn’t wait to get started.

Of course, Diana had given him an impossible task. But what the hell, that was half the fun. The only thing that gave him pause was the fact that they’d be working very closely together for the next six weeks.

She was an alluring combination—strong, smart and sexy. He also liked the fact that she was genuinely committed to helping her client, instead of taking the easy way out as that slimeball Earl Payman had done.

Hard-core morality in a woman turned Jack on big-time.

But his decision not to get involved with women who had children had been based on painful practical experience and important soul-searching. He knew who he was and what he wanted out of life.

Which meant that his relationship with Diana had to remain strictly business. He could handle it. In the past, he’d worked with a lot of desirable women who were out of bounds for one reason or another. Keeping his hands to himself had never been a problem.

He couldn’t suppress a smile when he remembered the surprised look Diana had given him in the restaurant when he’d accepted the case. As he had surmised when they’d met back in her office, she had underestimated him.

In a way, he was glad. There was something so poised about her that being able to rock her erroneous assumptions was irresistible.

He’d agreed to meet with her the next morning to get a copy of the sheriff’s report on Bruce Weaton’s death and a picture of the deceased, discuss strategy on his investigation and to pick up the list of the prospective jurors. Now he had to see about getting whatever evidence might exist in Bruce’s garage into the right hands.

After having listened to Diana’s description of George Staker, Jack knew that if he gathered the evidence against Bruce, Staker would do everything he could to make the jury question the validity of both Jack’s abilities and the evidence. The fact that Jack had once been an actor would be something Staker would no doubt use against him as well.

But if a sheriff’s detective got the evidence, Staker couldn’t challenge the findings because he’d be challenging his own source pool.

Diana had agreed with Jack’s assessment of Staker. But she’d initially balked at what Jack had planned to do to foil Staker. Convincing her had taken some effort.

Jared, Jack’s twin, was a detective in the sheriff’s department. Jared had no respect for the elected sheriff, Bernard Riker, whom he considered a politician, not a lawman.

Jack knew that if he gave his twin a lead in Amy’s hit-and-run, Jared would track down the truth, no matter where it led.

Jared was his own man. He’d started out as an FBI agent—as their dad had—but chucked the rigidity of the Bureau for the comparative freedom of Silver Valley County where it was a little easier to apply common sense to law enforcement.

Jack’s older brothers, Richard and David, often exchanged information with Jared on a quid pro quo basis when they worked on cases. That sharing had helped Jared make more collars in three years than most other deputies did in a decade on the job.

When he helped his brothers at the family’s private investigation firm, Jared insisted on only two things. First, they were to be discreet about his “cooperation.” And, second, if he ever had to testify in court about what he’d been asked to do, he had to be able to tell the truth.

He would go out on a limb for family or in the hot pursuit of justice. But he wasn’t going to lie under oath for anybody, not even to get himself or a family member off the hook.

Jack was well aware that the confidentiality agreement he’d signed prohibited him from sharing the particulars about Connie’s case with anyone not involved in her defense. Ethically, he had no problem telling Jared, since Jack was convinced his brother had to be the one to gather whatever evidence there might be in Bruce’s garage. To Jack’s mind that made his twin a part of the defense team.

Still, to get his brother’s help, Jack had to let him know what had to be done in a way that wouldn’t get either of them into ethical or legal trouble. This called for some careful staging.

Jack pulled into the parking lot at Costco, heading directly for the pay phone. This was not a call he wanted anyone to be able to trace to him.

Looking around to make sure no one was within hearing, he dropped some change into the slot and dialed his brother’s office. Jared answered with his name.

“Hi, I’m a concerned citizen making an anonymous call,” Jack said. “I have some important information about an unsolved crime.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. He hadn’t disguised his voice because he wanted Jared to know who was making the call so that his brother would take what he had to say seriously.

But he had purposely stated the fact that this was to be from an anonymous source so if Jared ever had to explain how he got the tip, he could truthfully say that a “concerned citizen” had called anonymously.

“All right, Mr. Concerned Citizen, I have a pad and pen handy to take down the information you wish to pass me anonymously,” Jared said.

“About five years ago, a four-year-old girl by the name of Amy Pearce was killed in a hit-and-run,” Jack said. “An old car jumped the curb and struck the girl while she was playing on her porch. The driver was never identified. You might find forensic evidence of that old car in the garage once owned by Bruce Weaton.”

“Would that be the same Bruce Weaton who was killed last year?” Jared asked.

“Yes.”

“The same Bruce Weaton that Connie Pearce has been accused of killing?”

Jared had put the pieces together fast. Jack expected nothing less.

“A couple by the name of Donald and Joyce Epstein have recently bought the Weaton property, fully furnished,” he said. “If they haven’t cleaned out the garage, the evidence could still be there. Connie Pearce was holding a locket on the day she was arrested. That locket and its chain are most likely a part of her personal property being kept at the jail. They, too, could contain important evidence.”

“I’m confused as to why you haven’t come into the sheriff’s office to tell us this in person, Mr. Concerned Citizen,” Jared said after a moment.

Jack took pains to word his answer carefully.

“If you decide to reopen this investigation and discover that Bruce Weaton was behind the wheel of the car that killed Amy Pearce, this concerned citizen hopes you will not compromise the defense of Connie Pearce by informing the prosecution of those facts.”

“Who do you suggest I inform?”

“The attorney for the defense. If anyone else learns of this connection before she has an opportunity to present the evidence to the jury, her client’s right to a fair trial could be compromised.”

There was another significant pause on the other end of the line. Jack knew that he’d told his brother he was working for Diana. He had intended to. Jared now knew why he had to contact him anonymously and also whom he could trust.

“Is there anything else you wish to tell me?” Jared asked.

“I advise caution. The sheriff and prosecutor are buddies. Bruce Weaton’s mother is well connected. Watch your back. I wouldn’t want you to find yourself in a compromising position while trying to clear up an unsolved homicide.”

Jack hung up the phone, satisfied that Jared would get hold of Amy’s locket and arrange for a team of investigators to scour the garage that had once belonged to Bruce Weaton. If any evidence remained, he’d find a way to let Jack know.

Step one was in motion.

Now on to step two. Jack was going to have to dig up everything he could on Bruce. He knew where to start looking, but he had no idea what he’d find. Not even his fictional character had sunk to the depths Bruce had.

What kind of a man would pursue a woman whose child he’d killed?

“YOU STILL HAVEN’T TOLD ME how dinner with Arnie went last Saturday,” Diana’s mother said as she ran some hot water over a sponge in the kitchen sink.

Diana stacked the dishwasher with their dinner plates. “That’s because my mother always told me if I couldn’t say something nice about someone that I should hesitate to say anything at all.”

Margaret Gilman switched off the faucet as she turned toward her daughter. “That bad?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. When Ray said Arnie was going to start dating again now that his divorce was final, I guess I hoped that maybe the two of you—”

“Your heart was in the right place,” Diana spoke up quickly. “Unfortunately, he refused to keep his hands where they belonged.”

Margaret gave the counter an overzealous wipe with the sponge. “If Arnie made improper advances to you, Ray should be told—”

“—all his efforts to teach his stepson courtesy toward a woman failed? He must know. Why rub his nose in it? Arnie was seventeen when his mother married Ray. No doubt the damage had already been done.”

“You’re right,” Margaret said. “But don’t be surprised if I develop a sudden klutzy streak at the wedding and dump a glassful of ice water onto Arnie’s lap.”

Diana chuckled at the image, although she knew her gentle mother could never bring herself to carry out the threat. “Speaking of the wedding, have you decided where you’re going on your honeymoon?”

Margaret squeezed out the sponge and set it at the edge of the sink. “Ray suggested we fly to Hawaii, but I don’t know.”

Diana started the dishwasher. The explosion of water and whirling pump had her gesturing for her mom to precede her out onto the porch. She closed the door behind them to shut out the noise.

Margaret eased her trim form onto one of the porch’s white wicker chairs and patted the one beside her.

Diana sat, trying to emulate her mother’s physical grace, all the while knowing she’d fall short. She’d inherited her dad’s big bones and the kind of temperament that would dump a glass of ice water on a goon with grabby paws.

She often wished she were more like her mother. Margaret Gilman’s smile lit every line in her face with the joy of life. That smile was like a secret fountain of youth. Men were drawn to the wearer in hopes of being able to share in its secret. No wonder she was still turning heads at fifty-five.

Ray was a lucky guy. One of the nice things about him was that he knew it.

“You don’t want to go to Hawaii?” Diana asked.

“I’d love to go, but Hawaii is the kind of place you fly to when the weather where you are is cold and icy,” Margaret explained. “We wait all year for summer.”

Diana inhaled the sweet fragrance as she looked around at the lovely garden her mother’s time and talent had created over the years. Red, white and pink roses, all in full and glorious bloom, nodded in the muted evening sunlight. Yes, this was a lovely time of year.

“I was thinking maybe we could drive into British Columbia, find a cute little bed-and-breakfast and spend a few weeks there,” Margaret said.

“Some place comfortable and pretty like home, but away from the duties of home,” Diana added.

Margaret gave her a smile. “Sometimes I forget what a smart daughter I raised.”

Diana smiled back. “Glad I’m around to remind you.”

Mel opened the door then, bringing with her the intrusive bumps and grinds of the dishwasher. “I’ve signed off the Internet, Mom. Be ready to go apartment hunting in about ten minutes. That okay for you?”

Diana nodded in her daughter’s direction, and Mel retreated into the kitchen.

“I feel like I’m kicking you out of your home,” Margaret said, distress in her tone.

“Don’t, Mom. It’s time we got our own place. I’ll have the last of my student loans paid off in a couple of months. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t taken us in after Tony took off. Without you there would have been no law school, no—”

“Dear, you’ve thanked me a million times,” Margaret interrupted. “And not a one of them has been necessary. I’ve loved having you and Mel here.”

Diana felt the same tug in her chest that she had first experienced when she finally realized what an incredible mom she had. How blind she’d been as a child—totally idolizing her father and all but ignoring her mother’s crucial role in their lives. Kids were so damn dumb. Well, except for Mel, of course.

Thoughts of her daughter brought Diana to her feet. Time she got back to the business of finding them a place to live. One day she’d get a place out in the country like this. But for now, a city apartment would have to suffice.

“Have you told Mel that your aunt Shirley is going to be living with you?” Margaret called out before Diana had reached the door.

“Not yet,” Diana admitted.

“Coward.”

Diana laughed as she turned around to face her mom. “We won’t be late. I can’t be. I have an early-morning meeting with a judge on a plea-bargain, and then I have to see the investigator I’ve hired on Connie Pearce’s case.”

“The movie star turned private investigator?”

“I see Mel told you.”

“Some actors don’t look nearly as good in person as they do on the screen,” Margaret said. “What do you think about Jack Knight?”

“I think an engaged lady like yourself shouldn’t be asking about handsome men when you have a first-class fiancé to ogle.”

Margaret grinned. “Ah, so you do think he’s handsome.”

Diana rested her free hand on her hip in feigned irritation. “Ever since you’ve gotten engaged you’ve developed this annoying tendency to try to fix me up.”

Her mother’s face was full of mischief. “Is that what I’ve been doing?”

“First with your insurance salesman. Then with Ray’s stepson. Now with this private investigator. What gets into brides-to-be? Can’t you stand seeing us happy single folk content with unwedded bliss?”

Margaret’s grin widened. “Being in love is so wonderful I’m filled with an overwhelming desire to spread that feeling around. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather spread it to than you.”

“SO DID YOU and Mel find an apartment yet?” Jack asked the moment he walked into Diana’s office Tuesday morning.

His simple, conversational question was met with a noticeable pause from Diana. Most women he’d met were more than willing to share news about everyday events. Their biggest complaint was that men were too focused on themselves to ask about a woman’s concerns or listen to what she had to say.

But Diana seemed determined not to share much about herself.

Still, she’d let down her guard at lunch the day before. He’d heard the anger and sadness in her voice when she’d spoken of her client’s suicide. For a strong woman, she had a soft heart.

A head shake was all he got in answer to his question.

She handed him a folder. “That’s the copy of the sheriff’s report on Bruce’s death and the other stuff you asked for. Is your brother going to investigate Amy’s hit-and-run?”

There she was, right back to business. Definitely not the response he was used to getting from women. Did she not find him attractive, or was she too much of a professional to let on?

He told himself the answer wasn’t important. She was keeping their relationship businesslike and for that he was glad.

“I contacted Jared as we discussed,” Jack said in response to her question. “He’ll let us know if and when he finds anything. I also began the search into Bruce Weaton’s background. Now that I know where he went to school and who his friends were, I should be able to—”

“How did you find out those things so quickly?”

There was far more challenge than curiosity in her tone.

Jack repositioned himself on her exceptionally uncomfortable guest chair as he set the folder she’d given him on his lap.

“I have no problem indulging your curiosity, Diana. But your question comes across more like a cross-examination of my investigation techniques.”

“It was.”

Her candor came as a complete shock, which must have been apparent, because a small smile lifted her lips.

She had enjoyed surprising him. Maybe as much as he’d enjoyed surprising her.

“So, you want me to assume that you know how to do your job?” she asked.

She was testing him. “As I’m assuming you know how to do your job.”

That made her smirk. “But you won’t take exception to my asking questions purely out of curiosity?”

“I’m always happy to satisfy the curious.”

She inched forward on her chair. “Then strictly out of curiosity, how did you find out about Bruce’s schooling and friends so fast?”

“His obituary mentioned the schools he’d attended,” Jack volunteered easily because he was satisfied that she’d been honest about her motives. “A glimpse at the guest registry at the mortuary where his services were held last year told me who cared enough to show up.”

“Doesn’t that guest registry go to the family?”

“Smart mortuary personnel keep a copy, knowing that a family in mourning may misplace theirs.”

She rested against the back of her chair. “Seems so simple now that you’ve explained.”

“Everything seems simple once you have the answer. Knowing where and how to get the answer is what separates the professional from the amateur.”

An amused eyebrow lifted. “Was that another reminder that you are a professional and deserve to be treated as one?”

Jack smiled. “A very gentle reminder. I’m always careful not to inflict any unnecessary bruises.”

“As opposed to the necessary ones?” Her brief smile was good-natured.

So, she had a nice sense of humor lurking behind her formal façade. Getting past this woman’s defenses might not be easy. But Jack was becoming more certain by the minute that the effort would be worthwhile.

“Anything else you feel curious about this morning, Diana?”

Damn, he was flirting with her. He hadn’t meant to, but those last words had come out full of invitation. Unable to take them back, he carefully wiped the come-hither smile off his lips.

She studied him intently for a minute, then pushed a thick binder in his direction. “Before you get too involved in investigating Bruce’s background, I need some quick input on these.”

Not only had she not flirted back, she’d completely ignored his flirting. Relief vied with an odd disappointment.

Jack picked up the thick binder. “What are these?”

“The preliminary jury questionnaires. They list names, addresses, driver’s license numbers and other pertinent information as well as the answers to the basic questions of whether they’ve heard about the case or know any of the principals who are involved.”

Jack flipped through one of the questionnaires. One page listed the names of Bruce, his family members, Connie, witnesses to the alleged crime, as well as Staker and Diana. The next page cautioned each prospective juror not to discuss the case with anyone or allow themselves to be exposed to any news reports.

“What kind of input are you looking for?” he asked.

“I meet with Staker first thing tomorrow to try to agree upon an expanded questionnaire.”

“You have the jurors fill that out before you talk to them in the courtroom, right?”

She nodded. “Voir dire is the legal term for selecting a jury from the prospective panel. It begins the first day of the trial. Last week, I argued that a more detailed questionnaire filled out in advance would save time. Judge Gimbrere not only agreed to one, he’s planning to include a cover letter asking the prospective jurors to be honest and assuring them that their responses will be kept confidential.”

“So Staker didn’t fight you on this.”

She shook her head. “He wants time to digest the information as much as I do.”

“How can I help?”

“If there are questions you want me to ask that will assist with your investigation, I need to know by the end of today.”

As attractive and exciting as Diana was proving to be, Jack was thankful that he wasn’t planning on pursuing a personal relationship with her. She wasn’t even giving him time to complete their business one.

He closed the binder on his lap. “What kinds of questions can we ask a prospective juror?”

“Personal background stuff and whatever else could have a bearing on the specific case for which they are being considered.”

“So, if you have a case of spousal abuse, you could legitimately ask prospective jurors if they’ve been the victim or perpetrator of spousal abuse.”

“Both questions would be considered germane,” she confirmed. “A prospective juror who has been a victim or an abuser would most certainly be excused from serving on such a case.”

“Their experiences having clouded their objectivity.”

Diana nodded. “Except that even if a prospective juror has abused his spouse, he’s not going to admit it.”

No, Jack didn’t suppose he would. “The danger is that prospective jurors lie.”

“Some lie or omit information to protect themselves or their images. Most will try to be honest.”

“The important word here being, try?”

“Yes. My biggest concern is that people simply don’t recognize their own biases. If they possess a bias that is going to interfere with their ability to see the truth during Connie’s trial, I have to know. The judge will ask the prospective jurors if they will decide the case based solely on the evidence presented. If the jurors answer yes, the judge takes them at their word.”

“But we can’t afford to,” Jack said, as he got to his feet.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked.

“We’re going to my office.”

She remained seated, looking up at him. “Why are we doing that?”

“Because my computer is already programmed with what we’re going to need to do a quick review of these prospective jurors.”

“You could call me later and let me know what you’ve found.”

Yes, Jack supposed he could. But he’d already decided he wanted her sitting beside him while he discovered those answers and developed the jury questionnaire. This was his case as much as hers. He needed her help if they were both to be successful.

“If you want a set of questions by tomorrow, we have to work together,” Jack said. “Unless you’re looking for an excuse to skip apartment hunting tonight?”

“I can’t skip apartment hunting.”

“Then let’s get going. My schedule’s free. I’m prepared to stay with the task until it’s done.”

“I won’t be able to stay past five today,” she said, not looking especially happy about the fact.

“When do you and Mel have to move out of your mother’s place?”

“Soon.”

And that was obviously all she was going to say about that. “If you only have until five,” he said, “we’d better get started.”

She glanced at her watch. “I have to pick up Mel from school in about thirty minutes.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s a genius like Mel doing in summer school?”

“She’s in a special curriculum for gifted youngsters. A former NASA scientist is here this week showing some incredible shots taken by the Hubble telescope, which is why I’ve been driving her to attend his lectures.”