Читать книгу For The Defense - M.J. Rodgers - Страница 7

JACK KNIGHT COULD THINK of at least a dozen other places he’d rather be about now.

He rested his shoulder against the cold stucco wall as he watched the entrance to the gambling casino. The wind swirled rain up his nose and whipped the soggy rope of long, black hair against his neck. His pinched toes ached inside the beat-up triangle-toed boots he’d dug out of the Goodwill rejection bin. The chilly night air seeped through his threadbare overcoat, sending shivers up his back.

Being a private investigator was such cushy, glamorous work.

It was almost midnight. A minute before, he’d stood at the casino’s window, watching the man cash in his chips and the woman heading for the rest room. They should be along anytime. Jack made sure the video camera lens was peeking through the enlarged buttonhole in the front of his ragged overcoat, his fingers firmly on the controls inside the torn pocket.

Places! Camera! Action! The words echoed in his head bringing a wry smile of amusement to his lips. A rain-drenched Indian Reservation was about as far away from a dry and comfortable television studio as a guy could get.

When the doors to the casino burst open, he tensed in anticipation.

The couple staggered out. The man’s face was flushed from too many drinks, the woman’s from having to lug him around for the past hour. His heavy arm was draped over her sagging shoulders. As they hobbled by, the woman’s eyes scanned Jack.

He knew what her look meant. She’d hold on to the man she was with only until a better offer came along.

When she was close enough to make out his filthy features in the shadows, Jack sent her a toothless grin. The woman grimaced and quickly turned back to her companion.

Jack’s grin faded as the couple headed toward the Lexus at the curb. This man and woman were such a pathetic cliché. Not even a burned-out soap writer would sink into the banality of including their characterizations in a script.

After using a keyless remote control to open the car door, the woman dumped her drunken companion onto the passenger seat and circled around to get behind the wheel.

When she drove away, Jack turned off the video camera. He didn’t need to follow them. He’d already filmed them in a body-crunching clinch that morning at the SEA-TAC airport. He’d shot more footage of them that afternoon mauling each other on the open patio of the condo where the woman was living and chronicled their subsequent evening out on the town. Considering how much bourbon the man had put away, Jack doubted he’d be capable of any more debauchery tonight.

Not that it mattered. Jack had the conclusive proof his client needed. Her husband’s business trip to Washington State was an excuse to meet with his mistress. The guy hadn’t even gone to see the employees at his new Seattle branch office.

Jack sprinted through the rain to the old blue pickup at the far corner of the casino parking lot. Once settled on the driver’s seat, he pulled the wet black wig off his head and carefully hung it up to dry on the hook beside him. A private eye had to take good care of his props.

Sometimes on nights like this, he missed his life in show business. Sure, he’d played some villainous parts, but at least at the end of those days, he didn’t have to deal with a flesh-and-blood victim.

His client was a scared Idaho housewife who had recently seen the last of her five children leave home. She had a high-school education and no marketable skills. A vague feeling of unease had generated her call to Jack. All she really wanted him to do was relieve her mind.

He wasn’t going to be able to do that. Her husband was not only cheating on her, he was also planning to divorce her to be with his twenty-five-year-old mistress.

Jack had found a bank account the guy had taken out in his name only the year before. A lot of cash had since been deposited into that account. The condo where he’d stashed his mistress was also in his name only, as was the Lexus she was driving.

No doubt in Jack’s mind that the guy was hiding other assets as well so that when he sprang the divorce on his wife he could cheat her out of as much community property as possible. The best his wife could do was to get a good lawyer and get her husband before he got her.

And that’s how their thirty-year marriage would end.

Jack grabbed some hand wipes and worked at removing the mud he’d earlier smeared on his hands and face to camouflage his features. The more he saw of marriage, the more convinced he became that it was a sucker’s bet.

Hell, the majority of men and women he knew had trouble committing to the same cell phone carrier for six months, much less another person for a lifetime.

He flicked the black-tinted contact lenses out of his eyes and carefully placed them in their protective case. Next, he slipped the false, blackened teeth out of his mouth and stowed them away.

Since joining his family’s private investigation firm the year before, he’d become an expert at surveillance. His theatrical background enabled him to blend into any crowd, much to the dismay of the errant husbands and wives he’d caught on videotape. Problem was, he’d gotten so good at tracking them, cheating-spouse cases had become his specialty.

Thank God this was his last one.

Yanking the too-tight boots off his feet, he threw them in the back seat and eased his aching toes into loafers. He slipped his watch back onto his wrist and combed his hair with his fingers.

His father had agreed that Jack had proved his mettle and was ready to take on the meaty stuff. Next Monday he’d tackle his first criminal case—a nice, clean murder.

Amazing how refreshingly wholesome murder could sound after the sordidness of marital deception.

Jack turned his cell phone back on and checked the messages.

His twin had called a couple of hours before. Doubtful he’d still be warming a barstool at their favorite watering hole. Still, some of the regular Friday-night crowd would definitely be milling around, including, in all likelihood, an unattached female eager to engage in some wrestling under the sheets.

All the more reason Jack wouldn’t go there. He wasn’t interested in women who frequented bars.

When Jack saw his second message was from Heather, he smiled. She was an actress he’d worked with, someone who wouldn’t dream of letting herself be picked up in a bar. Being with a woman who valued herself made the exchange of physical pleasure so much more enjoyable.

Jack punched her number on his speed dial, a smile on his lips. She’d been shooting a movie in Canada for the past six months. Getting reacquainted was going to be fun.

Heather’s voice greeted him with warm enthusiasm. “Jack, I’m so glad you called. I have great news!”

She’d gotten that new hot tub installed?

“I’m getting married!”

Damn. All Jack’s hot tub fantasies swirled down the drain.

As Heather’s excited voice related all the scintillating details of the whirlwind courtship with her new co-star, Jack diligently deleted her name and number from his cell phone list.

He’d give the marriage ten months, tops.

Jack had already selected another candidate for late-night company by the time Heather had finished her tale. Wishing her well, he released the connection and punched in the next number.

Thankfully, his address book still listed a dozen or so women who knew their demanding careers didn’t give them time to think about marriage.

DIANA KNEW she didn’t have time to think about marriage with everything else going on in her busy life, but she couldn’t help herself. The whole idea was so mind-boggling.

When her mother had announced her upcoming nuptials the week before, her face had positively glowed. The groom-to-be had looked pretty happy, too. Ray Villareal was not as handsome as Diana’s father had been. He was something better. He was in love with her mother.

Because of that, Diana was ready to forgive him for both his obnoxious stepson and for making her move.

But damn, she hated moving. She had neither the focus nor energy for the chore. Connie Pearce’s life was in her hands. Guilt poured through her when she even thought about taking time to—

“Mason, are you listening?” Vincent Kozen, one of the two senior partners at the law firm, demanded from the other side of the conference table.

The insipid argument had been droning on for more than an hour. Diana’s only hope of staying awake had been to tune out. Snapping back to attention, she stopped doodling on her pad and raised her eyes to Vincent.

“To every word,” she lied, straight-faced.

Replaying her set-to-automatic mental tape, she retrieved the rapidly fading sentences. Yep, the topic was still Vincent’s new, incredibly complicated time-allocation study, which would see if the law firm’s staff was tracking case expenditures correctly.

Just another one of those useless projects that was so dear to Vincent’s little number-crunching heart.

“If you’ve been listening, Mason,” Vincent challenged in his typically high and condescending tone, “then by all means tell us how you would handle the matter.”

He folded his hands in front of him and glared at her. She knew he was looking for a target. He always seethed when one of his “wonderful” time-tracking ideas met with dissention, as this latest had.

Diana plastered a look of concern on her face. “Although I recognize that the contributions from everyone at this table have been both thoughtful and insightful,” she said, intent on not offending anyone who actually was naïve enough to express their real opinion, “I do believe that the wisest course would be to heed your considerable expertise in this area.”

Bushy gray eyebrows rose in surprise as Vincent shifted his bony butt in the chair. “In the future, Mason, don’t make me have to prod you,” he said in a tone still annoying but far less combative. “I want to hear everyone’s opinion.”

Like hell he did. Vincent Kozen didn’t care what she or anyone else at the law firm thought, unless that person was agreeing with him. He and his brother, Ronald, were very similar in that regard.

Still, Diana had learned when to fight, when to surrender and when to walk away. This morning’s subject required a waving, white flag and nothing else.

Vincent pontificated for another ten excruciating minutes on his open-mindedness before the meeting finally came to a close. A sigh of collective relief wafted through the air as the staff members stood and gathered their belongings.

One of the midlevel associates at the firm, Leroy Ripp, sent Diana a look of open disdain as he shuffled toward the door.

“Nice going, Mason,” he said, his whisper hot with ill humor. “Now we have to waste fifteen minutes out of every hour filling out one of his idiotic forms.”

She didn’t answer Leroy. No point. Whenever Leroy got angry at anything, he ended up angry at everything. Vincent had already made his decision to institute the new time-tracking procedure. Nothing she nor anyone else had said in this meeting would have affected the outcome.

As Diana headed toward the door of the conference room, Gail Loftin, another one of her colleagues, fell into step beside her.

“Was Leroy accusing you of crossing over to the Dark Side?” Gail asked, a big grin on her face.

Diana chuckled.

She’d known Leroy for three years, Gail for nine months. All the words in the world wouldn’t get a point across to Leroy. Gail often understood without any.

“What’s gotten Leroy in such a foul mood these days?” Diana asked.

“Our favorite prosecutor creamed him in court last week.”

“Ah.” Diana knew Gail meant Silver Valley’s thoroughly detestable Chief Prosecutor, George Staker. Although she’d never classify Leroy as a friend, at this moment she felt for him.

“Hard not to take it personally sometimes,” Diana said. “At least three of our other attorneys have lost cases to Staker recently. Getting to be a damn epidemic.”

“Except Leroy keeps insisting that Staker knew things he shouldn’t have when they went to trial. I overheard Leroy tell Ronald that there must be a mole in our office.”

Diana shook her head. “Shoot me before I get that paranoid.”

“You have my promise,” Gail said, unlocking the door to her office. “Come in for a minute. I need to talk to you.”

As soon as Diana had stepped inside, Gail firmly closed the door behind them.

“I heard you got the Pearce case.”

“Ronald gave it to me a couple of weeks ago when you were tied up in that trial on the coast,” Diana confirmed. “He told me Earl said the case conflicted with another one he had.”

“What the case conflicts with is his drive to become a junior partner,” Gail said, the irritation thick in her tone as she circled her desk and plopped onto the chair.

Yes, Diana had figured that as well.

With Gail’s smarts, experience and expertise, she should be a shoo-in for the junior partner slot that the Kozen brothers had dangled before her eyes to get her to join the expanding private law firm of Kozen and Kozen.

But Earl Payman was vying for the position as well. Although Earl possessed not one tenth of Gail’s talent or experience, he wore Armani suits, had finagled a membership in the private club the Kozen brothers belonged to and always said the politically correct thing. Gail wore a size fourteen bought off the rack, never played golf and often made the mistake of speaking her mind.

That latter failing was one Diana shared with her friend.

“You shouldn’t have let Ronald dump the Pearce case on you,” Gail said.

Diana snorted in amusement as she slipped onto Gail’s guest chair. “You think I had some choice when our beloved senior partner charged into my office, dropped the file on my desk and said, ‘You need to take over this court-appointed defense case that goes to trial in two months, so get up to speed’?”

Gail exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry. Of course, you didn’t have an option. I’m only mad at the unfairness of seeing this happen to you.”

“Don’t be,” Diana said as she stretched her arms above her head, trying to encourage some circulation back into her shoulders after sitting hunched over for so long in that pointless meeting. “I know Ronald only gave it to me because everyone else probably ran the other way when they saw him coming. But I’m glad I’ve got it.”

Gail rested her elbows on the desk, regarding Diana gravely. “When I was in the prosecutor’s office last year and the sheriff’s reports landed in my in-basket, I was salivating in anticipation of taking the case to trial. A prosecution like that can make a career, which is why Staker grabbed the case right out from under me. Diana, the evidence is so overwhelming there’s no way you can come out looking good.”

“The case may not be as open and shut as everyone thinks.”

Gail’s eyebrows climbed her forehead as she inched forward in her chair. “You know something that no one else does?”

A knock came on the door. Gail looked decidedly put out at the interruption. “Come in,” she called out.

The door popped open and Kelli, the firm’s receptionist, poked her head inside.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Kelli said, oddly out of breath, “but Mr. Knight is waiting at my desk. Do you want me to show him to your office?”

Diana’s eyes went to her watch. Startled to see the time, she shot to her feet. “No, Kelli. I’ll see him now.” She headed for the door. “We’ll talk later, Gail.”

“Make that sooner,” Gail said. “You can’t keep me hanging like this.”

Chuckling at Gail’s frustrated look, Diana followed Kelli toward the reception area. She was looking forward to getting Gail’s opinion on several sticky aspects of the case. Having worked both sides of the legal fence, Gail was a wealth of insight.

But first Diana had to get things moving on Connie Pearce’s defense, which meant this meeting with the private investigator couldn’t be delayed. Still, the second she saw the man waiting for her, she came to an immediate and startled stop.

He was in his early thirties, over six feet, wearing a deep-blue, hand-tailored suit that emphasized his wide shoulders and long legs. His thick, dark hair had been sculpted, not cut. His Technicolor blue eyes, wide-screen smile and leading-man features could easily stop a female heart at fifty feet.

Dear heavens, it was Jack Knight. No wonder Kelli was so breathless. White Knight Investigations had sent her an actor!

Diana cursed to herself. What in the hell was she going to do now?

JACK FOLLOWED DIANA as she led the way to her office, his smile broadening. Well, well. The lawyer he’d be working for was a knockout—despite a formless gray business suit and no makeup—and she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. This had to be fate.

No, not fate, he corrected. Opportunity. He didn’t believe in fate, but he sure as hell believed in opportunity.

He caught a whiff of her scent, something cool and sweet he couldn’t quite place. She was maybe thirty and at least five-eight. Her gleaming black hair was gathered with a silver clip at the nape of her neck and fell to the middle of her back.

The way the light caught the curves of her face, highlighted her hair and settled in the soft centers of her eyes was absolutely arresting. She had what in the business was called “screen presence.” He knew stunningly beautiful actresses who worked for years, and for naught, to try to attain what came naturally to Diana Mason, Attorney at Law.

Jack took a quick look around her small office as they stepped inside. Well-used law books lined the shelves that covered every available inch of wall space. Dozens of pieces of scrap paper stuck out of them marking passages. Several rather high but neat stacks of paper covered the beige metal desk.

Her functional office confirmed what Jack had already surmised. She was about substance, not show. The only personal touch was the half-dozen pots of geraniums, full of pink blossoms, that adorned the south-facing window-sill.

He sat in the offered guest chair as she slipped onto the chair behind the desk. Scooting forward to the desk’s edge, she rested her elbows on the small space of available surface and regarded him silently.

He smiled.

The expression on her face changed slightly, but not in a way he anticipated. He wasn’t used to this kind of reaction to one of his smiles. The lady was something less than overjoyed to see him.

Ah, a challenge. Jack loved challenges.

“Frowns like the one you’re wearing can leave permanent marks on a guy’s delicate ego,” he said projecting the faint hint of pain designed to amuse and maybe even elicit a defensive apology.

“I was counting on working with your brother, Richard,” she said with such absolute candor and no hint of defensiveness that he almost laughed.

“Not to worry,” Jack said. “I come with a sixty-day warranty and a money-back guarantee.”

Her frown did not abate. “Your brother cleared up a very sticky case for me that another investigator had badly bungled. He came through on two other difficult cases as well. I trust Richard.”

“Really?” Jack said, feigning surprise. “When we were kids, he used to put his spinach on my plate and tell Mom he’d eaten it.”

“This case demands the best,” she said pointedly.

He was disappointed that all his efforts to lighten her up weren’t working. A good sense of humor in a woman always added to her sex appeal. Still, he could be serious with her if absolutely necessary.

“Fortunately for you, the best is here,” he said, straight-faced.

An eyebrow raised on her forehead. “Are you always this modest?”

“Modesty is a false cloak when it covers competence, wouldn’t you agree?”

“If it covers competence,” she said, brutally.

He leaned forward, the better to emphasize his sincerity. “I understand that relying on a known quantity is always more comfortable. But Richard will not be available for a month. I was given to understand that you need help immediately. At least that’s what my father said when he persuaded me to take this assignment.”

Actually, he’d talked his dad into giving him this case, but he saw no reason to reveal that part. He’d been warned that Diana would be expecting Richard. Jack had told his dad not to worry. Charming women into accepting him had never been a problem.

But considering the continuing displeasure on this woman’s face, he was beginning to wonder if he’d spoken too soon.

“Your brother, David, found a missing witness for me once. I was also quite pleased with his work. Is he available?”

Jack almost laughed. Next she’d be asking for his father or mother to take her case. What did this woman have against him?

“I’m the only one who is both available and right for this job,” he said.

“How long have you worked at your family’s private investigation firm?”

He pitied anyone who got drilled by this lawyer while in a courtroom. Thankful he wasn’t sitting in the witness box, he avoided answering her sticky question by asking one in return.

“Do you think that my father would risk our firm’s forty-year reputation for excellence by sending you someone who couldn’t handle the job?”

Jack was well aware Diana had hired White Knight Investigations half a dozen times during the past two years. She’d come back because she’d been satisfied. Yes, she trusted Richard and David. But Jack also felt certain that she trusted their firm.

“You used to be an actor,” she said. Her tone was almost an accusation.

Ah, so that was the problem. She’d seen him on TV and was mixing up the character he’d played with the man he was. A common failing. Still, he would have thought someone with her obvious smarts would have hesitated before making such an assumption.

“I used to be a very good actor,” he corrected. “I’m very good at whatever I put my mind to, Diana. I have a strong sense that you are as well.”

He knew no one was immune to a compliment, as long as it was delivered with sincerity. Knowing when to mix a compliment with a first name had become second nature to him. The timing on these two had been right. Now he waited to see how well the combination had worked.

And waited.

She finally extracted a form from her middle desk drawer and slid it toward him. “This is our standard contract and confidentiality statement. Please initial beneath each clause, sign your full name at the bottom and we’ll get started.”

Jack told himself he hadn’t really doubted the outcome of this conversation. Nonetheless, he was relieved to hear her confirming words.

Scanning the contents of the two-part form she’d handed him, he noted that the confidentiality statement demanded absolute secrecy from him. It also warned that if he were to repeat anything about this case to an unauthorized party, he would be subjected to all the legal racks and thumbscrews at Diana Mason’s disposal. He had not a doubt that she’d be happy to apply them, too.

Jack took a pen out of his shirt pocket, initialed where she’d indicated, signed his name and passed the document back to her.

“I understand your client is charged with murder,” he said.

“First degree,” she said slipping the confidentiality statement into the fairly thin folder in front of her. “This is a court assigned defense.”

She pulled a stack of blank forms from her desk. “I’ll need your time and expenses recorded daily and turned in weekly on these.”

Damn, he hated paperwork. Dutifully taking the stack of forms she handed him, he decided to let Harry, the clerk at the firm, do this part for him.

“Does court assigned mean that you’re acting like a public defender?” he asked.

A new frown appeared on her forehead. “Don’t tell me this is your first criminal defense case?”

“If you don’t want me to tell you that then I definitely won’t,” he said and sent her one of his most engaging smiles.

She shook her head, clearly not engaged. “When there are more cases than there are public defenders to handle them, a judge drafts the services of lawyers from legal firms in the area to represent a defendant. We’re paid by the state, not by the client.”

“When were you drafted into service?”

“I got the case two weeks ago in a workload shuffle. But the court assigned Connie Pearce’s defense to another lawyer at this firm ten months ago.”

“Connie Pearce?” Jack repeated. “Isn’t she the kindergarten teacher who killed her lover?”

“That’s what all the banner headlines proclaimed last year.”

“I remember hearing about that case.”

“You and nearly everyone else in this county. Getting a panel of jurors that hasn’t heard wasn’t easy.”

“She was supposed to have hit him with her car,” Jack said as the details began to come back to him. “There were a couple of eyewitnesses.”

“Are you having second thoughts about accepting this assignment?”

He smiled into the serious look on her face. “On the contrary. I love being on the side of the underdog.”

The tenseness in her shoulders seemed to increase with his assurance.

“Well, then you’re going to be ecstatic working this case,” she said. “The victim’s father suffered a fatal heart attack after witnessing his son’s death. The victim’s mother is one of our most prominent and politically connected superior court judges.”

“And this prominent, politically connected judge is out for blood,” he guessed.

“The Honorable Barbara Weaton insists she’s simply out for justice, but you can be sure she’s not going to take kindly to anyone who is trying to help the woman charged with her son’s murder.”

He pointed to the thin folder in front of her. “Is that what the other lawyer has done?”

She gave the folder a quick glance. “Over the past ten months.”

Despite the evenness of her tone, Jack knew she wasn’t only unhappy about the thinness of the folder in front of her. She was angry.

“Why didn’t this lawyer do anything?” he asked.

“Earl Payman said Connie wouldn’t speak to him. Or anyone else.”

“That sounds like a symptom of shock to me. Why didn’t he think of that?”

“He brought in a psychologist to examine her a week after her arrest. She wouldn’t talk to him, either. The psychologist said he couldn’t testify to whether she was legally sane or not. Earl decided the safest thing for him was to plead her not guilty and let a jury convict or acquit her.”

“He did nothing else in the intervening nine and a half months?”

“He played a lot of golf with the two senior partners at this firm.”

Although Diana’s voice remained calm, there was enough contempt in her expression to have sent the incompetent, golf-playing Earl into lockup for life.

“Where has Connie Pearce been all this time?” Jack asked.

“In jail. Earl made no attempt to get her a bail hearing.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Nearly every day since I got her case. But it wasn’t until late last week that she opened up and told me what happened.”

“And that’s when you called White Knight Investigations.”

Diana nodded.

He was pretty certain he knew why. “Connie Pearce convinced you that she wasn’t the one driving the car that killed Weaton.”

“No, she was driving the car.”

“She didn’t see the guy run in front of her car?”

“She saw him.”

Jack let his mind quickly dig through the other possibilities. “It was self-defense,” he said as the obvious answer came through. “The guy was coming at her, threatening to do her bodily harm, and the only weapon she had to defend herself was the car.”

“No,” Diana said. “It wasn’t self-defense.”

Jack was stymied. He couldn’t think of anything else that made sense. “Okay, I give up. What happened?”

“Connie Pearce saw Bruce Weaton in front of her car and she hit him.”

Jack was more confused than ever. “If that’s what she has admitted happened, then what do you need me for?”

Diana locked eyes with him as she leaned forward in her chair. “I need you to help me get her off.”