‘‘No.’’
‘‘This person who you trust—has he or she got any axes to grind?’’
‘‘Yes, but—’’
‘‘We’ve got a duty, Nina,’’ Artie said. ‘‘Our nerves may be shot, we may stop sleeping, our kids may be neglected, we may hate the crook whose hand we’re holding. But we’ve got a duty. Even when we have a failure of nerve.’’
‘‘It’s not a failure of nerve! It’s a failure of trust. I don’t trust him.’’
Artie said, ‘‘I still don’t see what that has to do with it. Nothing says you have to trust him. Defendants aren’t trustworthy, in general. But he has to be able to trust you, because that’s your duty. And I see he can’t trust you.’’ Artie turned back around and acted like he was very interested in the case on the screen. She felt that she had lost a lot of luster in his eyes.
‘‘Well, thanks anyway,’’ she said.
As she was walking out the door, Artie said, his eyes still on the screen, ‘‘I’ll still work with you, if you change your mind.’’
19
WHEN SANDY BROUGHT Jim into the inner office late that afternoon, Nina was sitting upright behind the desk, her hands folded in front of her, all business.
‘‘Thank you for coming,’’ she said as he threw himself into the chair. He looked like he had run all the way from the resort. He must have been working outside— sweating and hatless, he wore only a red wool shirt above his jeans, though it was in the thirties today.
‘‘I was coming anyway,’’ he said, the words rushing out before she could get her mouth open. ‘‘My father finally did it. He fired me. I knew it was coming. It’s been hanging over me. It’s almost a relief. No, it’s not a relief, it’s another hellish hit, is what it is.’’ He looked so disheveled and agitated, his news was so bad, that Nina decided her own agenda would have to wait a few minutes while she tried to help him absorb it.
‘‘It’s final? He didn’t ask you to do something else?’’
‘‘No. He came back from his trip and things were kind of in a mess—what did he expect? I’m the one facing a murder charge . . . but I’ve tried to keep things together, deal with the lodge employees and the equipment breakdowns and the Ski Patrol people, all of it, and this hearing was coming up. I mean, there’s an actual possibility I’ll go to jail! So what does he do? He leaves and dumps everything on my shoulders. He came in about six o’clock in the morning, and when I showed up at eight he called me in and said he wanted me off the property.’’
‘‘I don’t understand,’’ Nina said. ‘‘I really don’t. I take it that you feel his reason for firing you was a pretext, and it sure sounds like one. But if it’s got to do with your brother’s death, why go off and leave you in charge in the first place?’’
‘‘I don’t know either. He’s never been an easy person. Now we’re like strangers.’’ He paused, thinking. ‘‘Someone has poisoned his mind against me since he left. He wouldn’t even tell me where he’s been. But unfortunately for me, he has the power. He’s the managing partner. I’m out.’’
‘‘Was there—did the conversation get heated?’’ Nina asked.
‘‘No, no. I tell you, Nina, I just didn’t even have the heart to argue with him about it. I just turned around and left. I went home and tried to sleep. I did finally drop off, about noon, but only for an hour. I’m so tired.’’
‘‘After things calm down,’’ Nina said, ‘‘your father may change his mind.’’
Jim got up and paced. ‘‘He seems to hate me now. If I can’t convince him that I had nothing to do with Alex’s death, I don’t think he’ll ever have anything more to do with me. After everything I’ve done to make him . . .’’
‘‘To make him what?’’ Nina said. Then she thought, to make him love me. That was what Jim was choking back.
‘‘Give it a few days,’’ was all she could think of to say. She wasn’t going to suggest any of several legal remedies that had come to mind. This dilemma wasn’t a legal one, and the law couldn’t solve it.
‘‘I need you more than ever, Nina.’’
‘‘Well, let’s talk about what’s happening with your case. First, I’m sorry to tell you that there’s still no word on Heidi.’’
Sitting down again, Jim bowed his head, effectively hiding his expression, but the humility of the gesture suggested to Nina that he had come to grips with Heidi’s absence.
‘‘At the moment, you’re free, but as you know, you can be rearrested and another hearing can be held on whether there’s probable cause to bind you over for trial.’’
‘‘Whatever happened to double jeopardy, anyhow?’’ Jim asked.
‘‘Let’s just say it’s been whittled away so much, there’s just a microscopic twig of that doctrine left,’’ Nina said. ‘‘However, if they lose two prelims, you’ll be home free.’’
‘‘This is too much! It’s eating up my money. It’s ruining my life!’’
‘‘I know. I know. But you have to prepare yourself.
The police forensics lab is running more tests on those fibers found on your boots. They’re even looking for Alex’s DNA. They have the idea that if Alex sweated enough they might be able to link the fibers to his particular shirt.’’
‘‘They can find stuff like that?’’
‘‘Oh, they live in a science fiction world. Look at the navy blue dress that nailed Clinton.’’
‘‘If they don’t find anything, will that clear me?’’
Now that was a very good question, the kind of question an innocent man asks. ‘‘Not really,’’ she told him reluctantly. ‘‘Ginger says there are a number of reasons why no DNA would be found even if Alex was wearing the shirt, with the current state of testing.’’
‘‘I wonder what I should do. Being accused like this, and never completely cleared, it’s like having plague or leprosy in the old days. The only thing left for me to do is go hide. It’s true, isn’t it? There’s no way to prove a negative. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I’m marked for life.’’
‘‘Don’t— Try not to be bitter, Jim. It’ll just hurt more.’’ Jim turned away from her. He stared out the window at the mountain beyond. She hoped he could find comfort there, since she didn’t seem to be much use in that department.
During the silence that followed, Nina let herself tune into her own interior struggle. Collier had scared her, maybe stampeded her. What facts had he given her? She was a defense attorney. Her job was to fight for her client, not to allow these constant doubts to shake her up. And Jim seemed to be genuinely suffering.
He might be innocent! What about the scene between Marianne and her stepbrother that she’d witnessed at the Festival of Lights? Did she really believe Malavoy was that dangerous? Yes, she did. They were both viable suspects.
‘‘I almost forgot. You called me in. Why did you want me to come over?’’ Jim asked.
‘‘Because—because I want to bring in another attorney that we can consult with, who’ll be available to help with any trial, if it should come to that—’’
‘‘But you’re doing great!’’
‘‘Thanks, but I do recommend we bring in Artie Wilson. He’s got tremendous experience. He’s outstanding. You’ll like him, Jim.’’
But Jim was shaking his head violently. ‘‘No! Let’s just keep on like we have been.’’
‘‘But can’t you just—’’
‘‘I don’t want to meet him—I don’t want to deal with somebody else. I don’t want to pay two sets of lawyers. No!’’
His vehemence surprised her, but did not deflect her. She wanted Artie. She needed him. Without Paul . . . she stopped that line of thought. Artie would provide a very necessary role as a sounding board in this case. She couldn’t discuss the case with Collier or anybody else, but Artie, as co-counsel, could know everything. In her last big civil case, she had discovered both the virtues and drawbacks to collaboration. This time, she could imagine nothing but good coming out of the association.
She hated thinking in a vacuum. Every once in a while, the nagging thought intruded that maybe she had constructed something so faulty in her own mind that the entire edifice would crumble under the least scrutiny. Artie would keep her on track and keep her thinking sturdy. Nothing Jim said would sway her from that determination.
‘‘Look, Jim. I don’t feel able to advise you, handle all these complications, alone. I want Artie to join the team. I can’t keep on myself if you won’t allow me to bring in a co-counsel. Artie isn’t going to need a separate retainer. We’ll just call him in if and when we need him. Let me assure you, he’s very good.’’
‘‘Will you quit if I don’t hire this guy?’’
‘‘I didn’t say that,’’ Nina waffled.
‘‘What—who’s got you thinking this way?’’
‘‘C’mon. Let’s go upstairs and meet him. Then you can decide.’’
They climbed the stairs together in silence, Nina in the lead, Jim clomping up behind her.
Artie’s receptionist was out, but he already had clients in his office. Nina and Jim waited in the reception area, allowing plenty of time for Jim’s already dark mood to turn to black. Nina leafed through a glossy magazine about travel to remote islands, one eye on Jim, totally unable to concentrate on anything except her agitated client.
After ten tense minutes, Jim stood, preparing to leave. As if listening behind his closed door, a busy lawyer heeding the call of the totally disgruntled at the last possible moment, Artie suddenly appeared. A couple of rough-looking characters drifted out behind him, ignored Nina and Jim, shook hands with Artie, and left.
‘‘Into the conference room.’’ Artie nodded in that direction.
As soon as the three of them were together, Nina knew she had done the right thing. She felt much less anxious with Artie involved.
So, of course, Jim couldn’t stand him. He didn’t like him at the beginning of the conversation, and he seemed to like him less toward the end. Artie tried to jolly him along, asking questions thoughtfully and gently, but Jim answered monosyllabically. To him, young and fit and interested in nothing better than rushing down a mountain as fast as was humanly possible, Artie must have looked like an old fool who couldn’t ski his way out of a paper bag.
And Artie, to be honest, was tired, not at his best. He had a perfunctory air, which Jim clearly sensed.
So when they had said polite good-byes and were back out in the second-floor hall, Jim said only, ‘‘I have to take him if I’m going to keep you?’’
‘‘I’d feel better with Artie on board. Yes.’’
‘‘Then I guess he’s on board.’’
‘‘Thanks, Jim. It’s for the best. Now try to get some rest tonight.’’
‘‘I couldn’t do without you, Nina. Can I—that is—’’
‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘Could I just—give you a hug? To thank you for everything? I’d like to.’’ He took a step forward.
She felt prudish, or was it prudent? Anyway, she said only, ‘‘I don’t think that would be a great idea.’’
‘‘What’s the matter? I let you bring him in. Don’t I get a reward?’’
‘‘Drive safely.’’
They were locked tight on Nina’s bed. Candles flickered on the bureau.
Downstairs, a chicken roasted in the oven. The half-eaten appetizers, some olives and havarti with crackers, and two glasses of wine, lay neglected on the bedside chest.
They had proceeded to the first course, urgently communicating in the new way between them. As Collier moved on her and she gave back, he said, without using words: I need you; I want you forever. I’ll never leave you. And Nina answered: I can’t stand being away from you; I don’t care about anything but you.
He rocked her, his face buried in her hair. I love you . . . Yes, go ahead, do it, yes, I’m greedy but I don’t care, I don’t care . . .
She held him tight. And up they went, into the new and timeless place they had found, up and up and then shuddering back down into the world and time.
Collier fell on her. She accepted his weight. They didn’t move.
Hitchcock whined at the door, grouchy at being locked out. Collier had said, ‘‘No witnesses.’’
After a long while had passed, and their breaths had synchronized into a peaceful doze, Nina said, ‘‘Let me up, Collier. I have to go check on dinner.’’ She climbed down and went into the bathroom. When she came back and saw him sleeping on the bed, breathing heavily, the sheets covering one leg, his head hidden under his arm, she smiled.
He could have an hour. He could have the night. At nine o’clock he came down, looking surprised and still sleepy. Nina was reading on the couch in her bathrobe. His plate still lay on the table; hers had long since been taken to the kitchen.
Smiling, she motioned to the table and said, ‘‘Sorry. Couldn’t wait.’’
‘‘I ought to be the one apologizing.’’
‘‘Don’t. I loved the idea that you were upstairs.’’
He smiled back. His hair was damp and he was wearing a pair of boxers. He seemed very dear to her.
‘‘Your dinner’s in the oven,’’ she said.
‘‘Thanks.’’ He wolfed down a big plate of chicken and fettuccine at the table and then joined her in front of the fire. They talked, as usual, about nothing much. A lot of the time they didn’t say anything, just held hands while Nina’s head lay on his shoulder.
‘‘Let’s go back to bed,’’ she said at eleven. ‘‘You’re staying the night, aren’t you?’’
‘‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’’
The four-poster seemed to be waiting for them. Hitchcock lay on his blanket at the foot of the bed, twitching now and then in his dreams. And now they did talk in the darkness, in total safety.
‘‘Did you take my advice?’’ Collier said. ‘‘I’m sorry to have to ask.’’
‘‘It’s all right. Not exactly, but I did associate in Artie Wilson.’’
Collier breathed in sharply. Her hand on his chest witnessed its rise and fall. ‘‘You said you would!’’
‘‘I—I—’’
‘‘I’ve already lost someone I loved. I don’t want to lose you!’’
‘‘Give me some facts! I have a duty to my client, and you want me to ignore that just because you say so?’’
‘‘Yes!’’
‘‘You can’t tell me any more about what has you so alarmed?’’
‘‘No!’’
‘‘Are you going to arrest him again?’’
‘‘I hope so,’’ Collier said. ‘‘I don’t want you representing him. Why won’t you take the benefit of what I know, even if I can’t tell you the precise facts?’’
‘‘I can’t.’’
‘‘God damn it!’’ He got up and paced around the cold bedroom in the dark.
‘‘Collier, come back to bed. Please. I can’t abandon this client just because you’re worried. We’re going to have to live with a lot of worry because of our work. You have to accept that.’’
He sat on the edge of the bed, and she pulled him gently down.
‘‘Let’s not talk about this,’’ she said.
‘‘I’ll try.’’
‘‘Let’s not talk about this either.’’
‘‘This? Or this?’’
‘‘Ohhh. Let’s—’’
‘‘Let’s.’’
On Thanksgiving Day they went to Sandy’s wedding.
Running south from Tahoe, the Luther Pass Highway led through forests which burst out in spectacular displays of color in fall. Now the many deciduous trees thrust skeletal branches to the sky, very Currier and Ives, as specks of cross-country skiers, hikers, even bikers, brightened the white with their rainbow parkas.
‘‘Let’s go snowshoeing soon,’’ Collier said. He was driving.