Clear and Convincing Proof (11 page)

Unaccountably she felt a rush of anger. “You know why I never ask? If my client says no, I have no way of knowing if it's a lie or the truth. And if the answer is yes, it puts us both in an untenable position since I am a sworn officer of the court. Knowing a client is guilty narrows the course of possible actions drastically. I never ask.”

“One other thing to mull over along with the problem of my veracity,” he said. “I won't plea-bargain. With my record, pleading guilty to anything from jaywalking to shoplifting to a bit of accidental manslaughter would put me away for the next twenty years.”

Her anger subsided as fast as it had flared. Curiously she asked, “Did the police go into something like that when they questioned you?”

“Sure. Even suggested a scenario. We met on the path, had an argument, he pushed me or something and I shot him in self-defense. No sale. They were trying to account for the fact that he was shot at very close range, and there's no way they can see us getting that close together unless there was a face-to-face confrontation.”

“Did they tell you that?”

He shook his head. “Sometimes you can infer a lot by what isn't said.” He shrugged. “Of course, I could be dead wrong about their reasoning.”

“But you'd bet money that you're not,” she said, opening the door.

“Yes, I would.”

He walked out and she closed the door and locked it, then returned to her office and sat behind her desk, thinking. Darren Halvord was complex, for one thing, she told herself. Highly intuitive, perceptive, street-smart in the ways of the police and their investigation. And cocksure of himself, she added, and wondered if that was what had brought on her surge of anger. He knew as well as she did that if he took a plea bargain he would do hard time. He knew that if he was charged, a plea bargain would be offered. Why wasn't he biting his fingernails? Or fidgeting in his chair, or doing something that indicated worry or fear?

Then she wondered if the scenario he said the detective had suggested had been voiced or even hinted at, or if it was his way of telling her what had happened that morning in November.

O
n Friday Frank met Barbara in the parking lot behind her building. She had been to Martin's, no doubt, doing her weekly stint there. Her jeans and boots were a giveaway. Sometimes he thought he'd give a pretty penny to know what it was that indebted Martin and his wife Binnie to the point of idolatry where Barbara was concerned, but he suspected that he would never find out. He had hinted a time or two that he was curious, and she, ever quick to decipher any clue however faint, had not noticed. That suggested that she had pulled a fast one, but there it rested. He waited for her and they went up together to her office on the second floor.

Bailey was standing by Maria's desk, scribbling furiously when they entered.

“Lard!” Bailey said, his pen poised over the notebook. “She uses
lard?
That's hog fat. Hannah would never use hog fat.”

“Then she can't make empanadas,” Maria said. Her mama's empanadas were sinful and irresistible. Dismissing him, she smiled at Frank and Barbara, and hit the phone button for Shelley's office. “They're here,” she said. She ripped off a page from her notepad and handed it to Barbara—four calls. “I'll make fresh coffee. Anything else?”

“Nope. Take off when you wrap up the cooking lesson. See you on Monday,” Barbara said, passing her on the way to her own office with Frank close behind and Bailey trailing after.

Over her shoulder Barbara said to Bailey, “And, no, you don't look like Columbo. You look like a flasher.”

He was wearing a shabby tan raincoat.

A few minutes later, the four of them gathered around the inlaid table, Bailey nursing a Jack Daniel's, the others with coffee in hand. Barbara said, “Okay, anything, Bailey?”

He shrugged. “Skin-deep at this point. Alibis. Kelso, home in bed. He goes in and out three, four times a day, no one pays much attention. Just another old black car in the rain that morning. Who'd notice? Boardmans. The doc in his study from seven-thirty until Carlos showed up at twenty minutes after eight. Long time to watch the news, but there it is. Mrs. Boardman got the car out, then read the paper and drank coffee. Both alone until Carlos got there.
Annie McIvey dropped McIvey off and headed to Portland. Alone. No one has showed up yet who noticed a big silver Mercedes on the road. Halvord left his place at twenty minutes before eight. His landlady saw him wheel his bike out and take off. He got to the clinic in time for the cook to have him take coffee to the lounge. She says about ten to eight or a minute or so earlier. Alan rode his bike that route and the times check out okay. Halvord's in the clear, if Castle's story holds up. She's a schoolteacher, in the area since last summer, no axes to grind or anything like that.”

“Darren Halvord's the only one in the clear,” Barbara said, “and apparently the only one who turned up with blood on his shoe. How about Castle, what's her connection with the clinic?”

He shook his head. “One of the volunteers. She reads to the patients every afternoon from five until a little after five-thirty.”

He glanced at his notebook, then said, “Halvord's record. I have what the personnel file had. You know about his record?”

“What he told me. Drugs, correction facility until he was twenty-one.”

“You want me to go deeper?”

“You bet I do.” Then, frowning, she asked, “How about McIvey's associates in the medical offices?”

“Nada. But like I said, this is skin-deep. There are four—were four of them sharing office space. They get to the hospital around seven-thirty or so to check
on patients, then to surgery, or back to the office to see patients there. No absentees that morning, no one late. No reason to want him dead, to all appearances. And I doubt any of them knew about the arrangement with the entrance from the garden. No reason any of them should have known. If they have patients at the clinic, they pay their calls by way of the front entrance and leave that way.” He tapped the old duffel bag that he called his junior detective kit. “What I have is in the report, but that's the gist.”

“The first Mrs. McIvey?” Barbara asked after a moment.

“More reason to keep him alive and kicking than to see him laid out,” Bailey said. “Alimony stopped the day he bit it. I can check more on her.”

Absently Barbara shook her head. “No point. Bailey, if you shoot someone standing up at close range like that, how does he fall? Straight back? Crumple down? Stagger a little, then fall?”

He looked from her to Frank, then back. “Jeez, I don't even know what he was shot with. Peashooter or elephant gun? Makes a difference, you know.”

“Let's assume a handgun, not too big.”

He sighed theatrically. “Okay. Say a .32. He might grab at his heart and stagger a little. Might even have tried to grab the shooter. A .38? Probably jerk back a little. Reflex. Then fall. Maybe straight back, maybe not. Bigger caliber? Back with the impact, maybe twist around a little. See, Barbara, it's guesswork. Tell me the kind of gun and we'll go on from
there.” He swished the remaining bourbon around in his glass, then drank it all.

“Do you know what he was wearing?” she asked, ignoring his aggrieved tone.

“No,” he said, then stood up holding his glass toward her. She nodded and he went to the bar for a refill.

“You're thinking about the blood, aren't you?” Frank said. “I am, too.”

Shelley looked from one to the other. “How did Darren Halvord get enough blood on his boot to take back to his bicycle pedal?” she asked in a low tone.

“Exactly,” Barbara said. “McIvey was shot right after seven-thirty. Darren Halvord got there about fifteen to eighteen minutes later. It was pouring down rain, and even if blood did spill where McIvey was shot, wouldn't it have been washed into the bark mulch too much for him to pick up enough to take back to the pedal?”

“It might have pooled in his raincoat, assuming he was wearing one,” Frank said. “Then it could have spilled a bit when he was moved and the mover didn't notice since everything was so wet. He walks through it. Takes it back to the conspiracy theory.”

Shelley looked sickened and Barbara nodded.

“Anything else for me?” Bailey asked after a moment. When Barbara said just more of the same, he stood up, finished his drink and put on his disreputable raincoat. “You know what I think?” he said
heading toward the door. “I think that when they collar your two clients, you're going to earn every penny they pay you. See you guys.” He left.

Frank did not say a word, but he thought that Bailey had it just about right.

T
he following Monday Barbara and Shelley were in the directors' room with the Boardmans, Dr. Kelso, Darren and Annie. Shelley had gone to Martin's Restaurant at one, but by two, when no one had come by, she had been too discouraged to stay and had returned to the office in time to catch Barbara on her way out.

Now they were both at the round table; the others were in the more comfortable seats and on the sofa. Shelley had her notepad out. “I thought it best to have present today the directors as well as the two people I've been retained to defend,” Barbara said. “I have just a couple of questions. Dr. Kelso, why did you transfer your shares of the clinic to Dr. Boardman when you did?”

Every time she saw him, he appeared older than the last time. He looked more shriveled than a human could get and still be mobile. He looked as if he belonged in a sarcophagus.

He blinked at the question, then said, “Because Joyce McIvey had a stroke and died a week later. I could do the same thing at any time, and I wanted to see this settled before that time comes.”

Barbara turned to Greg Boardman. “You've stated that David McIvey arrived at your house at seven-thirty the morning he was killed. Can you be certain of that?”

“I'm certain, but proving it is something else altogether,” he said after a moment. “How could I prove it?”

“Just tell me again exactly what you did, what he did that morning,” Barbara said.

“He rang the doorbell and I opened the door, picked up the newspaper and stepped aside so he could enter. I saw that Annie was backing out already. I had the key to the gate on the side table by the door, and I picked it up and handed it to David. We walked through the house to the kitchen. We said good morning and rotten day, something like that, but no more than that. I think I mentioned that the electronic lock on the clinic door was released at seven-thirty, so it would be open. He left by the back door. I closed it and went over to the counter to make coffee.” He paused. When Barbara didn't comment, he went on. “I waited for the coffee, poured a cup and went into the study to turn on the
television and watch the morning news. I was still in there when Carlos came.”

“Okay,” Barbara said. “But how do you know for certain that it was seven-thirty?”

“That's when he said he'd be there, and David was compulsive about being on time, and having everyone else be on time.”

On a straight chair at the side of the sofa, Annie ducked her head.

“Anyway, I was keeping an eye on the clock, and I know it was seven-thirty,” Greg Boardman said.

“How long was he in the house?”

“Maybe a minute.”

“Do you usually spend nearly an hour watching the morning news?”

He looked surprised, then shook his head. “I never do. I simply didn't want to run into David again. I was waiting him out.”

Barbara looked at Naomi Boardman. “Can you confirm that?”

“Of course. We were both watching the clock. I knew David wanted to be at the hospital by eight, and that meant he would be prompt. It would take him ten or fifteen minutes at the clinic to check his patient out and sign the follow-up orders, and then ten minutes to get to the hospital. That's why I got the car out to be ready to drive him over. He came at exactly seven-thirty.”

Barbara nodded. “The patient at the clinic, Mrs. Johnson, said she got out of bed, used the bathroom, washed her face and turned on the television at
seven-thirty. She had just gotten herself settled when she heard what might have been a shot, and she turned her chair in order to see out the window. That's when she saw someone. Either a dwarf in a black cape or a demon. But the point is she could have seen something, and she could have heard a shot. Her line of sight would have provided a view of about six or seven feet of the path where McIvey was shot.”

“I don't think she ever claimed he was wearing a cape,” Darren said. “I saw her later that morning, and she said it was a carapace. That's why it had to be a demon. A shiny black carapace.”

Bailey's report stated that by the time he had reached Dorothy Johnson, she had firmed up her story considerably, and stated with emphasis that she had seen a demon, all shiny and black, with a great big head. There had been no mention of a dwarf or a carapace.

“You wouldn't call her as a witness,” Annie said. “She's…Well, she believes in demons, goblins, fairies, who knows what all?”

“Okay,” Barbara said. “Even if we leave her testimony out, if Dr. and Mrs. Boardman stick to their timetable, there's no way to put Darren on the scene at the right time. His landlady, Erica Castle, saw him leaving the garage on his bike at twenty minutes before eight. And Stephanie Waters saw him enter the clinic at about ten or twelve minutes before eight. In fact, she gave him the urn of coffee to take to the lounge for her. That would be about the time
it would take to ride a bike over, to spot the umbrella, go close it and then go on around to park and enter the clinic. And what would David McIvey have been doing out in the rain all that time?”

“Where does that leave me?” Annie whispered.

“I don't know for certain. When the detective asked if they could look in the trunk and the glove box, exactly what did you do?”

“I said yes. The detective who drove me down from Portland had the key in his hand, and he gave it to the other one. He opened the trunk and the glove box, and I went inside the clinic.”

“Did he return the key to you at that time?”

“No. Someone gave it to me later, after they questioned me.”

“And while you were being questioned, no doubt, they were going over your car with a fine-tooth comb looking for trace evidence. Bark mulch on the accelerator, a sign of moisture on your floor or anything else that could have been incriminating. Even if you had managed to change your clothes, or swathed yourself in a long waterproof coat and then got rid of it, there's always something. Also,” she added, “they've questioned your family and various others about a gun. Did you ever own one?”

Annie shook her head. “Neither did David.”

“So that's been another problem for them. Apparently they searched everywhere they could think of looking for a gun and came up with nothing.” Naomi was nodding vigorously. “So they don't know where it came from or where it went,” Barbara
said. “And there's the problem of moving a body of that size. The way he was lifted and moved required some strength. They might say yes, you could do that, and know the defense would be just as positive that no, you couldn't. They may be speculating a lot, but they need hard evidence, what they consider to be clear and convincing proof, to present a case to the grand jury, and they don't have it.”

Dr. Kelso had been following all this closely, frowning in concentration. “Where does that leave things?” he asked then, his voice so raspy, it was like a low growl.

“I'm not at all sure,” Barbara said. “I don't know what leads they may be following up on. Ballistics for certain, trying to trace the gun. DNA if traces of blood were found on Darren's shoes and gloves. That always takes a good deal of time. The labs are backed up for months. Maybe they're just hoping for a break, for someone to come forward with a useful tidbit.”

“I mean with probate,” Dr. Kelso said sharply. “Will they release the estate?”

“Again, I don't know. If the police still claim that Annie is a prime suspect, the answer is no.”

“How long is it going to take them?” Dr. Kelso asked.

“I don't know. Sometimes no arrest is made for a year, two years. Sometimes within days of a crime. I'm not privy to their plans or their investigation.”

Dr. Kelso glared at her for a moment, then sank back against his chair in an attitude of defeat.

“He'll win,” Annie said in a dull voice. “David always won, and he'll win again.”

“Well, I've told you what I can,” Barbara said. “I imagine the police are looking into his associates, possible arguments he may have had with someone we know nothing about, even a passerby who might have followed him into the garden with the intention of robbing him.”

It was interesting, she thought, how differently they listened to this. Dr. Kelso might have gone deaf for all the signs he gave, but both Greg and Naomi looked hopeful, and Annie looked as if she had seen a glimmer of light in a very dark place. Darren looked skeptical.

“Meanwhile,” she said, “there's very little I can do at this point. The police are waiting for a stroke of luck, a break, forensic evidence, something, and my hands are tied until I find out what leads they are following.”

 

After she and Shelley were in her car in the front parking lot, she asked, “Well, what do you think?”

“I think a giant carapaced cockroach killed him.”

Barbara laughed. “And?”

“I'd bet there's nothing going on between Darren and Annie.”

“Me, too. Just wanted a second opinion.”

“In fact,” Shelley said judiciously, “I'd also bet he's a lot more interested in you than in her.”

“Shelley, let's face the truth here. When you're
with me, no man gives me a second glance. That's just the way it is.”

This time Shelley laughed. “He didn't even notice that I was there.”

“That's because you're so obviously taken.” Shelley radiated happiness and love like a neon sign, Barbara thought, as she started to drive.

“Where are you going?” Shelley asked when Barbara turned the corner and started around the clinic grounds.

“I thought I'd drive by Darren Halvord's apartment, see for myself how far it is, how long it would take to ride from there to the clinic. Bailey had Alan do it on his bike, but while we're so close, I might as well satisfy my curiosity. We'll just start at the end, not the beginning. Want to start timing it about here.”

They passed the drive into the staff parking lot, went another ten feet or so and turned into the alley. The residence was on a trapezoidal piece of ground, narrow at one end, widening as they went. They passed an area covered with gravel, where the gardener's truck could park within a few feet to the gate of the clinic garden on the right. Barbara stopped. “Give him time to go in and close the umbrella, come back out. Thirty seconds? About that probably.” She started to drive again. The alley was narrow, fifteen feet, the length of a city block. At the end she turned again and, driving very slowly at the speed she thought a bicycle might do, drove the four blocks to Erica Castle's house and stopped at the curb as a green SUV pulled into the driveway. There was a Realtor's logo on the door.

“Four minutes,” Shelley said.

Barbara nodded. “Let's wait for her company to leave.” She thought a moment, then added, “In fact, maybe I'll have a chat with the lady. Wait here.” She left her car and walked up the sidewalk to the end of the driveway where she waited for the Realtor to come out again. It took only a few minutes.

She waved to the driver, a round-faced woman with black curly hair and a wide smile. “Hi,” Barbara said when the SUV stopped and the woman rolled down her window. “Is the house going on the market?”

“Are you looking for a house like that?”

“Not me. A friend. She likes this neighborhood and I've been keeping an eye out for her.”

“Oh. Let me give you my card, to pass on if you will. No, this one isn't for sale, I'm sorry to say, but I know about others in the area.” She handed her card to Barbara.

“Mrs. Maryhill? I'll tell my friend. But this one would be ideal. I thought, seeing your logo, that maybe we were in luck.”

“Hasn't she done wonders with it? If you've been keeping an eye out, you must have seen the transformation, what a wreck it was before. It's like a miracle, if you ask me. Last summer she would have snapped up an offer, she couldn't wait to sell it, but now that it's fixed up so nice, she's changed her mind. But do tell your friend that I have others listed in the area.”

“I will. Thanks.” She moved back and Mrs. Mary
hill rolled up her window and pulled out of the driveway, headed down the street.

“Well?” Shelley asked when Barbara returned to her own car.

“Not sure. She wanted to sell last summer when the house was a wreck, according to the real estate lady, but now she doesn't want to sell. Let's go meet her. What's her name? Castle. Erica Castle.”

She started the car and drove the rest of the way to the drive that Mrs. Maryhill had just left. An old station wagon was parked at the side of the house.

The door of the house opened and a woman stepped out, hugging her arms about her against the cold. “Annie?” she called.

“And that must be Darren's alibi,” Barbara said. “Erica Castle.” She got out and waved to Erica. “Hi, I'm Barbara Holloway, with my associate Shelley McGinnis. Got a minute?”

“Of course. Come on in.” Erica backed up and stood in the open doorway to wait for them.

“Erica Castle,” she said when they entered the house and she'd shut the door. “For a minute there I thought it was Annie McIvey paying a call.”