Clear and Convincing Proof (15 page)

“What do you mean?” Frank asked. “You mean foot the bills yourself?”

“Something like that,” she admitted. “As long as I'm working solely on behalf of my clients, the board of directors will pony up expenses. I don't think I can bill them for expenses if I'm working for myself.”

Frank eyed her narrowly. “You'll end up in the poorhouse yet.”

“Sooner rather than later if Kelso's kids inherit and sell out,” she said. “He told me outright that
there would be no money for attorneys if that happens. Probably he nailed that one.” She shrugged. “I figure I'll do a lot of the legwork,” she said, “and take brown bag lunches. You know, peanut butter and jelly. It won't be too bad. And you,” she said to Shelley, “may find yourself running the office quite a bit for a couple of weeks or so.”

“I'm pretty good at legwork,” Shelley said in a low voice. “And I don't eat a lot.”

Looking at them, the little pink-and-gold fairy princess and his daughter, Frank thought that if Barbara said it was time to walk through the gates of hell, Shelley would run to her side to go in with her. His voice was gruff when he said, “It's going to be different without the benefit of discovery, you know. I can mosey down to the courthouse, maybe city hall, see some old friends, gossip a little.”

Barbara closed her eyes hard for a second, and when she opened them, they were suspiciously moist. “Okay,” she said rather too briskly, “let's move. I have a brochure you both should read, just to get a bit of history.”

Frank looked at her thoughtfully. “I wonder who's the lead investigator. Any idea?”

“Nope. They haven't told anyone a thing.”

He nodded. If she were a gambler, Barbara thought, she would put up money that he would find out before the day was over. He had a way of picking up a tidbit here, another there, almost as if the walls told him things as he passed by.

“I'll be on my way,” Frank said. “Been out of
touch with old pals too long. Pays to keep in touch with old friends. Dinner, Bobby?”

“I'd love it,” she said.

S
he had just hung up from speaking with Dr. Kelso when Bailey dropped in a little later. “I brought the diaries back,” he said. “Nothing there. It looks like someone picked up one of them, saw what was inside, closed it and wiped it clean. Next time it was handled, he was wearing gloves. One wiped pretty clean, just Annie's prints and a couple of yours on that one. The others are smeared with her prints and some of yours over them. About what you'd expect.”

“Thanks, I guess,” she said. “What about that other stuff I asked for?”

“Barbara, take a hike. Be seeing you. Oh, by the way, that was not a marriage made in heaven. Later.”

Shelley stuck her head inside the office as Bailey left. “Did you talk to Kelso? How did it go?”

“He's not surprised. Wonder what he'll try next.” There was more, but she was uncertain what she meant by that. Dr. Kelso struck her as a desperate man.

“Maybe he'll confess that he did it.”

Barbara grinned. “With a superhuman burst of strength that he didn't even know he possessed, he moved the body eight or ten feet, out of sight.” She shrugged. “I can see him pulling the trigger easily enough. Get rid of his shares, make sure they're safe, then get rid of the nemesis. But moving the body is a pisser. Did you read Bailey's report? McIvey was lifted pretty much off the ground, hands under his armpits, like that. If they thought Annie could have done it, she'd be in the jug today.”

“If Kelso confessed, do you really think they would question how he moved the body?” Shelley asked, starting back to her office again.

“I wouldn't,” Barbara admitted. She picked up the nearest diary. It was not easy reading, no matter how legible the writing was. Again and again she stopped to look away, and she found herself thinking that if Annie killed him, it had been justified.

And now someone else had nine pages of what could be damning evidence to bolster exactly that accusation, not from outside observers, but directly from the prime suspect. And she thought of the note of condemnation in Shelley's voice and words; Annie had stayed with him hoping to collect. She had paid a very dear price, Barbara added, and she was still paying. If the police got their hands on
those pages, and if they were as incriminating as the ones Barbara had read, the D.A. might decide that was enough even without a gun or a shiny black raincoat or an eyewitness. And he could be right, she added. He could be right.

 

That evening, nibbling on cheese and sipping wine, she told Frank about the diaries as he went about making dinner. She rarely tried to follow exactly what he did at the counter and stove. It was incomprehensible to her how anyone could take a few potatoes, onions, garlic and other common ingredients and turn them into delectable meals.

“Does she have any idea when they were taken?” he asked, pausing in whatever he was doing.

“Nope. She took them from the condo to the Boardmans' house when she moved back in, but she didn't open them until she decided to toss them on the fire. Anyone at the clinic could have done it. At least, David McIvey is ruled out. Why would he have bothered to wipe his prints?”

Frank nodded and started beating a piece of pork with a wooden mallet.

“I think it's already dead,” she commented.

He didn't bother to respond.

With one exception, he had learned nothing that they hadn't already guessed or suspected: the police had sent detectives and a couple of their regular stoolies to the various transient camps trying to find someone wearing a new black raincoat with a hood, or anyone who had seen a silver Mercedes the morn
ing of the killing. They were still waiting for the DNA test results from Darren's glove, boot and bicycle pedal, but no one doubted that it was David McIvey's blood. No one besides Erica Castle had seen Darren the morning of the murder until he showed up at the clinic at ten or twelve minutes before eight. The only thing gained, she thought, was that they knew that Milt Hoggarth was the lead detective, but what good that would do them was problematic. To all appearances the police were not doing a thing now, just waiting for a break, the tests or God's intervention. Frank had not learned what Lorraine McIvey was up to. She had talked with Hoggarth twice, even signed a statement, but then the curtain had closed.

He began to cut the flattened pork into narrow strips that he dropped into a marinade as he went. A pot was simmering with a spicy-smelling sauce; potato slices layered with onions, covered with milk, were in the oven.

He finished with the meat, washed his hands and turned toward her. “About all you can do now is wait for Bailey to do his work. The police have information that you don't have, but on the other hand, we have a little that they don't have—a possible motive for Erica Castle to lie about Darren, and the fact that someone took those diary pages. It sounds to me as if the killer was lying low, but you've stirred things up and maybe he, she or it will make that telling mistake. So be patient. You might want to look up the word in the dictionary.”

“Right.” And he was right, she thought. Dr. Kelso had made an impossible proposal; someone had stolen Annie's diary pages. Things had been quiet, and maybe a sense of security had set in, but now there was action, people asking questions, Bailey's crew all over the place putting together a timetable. Other people reacting? Perhaps. Be patient, she repeated to herself.

On Saturday Will Thaxton would come home, she reflected, and he would say whether his trip to England and Italy was on, and if it was, she had a decision to make. She had not mentioned the possible trip to anyone. It had been too iffy. She had not been able to decide when he asked, and she still couldn't decide. If nothing was happening with the McIvey murder, why not? If they arrested someone, the trial would not be for many months. Again, why not? Then, without warning, she was wondering if it was her work and the trip itself with so much time involved, or being with Will for several weeks that was confusing her.

Having the thought surface simply added to her confusion. She and Will had the ideal relationship; they didn't quarrel, he never criticized her or her work, but accepted her exactly as she was. They were good dancing together, or in bed together. Politically he was more conservative than she was, but in honesty she had to admit that most people were, and they seldom talked politics anyway. Neither one had ever suggested that they might take their relationship to the next level, a level that implied com
mitment, but was this his way of broaching that? And was she anywhere near considering a real commitment?

“Ahem,” Frank said.

She looked at him in surprise. “Oh, right. Set the table.”

“Well, you could do that, too, but that isn't what I asked. I asked if you warned Annie to take care, keep her door locked, not wander about the garden alone at night, and so on.”

“Of course. I'll set the table.”

His gaze on her was thoughtful, but he made no comment.

 

Friday morning Bailey brought in the timetable, a map of the premises and surrounding streets and the floor plan of the clinic. He didn't linger. A workaholic boss was cracking the whip, he complained before leaving. No time, no time.

Barbara studied the map and the floor plan, then put them both in an envelope and walked out to the reception room. “Going shopping,” she told Maria. “I won't be long.”

When she returned she had enlargements of the map and floor plan, two magnetic boards, a magnetic travel checkers game and a package of small round price tags. In her office again, on the price tags she wrote the initials of everyone at the clinic the morning of the murder and stuck them to the checkers; red for the girls, black for the boys, she thought as she worked. She taped the enlargements to the magnetic
boards and stood them both on easels from her closet, then began placing the checkers on them.

Now and then she stopped to make a note: which way had Annie turned when she left the driveway? Had Bernie Zuckerman seen Annie's car leaving as she arrived? Had anyone seen the Mercedes that morning? Had Erica Castle passed Darren on his bike as they both headed to the clinic? Which streets had they used? She realized how very much she did not know about the movements of all those people on that particular morning.

She was still at it when Shelley dropped in to say she was off to court. She was wearing a simple dark skirt and jacket, low shoes, small gold earrings, no other jewelry. Shelley had a closet full of designer clothes and probably a safe full of costly jewelry, but always dressed down for her court appearances. Barbara always felt dressed up for hers. Whenever she had to put on a skirt she felt overdressed. Different strokes, she thought.

“It's a plea bargain,” Shelley said. “It shouldn't take long. And I'll go to Martin's this afternoon. We don't really want a lot of work piling up next week, do we? If I go, I can guarantee we won't have it.”

Barbara grinned. “Don't take it personally. I just spoiled them all.”

Shelley was examining the layout of the clinic with the checker pieces here and there. “Does that help?”

“Not a lot. But it told me there's a lot I don't know. For instance, what kind of window covering
is in the lounge? Open or closed drapes or blinds? If closed, who opened them, and when? Who saw whom that morning? Things like that. I think I'll bundle up all my toys and head over there and bring folks in one at a time to place their pieces. Dad says we've stirred them up and someone might make a wrong move. I think I'll stir the pot a little more.”

“Maybe a hornet's nest,” Shelley said. “See you later.”

Barbara called Naomi to inform her that she would like to use the directors' room and interview people there, and Naomi said, “I was going to call you, Ms. Holloway. I want to talk to you.” She sounded hostile, belligerent even.

Hornet's nest, Barbara thought when she hung up. Stir it up and watch them buzz.

 

Naomi Boardman was waiting for her by the reception desk. Her hair was sticking out in peculiar spikes and she looked mad as hell, Barbara thought. “I want a word with you before you begin anything,” Naomi said.

Barbara put down the carrying case and laptop that she had brought in. “Good morning,” she said to Naomi and Bernie. Bernie's eyes were bright with curiosity, as if restraining herself had raised her blood pressure. Barbara said to Naomi, “Fine, but I have a few more things to get. It won't take a minute.” She turned and went back outside to her car for the easels and her briefcase. At the reception desk again she smiled at Naomi. “Want to bring that
carrying case?” She led the way without waiting for a response.

Inside the directors' room she took off her jacket and then began to arrange the easels with the maps in place. She dumped the checkers onto the table and started to turn them right side up, all the while paying no attention to Naomi Boardman, who stood in tight-lipped silence.

After being ignored a few minutes, Naomi said, “Ms. Holloway, we retained you to defend Annie and Darren if the need arises. We did not hire you to harass, intimidate or frighten Annie. What did you say to her?”

Barbara looked at Naomi and raised her eyebrows. “No,” she said. “You did not retain me. The board of directors did. And it was accepted that I would answer to no one except Annie and Darren. Ah, here you are.” She picked up the checker with an N and B on it and placed it on the residence. “Did you happen to look out the window that morning?”

“No.”

“Did you see your husband, speak to him before Carlos came?”

“No.” A deep flush appeared on Naomi's cheeks. She wheeled about and strode to the door angrily, but she paused with her hand on the doorknob, then turned back and said, “I'm alarmed about Annie, Ms. Holloway. She is terrified. I believe she is ill, and it started after your last visit. If anything happens to that girl, I'll hold you responsible.”

Barbara nodded. “All right. Today I intend to
bring in everyone who was here the morning of the murder between seven-fifteen and eight, one by one, and talk to them. Will you arrange it, or must I wander about searching for people? I have them listed in the order I'd like to see them.” She picked up the list from the table and waited.

After an apparent struggle, and then moving stiffly, Naomi crossed back to her and took the list. “I'll see to it,” she said.

“Thank you,” Barbara said, as if unaware of the fury in the other woman's eyes and eloquent in her posture and attitude.

Dr. Boardman was first on her list. He entered and gazed curiously at the two easels, then nodded as he grasped what he was looking at. Barbara already had his checker out and ready, and she placed it on the residence as he approached the table.

“You can see what I'm doing,” she said. “Just a couple of questions. Did you actually see Annie that morning?”

He shook his head. “I saw the car backing out, that's all. The headlights were on and I really couldn't see past them.”

“Please sit down,” she said. “I don't want to take too much of your time, but there are a few things I need to clarify.” He seated himself and she sat across from him. “Did you see which way she turned at the street?”