Clear and Convincing Proof (21 page)

“God almighty! I forgot that you keep mountain lions as pets,” Milt Hoggarth said.

“Now, Milt, I told you they're coon cats. We're eating in the kitchen. This way.”

Of course, Frank thought a second later, Milt had assumed that when he said we he had meant himself and Barbara. In the kitchen, he watched Milt's glance take in the two sandwiches, two coffee cups. “I believe you and Mr. Halvord have met,” he said. Both men nodded.

“I want a word with you,” Milt said. “Your study?”

“All right. Don't wait for me,” Frank said to Darren. “And don't let one of those monsters get to my lunch. I'll be back directly.”

He led the way through the hall to his study and seated himself behind his ancient desk as Milt settled in the equally ancient arm chair that seriously needed recovering.

“We go back a ways,” Milt said. “You and me. Sometimes pulling together, sometimes crossing swords. You know I'm as straight as I can be, and I know you don't bullshit any more than you have to. So we both know where we stand.”

Frank nodded. “Seems I knew you when you had hair all over your head.”

Milt grimaced. “Rub it in. Rub it in.” His once-red hair was now a fading gray tonsure, his scalp gleaming pink above it as if the color had fled hair to take up residence in skin.

He leaned forward and said, “The D.A. wants an arrest, and he wants it yesterday or last week. He wanted it six weeks ago and I held off. Let's build a decent case first, I said. DNA labs are so backed up, it takes three months or longer to get results. No gun,
no raincoat, no forensics. No case, not yet. I have a thousand pieces but I don't have the linchpin, I said. I still don't have it, but your daughter does. And I want it. It's all over the clinic, how Zuckerman saw the killer leave back in November, and she told Barbara. Zuckerman's dead and Barbara can't be found. The D.A. said maybe she's in a ditch with a bullet in her head, and I said, no way. With you and Bailey out there carrying out marching orders, there's no way you don't know where she is or how to get in touch. The D.A.'s talking about obstruction of justice, material witness, bench warrant, serious stuff like that, and I'm talking about having your kid in the crosshairs of a gun with a determined shooter holding it. I want her, Frank. I want to talk to her really bad.”

He drew in a long breath. “Anyone can see that Annie McIvey's ready to crack wide-open. We get what we need to tie things up, McIvey breaks, we can have a wrap overnight nice and neat. Your daughter still has her defendants to see through the process. And no more shootings.” He stood up and went to the study door, where he paused with his hand on the knob.

“The D.A. also said that if it turns out that she's holding out on us, he'll get a judge to heave her out on her can. She won't represent Halvord or McIvey or anyone else from the clinic. He says a judge can do that. You know better than I do if he's right. Pass it on, Frank.” He looked almost embarrassed then when he said, “We're getting a search warrant to go
through Halvord's apartment and garage. I expect you or Barbara will want to be there.”

Frank shook his head. “Now you're bullshitting. You know and I know that whoever used that gun didn't tuck it away under a pillow for safekeeping. Was it the same weapon?”

Milt shrugged. “No exit wound. Probably.” He looked at his watch. “A couple of guys will be at Halvord's place in about an hour. Give Barbara my message.”

After seeing Milt out, Frank headed upstairs. Barbara was standing in her old room looking out the window. “He wants to talk to you,” Frank said. She nodded. “And they're sending people to search Halvord's apartment and garage.” She nodded again without turning toward him. “Barbara, come on down and eat your lunch.”

“In a minute,” she said. She faced him, but with such an abstracted expression, he doubted that she even saw him. “Go on, I'll be down in a minute or two. There's something I have to do first.” She was dialing her cell phone as he left the room, taking her untouched sandwich with him.

Five minutes passed before she appeared in the kitchen, with her coat over her arm, and carrying her briefcase, laptop and purse.

“What are you up to?” Frank demanded.

“Waiting for a call,” she said and picked up her sandwich, took a bite. She had just begun to chew when her cell phone rang. With her mouth full she said, “It's me. Hold on a second.” Waving to Darren
and Frank, she left the kitchen, went into his study and closed the door.

Disgruntled, Frank finished eating and drank his coffee. “Five minutes,” he said, “and we have to go. Don't want them to have a search party without us.”

Darren had already finished and began to gather their dishes to take them to the sink. They both looked around when Barbara hurried back to the kitchen and grabbed her coat. “I'm leaving,” she said, putting it on. “Perfect deniability, Dad. When they ask you where I am you won't even have to cross your fingers when you say you don't know. I'll be in touch later.” She rushed out before he could say a word.

Watching her, Frank took a deep breath, exhaled softly. Christ on a mountain, he thought, she's got it.

 

A laptop was a wonderful invention, Barbara thought a little later; portable, more computing power than the machines that had launched the moon landing, fairly user-friendly, but with a curious ability to grow heavier and heavier minute by minute. Her arm was starting to feel stretched out of shape. She switched hands, but even her briefcase seemed inordinately heavy by then. She felt too conspicuous walking by the street that ran through the park at the base of Skinner's Butte with the river off to her right, an occasional car passing very close on her left. Not now, she kept thinking. Don't let one of Milt Hoggarth's flunkies spot me now. It was not cold, and not
raining, for which she was grateful. She would have needed a hat with an umbrella attached.

She crossed the train tracks, went under the Jefferson Bridge and through the park, where teenagers were tossing a basketball back and forth, through hoops, this way and that in what seemed random movements to her, although the kids apparently knew what they were doing. Everything was green: grass that needed mowing, bay laurel trees, holly trees, all the conifers. Brown leaves clung with tenacity to the oak trees, and crocuses were in bloom, backed by daffodils that would open their buds within a week.

By the time Barbara reached Martin's Restaurant, she had worked up a sweat, and her legs and arms were throbbing. She had not run, but neither had she dallied. The door opened before she reached it, and Martin moved aside for her to enter.

“Shelley said you were on the lam,” he said gravely, taking her laptop, “and I said you could hide out here until dark and we'll smuggle you out by way of our secret tunnel.”

“And sneak me crusts of bread from the kitchen from time to time,” she said, equally grave.

He nodded. “Whatever it takes.”

“Meanwhile,” she said, heading for the booth farthest from the front door, “I expect Bailey to show up in a few minutes. I told him to use the back door. Okay with you?”

“Sure. The cops were by earlier. Asked me very nicely to give them a call if you showed up. I said I would do that.”

“They may drop in again,” she said. “Maybe just for today when Shelley turns up you could keep the door locked, open it if a client comes by. Give me time to crawl under a table or something.”

He grinned, and she settled into the booth and opened her laptop. Five minutes later Bailey eased himself into the seat opposite her.

“Turn yourself in,” he said, “face the music, you're only making things worse by running and hiding. Anything to drink?”

“Coffee,” she said pointing to the carafe Martin had provided, along with two mugs.

“Better than nothing.” He helped himself, added too much cream and sugar, tasted it and made a face.

“Tell me about last night,” she said. “Where was everyone?”

“Not much to tell. Not an alibi worth a penny anywhere. Naomi Boardman alone in her office preparing schedules. Dr. Boardman in his study, doing some paperwork. Annie McIvey in her room reading. Darren Halvord and his kid had dinner with Erica Castle, and after that he was running around in his truck. Dr. Kelso at home alone. Stephanie Waters left a few minutes after seven and went home. The girlfriend was out somewhere and got home at about nine. It's like that.” He added more sugar to his coffee. “Zuckerman got a call at seven-thirty. Her old man and kid were in the garage working on a junker. She yelled out to them that she had to go to the clinic, and took off a minute or two later. Hoggarth left me a message to get in touch if I hear from you.”

She looked at her watch. One-thirty. “Okay. Find out where Erica Castle is teaching today and waylay her and bring her over here the minute she gets out. Probably two-thirty or three.”

“Bring her or send her?”

“Bring her. I have to talk to her before she goes home. The D.A. is coming on like a hotshot, sending a couple of suits over to toss Darren Halvord's apartment and garage. I don't want her to walk in on that scene.”

He jerked his thumb toward the back door. “Come in that way again?”

“You got it. I'm in hiding, remember? Don't bring anyone else with you.”

He finished the coffee and shook his head. “That'll take the hair off your chest. See you.” He started to amble toward the door, then paused and looked back at her doubtfully. “Or is it put hair on your chest?”

She laughed. “That's the kind of philosophical puzzle to worry with at three in the morning when you can't sleep.”

S
helley, clad in a bright-blue raincoat, arrived by way of the front door as Bailey was leaving through the rear. The bluebird of happiness, Barbara thought with a grin; Shelley was brimful to overflowing with happiness that she could not have concealed any more than Martin could have concealed his blackness. Martin admitted her, smiling hugely, hung the Shelley Is In sign and locked the door behind her. Barbara waved her to the booth.

“Lieutenant Hoggarth is looking for you,” Shelley said. “I'm supposed to call him when you check in.”

“I know. I'm in hiding. Have a look at this.” She turned her laptop so that Shelley could see the
image of the thing that might have been an oversize cockroach.

Shelley gasped, then turned a wide-eyed gaze back to Barbara. “What is it?”

“Me. Two trash bags, one with an opening for my head, down over my shoulders to my boots, a smaller one to cover my head. What I'd like you to do is get that over to Alex and have him position it exactly the same way he did the one he and Dorothy Johnson worked on. Same distance, same height, everything, and after he's done, take it over to Johnson and see if it's like what she saw. Can do?”

“Sure. What about people here?”

“You've been complaining that no one shows up. Let's hope today is like that. Otherwise, after an hour, you just have to take off. Bailey's bringing Erica Castle over for a talk, and I don't want your clients and her to see each other. So plan to leave by two-thirty. The cops might drop in, by the way. But I don't think they expect to find me here.”

Shelley nodded.

“And after that, one other little thing—” The doorbell interrupted her. “Better get to the usual table and spread your stuff around. I believe you have a customer.”

 

Actually Shelley had two clients that afternoon, but by two-thirty she was finished. She ushered the second woman to the door and took down the sign, then hurried to the back booth.

“I e-mailed Alex,” she said. “He's waiting at the
office. It'll save time, instead of going all the way out there and back. And I'll call Johnson and make sure she'll be available. What else?”

Barbara explained what she needed and Shelley didn't ask a question, simply nodded, as if Barbara asked her to shop for a wig routinely. “And the thing they put them on, ball, mold, stand, whatever.”

“No problem. Are you going to hang out here the rest of the afternoon?”

“No. After I talk to Erica I'll find a new hiding place. She might let it slip that I'm here. Call my cell phone. I'll let you know where I'll be.”

 

When Bailey returned with Erica in tow, Barbara met them at the rear door. “Give us half an hour or so,” she said to Bailey.

He saluted and left again.

“Thanks for agreeing to this,” Barbara said to Erica, after glancing up and down the alley behind the restaurant as Bailey got into his old Dodge and took off. It was raining again, not hard yet. “It's pretty irregular, but necessary,” she said turning to Erica. “Let's sit in the booth back there.”

“It's true? Bernie?”

“True.”

Erica hugged her raincoat tighter around herself. She was pale and looked very frightened. “I called the clinic, but they had voice mail on, and no one came. Oh, God! Bernie!”

“I'll get us some coffee. Would you rather have tea?”

Erica shook her head. “I don't care. Anything hot. Bernie!” Then she looked around at the restaurant, back at Barbara. “What is this place? Why here?”

“In a second,” Barbara said. She went to the kitchen door and asked Martin for coffee, then returned. “Okay, this is my office away from the office,” she said, seating herself opposite Erica. “I work out of here a couple of days a week. And today I'm here because I'm staying out of sight of the police while I see to a few things. I really wanted to catch you before they do. So, Bailey. He'll take you back to school for your car when we're done here.”

“It's true that Bernie told you she saw the killer leave that morning?” Erica's eyes widened. “You haven't told the police? Is that why you're keeping out of sight?”

Barbara shrugged. “Let's just say I had too much to do today to be tied up with the district attorney for hours. Ah, coffee. Thanks, Martin.”

He put a tray down, took away the old carafe and cups, and withdrew.

“What do you want from me?” Erica asked, leaning forward.

Barbara poured coffee and slid a mug across the table to Erica. “I really just wanted to prepare you for what's coming your way. I'm afraid it's going to be something of an ordeal.”

“Why? What does that mean?”

“Look, it's no secret that I've been retained to defend both Darren and Annie, and it looks like the police are homing in on them. You're the main reason
they haven't arrested Darren yet. No doubt they're investigating you from the day you were born until this morning, looking for a chink in your armor, so to speak.”

Erica looked more frightened than before. “What do you mean? Why me? I don't have anything for them.”

“You provide Darren with an alibi for the morning David McIvey was killed,” Barbara said. “You're a respectable schoolteacher, involved in volunteer work, a homeowner, taxpayer, not a drug user or candidate for AA. In other words, your word in court will carry weight. You provide the reasonable doubt a jury needs in order to acquit. If you say Darren left that morning at twenty to eight, that's hard to argue with. Unless they can find a way to discredit your testimony, discredit you personally. And they'll try to do that.”

“There isn't anything for them to find,” Erica said in a low voice. “I haven't done anything to be ashamed of.”

“Good. How about your family? Mother? Father? Brothers, sisters?”

Erica moistened her lips and picked up her coffee, put it down untasted. “They'll look into my family history?”

“Sure they will. They probably already know all about the house you inherited, your grandparents. They've questioned neighbors, looked into public records. Tell me what they've been finding, will you? Let's go over it and see how damaging anything might be.”

Erica began to talk haltingly about her mother, about her death from an overdose, the neighbors' complaints about noise and fights, the shape the house had been in when she arrived. Barbara didn't interrupt to ask any questions; all this she already knew. When Erica stopped speaking, she gazed at her sadly.

“It's going to be bad,” she murmured. “Was your mother into prostitution? That's almost guaranteed if she was a longtime addict, you understand. The police will assume that.”

“She had a lot of different boyfriends,” Erica said dully.

“Did any of them molest you? Or threaten you? Beat you? That's almost always a given, also.”

Erica drew back, her cheeks turned crimson, then white. “My mother always protected me! She wouldn't let any of those creeps touch me! They can't make assumptions like that without a shred of proof.”

“They'll look into the records in Cleveland, search for proof,” Barbara said. “Erica, listen to me. Don't get angry with me, or turn me off. This is what they'll put you through on the stand. They'll paint a picture of a neglected child, possibly molested, certainly mistreated, growing up in a violent household in a violent atmosphere. They'll point out that you never married, and suggest that you're probably repressed sexually, that you've found a piece of respectability and stability in your life and you'll fight like a cornered cat to protect it. They may bring in a
psychiatrist to support a diagnosis like that. They'll paint a picture of you that you'd never recognize, and then tell the jury your word has been tainted by your past and must be regarded with grave suspicion. If they catch you in even one tiny lie or mistake, they'll impeach you, discredit everything you say and the judge will go along with that. One lie and everything is suspect.”

Erica was pale down to her lips. “That's rotten,” she whispered. “That isn't fair or decent.”

“Or,” Barbara said, “they'll say that you were simply mistaken in the time, but that you can't be trusted to recant your story because you can't afford to lose the rent money that's much of your support now. Or that you fell in love with Darren and will do anything to protect him. There are a number of different paths they might take to make the point that your alibi for him is either deliberately false or innocently mistaken.”

“You sound as if you want me to change my story,” Erica said. Her fingers holding the tabletop were as white as bones, her eyes wide with horror, or disbelief.

“I'm telling you how it is with witnesses who get in the way of the verdict they want,” Barbara said harshly. “I want to know where I stand in this case. If they break you and you change that story, or if they can cast enough doubt on your story to sway a jury, I have to be prepared. If I build a defense based on the fact that he didn't leave until twenty minutes before eight, I don't want to have to backpedal down
the line and find a new approach. And I want you to be prepared for what they might insinuate, or even come right out and state as fact. I know I've shocked and alarmed you, but now they won't shock and alarm you quite so much. It's better to hear things like this in advance, in private, rather than in a courtroom full of strangers and a jury watching your every expression.”

Erica slumped in silence for several minutes. Barbara waited, sipping her coffee. Finally Erica straightened and raised her head defiantly. “I won't change a word,” she said. “I know what time it was when he left. I looked at the clock. I didn't have my shoes on yet or I would have gone out to call him. I'm not responsible for anything my mother did, I hadn't even seen or heard from her for more than ten years when she died. And I have no reason to lie for Darren. I had only known him for a few weeks before that day, and I could have rented out the apartment to anyone within days of getting it ready. I was engaged for six years and finally broke it off and came out here when my fiancé kept delaying a wedding. We were lovers for those years and I wanted to get married and start a family. I am certainly not repressed sexually or any other way.”

“Okay,” Barbara said. “You've covered the bases. Did Darren have women visit in the apartment? Annie, in particular?”

Erica shook her head. “Never. I would have heard them, and I didn't.”

“What about last night? Can you vouch for him? Was he home? Did he appear upset or anxious?”

“No. He was perfectly normal. He, Todd and I spent a couple hours planning a garden for next summer. We ate pizza. He took Todd home before seven, and then had his usual bridge club meeting. I had a little shopping to do, and later I was up and down in the basement doing laundry. I don't know what time he came back home, but it's usually about eleven when they play bridge.”

“Ah, yes,” Barbara said. “The plight of us working women, do the shopping, catch up with laundry on Sunday night.” She stood up. “Boy, I wish Darren had played bridge last night instead of driving around alone. Well, I've kept you too long. I just felt I had to warn you before…I'll see if Bailey's back yet.”

He was in the alley, the hood of his car open, with him peering inside as if he knew what he was doing. It looked good, she thought; the old Dodge in fact might well have been on its last legs or rolling over its last mile. If she hadn't known that every other year he traded in a shiny SUV for a new one, she might even have felt sorry for Bailey. When she opened the restaurant door, he slammed the hood, nodded at her nod, got inside the car and started the engine. He had fixed it.

“Come back for me after you take her to her car,” Barbara said, and he nodded again.

 

After Erica left with Bailey, Barbara checked her cell phone and found a message from her father: “Done here. I'll be in the office. Boardman wants to talk to you. He says it's urgent.”

She reread the message, walked to the kitchen door, back to the booth, did it again, then she called Greg Boardman's number.

“Barbara Holloway,” she said when he answered his phone.

“Ms. Holloway, we have to see you. No one could find you all day, and I have to see you. Annie has to talk to you. She's…I'm very concerned about her, Ms. Holloway. She's desperate. She wants to go to the coast, to her parents' house, and as a physician I can support that. She has to get away from this madness. Can you arrange something like that?” He sounded as desperate as he said Annie was.

“What's wrong with her, Dr. Boardman? What is she saying?”

“She won't talk to anyone. Not me, not Naomi. No one. She says she has to see you. She's locked in her room. Naomi's over at the house, but Annie won't talk to her.”

“What's the residence number?”

“Not on the phone. She won't talk over the phone. She wants to see you in person.”

“Just tell me the damn number.”

He gave her the number and when she called it, Naomi answered on the first ring.