Deadly Fall (26 page)

“Quite possibly Dimitri did, unless Sam killed her himself.”

“Dimitri was Callie's lover. It seems Callie had feelings of, at least, friendship toward him to the end. She'd hate to see him in this state, if he's innocent. This could ruin his life.”

“Callie can't see him when she's dead.” Hayden approached Paula.

“In her final minutes, Callie was reaching to me for help. I wasn't there for her then. I can be now.”

“D-e-a-d. Dead. Let her rest in peace.”

“That's what I'm trying to do.”

Hayden was so close Paula could smell the garlic and mushrooms on the pizza he must have ordered in for dinner. She wasn't religious, but since the funeral she couldn't shake the feeling that Callie wanted her to pursue this. And, so far, nothing she'd done had been a burden, aside from the conflicts with Hayden, the disruptive involvement with Sam and his family, and the time taken from her work. It would help if dead souls, if they existed, were more specific in their requests so she would know the right thing to do.

“And then there's Anne, Dimitri's mother and my friend,” she said. “Anne is devastated by the prospect of her son's arrest. She says she believes in him, but might be kidding herself. She's overwhelmed by her husband's illness. I don't know how much she's got left to give Dimitri.”

“Dimitri deserves what he gets if he killed Callie.”

“What if he didn't?” She picked up the book lying on top of his bookcase. A thousand or so court cases and legal precedents. The legal system crawled through details. She would not have the patience for that line of work. “How long does it take for a murder case to go to trial? One year?”

“The hearing could take up to a year; the trial, about another six months. Why?”

“Once someone is charged, the murder disappears from the newspapers. Unless it's spectacular in some way, the public loses interest.”

“That's human nature.”

“The cops continue to gather evidence secretly.”

“It's better without media attention. The accused will get a fairer trial if prospective jurors know little about the case. Where are you leading with this?”

She looked up at his shadowed chin. “It could be a year and half or more before we know if a person charged is guilty or not. Would he get bail?”

“Usually not with murder; unless someone puts up a lot of money.”

“Sam and Anne would put up everything they have. Anne's business is just starting to make a profit. If she digs too deep into her savings, this could set it back.”

“Sam probably has a lot socked away.”

“What if Dimitri is wrongly convicted?” she said. “The killer's still out there.”

“Wrong convictions happen less than the media implies; they can also be overturned.”

“Sam and Anne will push for it. If you think I'm determined, you don't know Anne. But it would take forever. Meanwhile, Dimitri's life drains away in jail.”

Hayden returned to his desk, moving his hands in circles. “This is all hypothetical speculation.”

That was true, to a point. “It's a long time for an accused and his loved ones to sweat.”

“There's often a plea bargain. That would end it much sooner.”

“In which case, we would never find out the details. What if the accused gets off on a technicality? What if the cops can't find enough evidence to build a case and they let him go? We'll never know for sure what happened. Even if Dimitri's off the hook, Sam will always believe, deep down, his son did it.”

“I don't give a flying shit what Sam believes.”

“I do.”

Hayden's nostrils twitched. “That's what this hike is really about. Forget justice. Forget helping your girlfriends, living and dead. You want to make it with Sam.”

“That's part of it.” She hadn't meant to say it. Not now. Hayden looked shocked. How to backtrack? “I don't mean ‘make it' in that sense.”

“What other sense is there?”

Hayden's jaw was too square, his complexion too pasty, he wore socks with sandals, his shirts pinched his thick neck, but not long ago she had found him attractive. She set the law book on the bookcase. “If I don't go, part of me will always wish that I had. Do you want that between us? It wouldn't be fair to you.”

“None of this is fair to me.”

She sidestepped him to get her purse lying next to the chair. “We can't end it like this. I want to talk about it, but not tonight. I can't think straight.”

“That's obvious.” He grabbed her elbow.

“We've both had a long day. I'll call you Sunday.”

“You're not getting away that easily.”

“Let go.” After several shakes, Paula sloughed off his hand.

“Go with Sam and his murderous friends,” Hayden said. “Then sleep with him—”

“I'm not—”

“If you do, have the courtesy to tell me.”

“I realize my sleeping with him would end it with us.”

“We still might salvage things.” He raised his hands, fingertips aimed at her. “Can I offer you some free advice?”

“Whatever you say will be designed to put me off Sam and this trip.”

“It will be the truth.”

“As you see it.” She tucked her purse under her arm. “I'm sorry to do this. Have a good night and weekend.”

Hayden flinched. Paula regretted her newscaster sign-off remark. A peck on the cheek would be equally cruel. She said good-bye and strode into the dark corridor, not looking back. His advice would probably be a lie, intentional or not, to convince her to change her mind. Not hearing him out would nag her and make the evening feel inconclusive. At the end of the hallway, she turned. He stood in his office door frame. An eager young lawyer working late gazed from his office. How much had he overheard? She took a step. To her surprise, Hayden met her halfway down the hall. He would hate acting out his personal life in front of a colleague.

“I don't know most of the details.” Hayden lowered his voice so the watcher would have trouble hearing. “No doubt, I'm prejudiced against Sam, but my impression, from all you've told me, is he's a manipulator.”

Sam had manipulated Kenneth to go along with the fake marriage; he had manipulated Isabelle, Tony, and Kenneth to withhold evidence from the cops. Hayden didn't know the half of it.

“You told me the cops suspect Felix, his babbling friend, for no apparent reason,” Hayden said. “They may not suspect him, but rather are leaning on him to get information about Sam or his son.”

Felix's house backed on the Elbow River pathway. He may have seen someone follow Callie the morning she died.

“Sam might have a hold on his friend that keeps him quiet,” Hayden said.

“What kind of hold?”

He fluttered his hands in a motion that said keep your voice down. “Perhaps something Felix doesn't want revealed. It might be irrelevant, but embarrassing to him if it came out. The hike may be part of Sam's plan to keep a lid on him.”

“How?”

“I haven't a clue. My advice is this: watch out and don't let Sam use you.”

“I won't.”

“He already has.”

“The hell with that.”

The young associate's face perked up; the hell with him. Paula whirled, clutched her purse to her ribs and clacked down the corridor, aware she was being a drama queen. Hayden didn't call after her. She punched the elevator buttons; tears stung her eyes and throat. Some of what he'd said was right.

Sam shuffled his feet on her front porch as he apologized for being late. He had already called to say it had taken about ten doorbell rings to wake Felix. Then, he'd had to wait for him to eat breakfast and dress. Paula could see why dressing had taken Felix so long. He was decked out in Bavarian lederhosen: a white blouse and brown suede knickers, tied below his knees, with a button front flap. A hunting knife stuck out of a side pocket. Patterned knee socks, hiking boots, and peaked cap with a feather completed the outfit.

Felix turned around to display the suspenders crossed in the back and the embroidery arc that made his ass look enormous in this getup.

“I bought it on eBay,” he said, “in honor of my German heritage.”

“Is your heritage Bavarian or Prussian?” Sam asked.

“Who the fuck cares?” Felix said.

Paula laughed. Like Sam and Isabelle, she had had settled for a light jacket, T-shirt, and jeans. Sam's shirt was plain white. Across Isabelle's chest,
Calgary
scrolled in rope letters. Paula's red T-shirt, bought last year in Banff, sported a mountain sheep decal. Sam chatted about the warm, sunny weather and Felix fussed with his knee socks and cap as though nothing had changed in the past few days. Did they know she knew the truth about Callie and Dimitri? Or had the police told Sam they had found out from Kenneth to protect her? Isabelle was still in the dark, which meant Sam, Felix, or Paula would decide when to bring the subject up.

“Just a minute,” Isabelle said, and dashed into the house.

“Morning,” Walter called from his front porch. “Who are your friends?”

“Relatives from Europe,” Paula said to avoid explanations.

Walter grinned at Felix. “All you need is a walking stick.”

“It's in the boot.” Felix mimicked an English accent.

Isabelle re-emerged with her tote bag. “I was thinking we could stop at Felix's on the way home to pick up my stuff. I really miss all my
CD
s.”

Paula stuck her cooler into the “boot,” lunch being her contribution to the outing. Felix and Isabelle hopped into the back seat. Sam logged their destination into the car's
GPS
, despite Paula's offer to explain the best route out of town. Walter waved them off. They left Ramsay and Inglewood and sped past Saturday shoppers and office towers glistening in morning sun. Across the Crowchild Trail, Foothills Hospital loomed on the right. They merged onto the Trans-Canada Highway and passed the western suburban fringe: pale houses packed on treeless lots. The men discussed the benefits of the Acura's gadgets. Paula gathered Sam had bought the car a year ago, around the time he
hadn't
married Callie.

Felix poked his capped head between the bucket seats. He smelled of toothpaste. “Did you ever tell me how much you paid for these wheels?”

“Too much,” Sam said. “You should probably be wearing a seatbelt.”

“Can we talk about something besides cars?” Isabelle said. “How about some music? Do you have any good
CD
s?”

“I feel like Elvis.” Felix started singing “Love Me Tender” with an Elvis quiver.

“I know that one.” Isabelle's voice joined his.

On this clear morning, with the pure mountains ahead, Paula found it hard to believe she might be sitting in a car with a criminal. They entered ranchland: rugged coulees and rolling hills, and cruised past the few vehicles on the road. No one passed them. Sam was driving above the limit, which she wouldn't have guessed from the smooth ride. Isabelle's soprano trills from the back seat contrasted Felix's assaults to the ears. Paula glanced back. Isabelle's blond hair grazed Felix's cheek. He seemed far from Isabelle's type. Paula wondered what she would say if Isabelle asked to be dropped off at Felix's tonight. Isabelle was twenty-one, an adult. Sam stared ahead, in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His profile was classic: smooth forehead, straight nose, strong chin so cleanly shaved Paula bet he had taken the trouble to use a manual razor today. His brushed up and gelled hairstyle suited the upturned lines on his face. She still couldn't quite wrap her head around his never having been involved romantically with Callie. Callie had been sort-of married to his son, making Sam Callie's sort-of-father-in-law. Paula giggled.

“What's so funny?” He glanced at her through his sunglasses.

“Nothing.”

He smiled. “I agree. Felix sounds like a gravel truck.”

The pair behind them crooned to a close.

“I'm surprised you know Elvis,” Felix said to Isabelle. “You weren't even born when he died.”

“My parents have been playing that crap all my life. Do you know this one?” Isabelle's voice lowered to the steady rhythms of the “Duke of Earl.”

“That's my favorite.” Felix jumped in with the main lyric's whiny falsetto.

Sam flashed a conspiratorial wince at Paula. “I'm not sure if I can stand this all the way to Kananaskis.”

They were like parents taking the children on a day trip. Any minute now Isabelle and Felix would start quarreling.

“What hike are we going on?” Paula asked.

“We haven't planned that far,” Sam said. “It was all I could do to get Felix out.”

Felix botched a lyric. Isabelle laughed. They resumed singing. Both muddled lines. “Duke of Earl” limped to an end. Sam turned off the highway to the two-lane road.

“I was up all night working on my column.” Felix's cap was between them. “It is going to be awesome.”

“What's the topic?” Paula said.

“I can't tell you.” He slumped back.

To the right was turquoise Barrier Lake. They drove straight into the Kananaskis mountain range. Evergreens hugged the road.

Felix thumped the back of her seat. “It's going to be the best column I've ever written, the best fucking thing ever. They'll print it on the front page.”

“You'll be famous,” Isabelle said.

“Page One of the whole fucking newspaper. Numero Uno.” Felix lurched between their seats. “Turn the car around, Sam. We can't waste time on this trip. I've got to finish my column.”

“You have all week to write it,” Sam said.

“The deadline is Tuesday, for fuck's sake. I've got to keep going while I'm on a roll. I should never have come today. Why didn't I think it through?”