Defense for the Devil (42 page)

She backed away from the calendar in order to let the jury see it more clearly, then she said, “The next day you met with Mitchell Arno was on the twenty-sixth of July. Is that correct?”

He answered her questions, and she peeled off more tape on the twenty-sixth, to show Mitch’s name, Trassi’s, the automobile, and the suitcase.

“During the following week were you in contact with Mitchell Arno?” He said no. “Were you in contact with either Mr. Ulrich or Mr. Stael?”

“No,” he snapped.

“All right. From testimony, the next time we know anything about the Lexus was on August third, the day you went to Corvallis to claim the car for the Palmer Company. Is that correct?”

He said yes; his answers were getting sharper, his eyes narrower as he watched her peeling off the tape. His name, the suitcase, and the car were revealed on Saturday, August third.

“Did you know who would actually pick up the Lexus and drive it back to New York?”

“No.”

“Did you know that Mr. Ulrich and Mr. Stael were in the state? That they had checked into a motel in Eugene that evening?”

“No!” He wasn’t loud, but his voice was high-pitched and strident.

She peeled the tape from their names on August third, then regarded the calendar for a moment: Trassi in green, the blues of Ulrich and Stael, the yellow suitcase, and the sleek black Lexus.

“Did you take possession of the title transfer on August third?”

He hesitated, then said yes.

“Did you at any time have a key for the Lexus?”

“No!”

“You were on the coast at Folsum to see Ms. Folsum on Monday, August fifth, weren’t you?” He said yes and she took off the strip of tape. “And Tuesday, August sixth?” Another strip came off. “And you had not yet delivered the suitcase and the money?” She revealed the suitcase.

“All right. Then you came over to Eugene and stayed here until the fifteenth.” A row of green Trassis marched across the dates, on to the next line. Under his name the blues of Stael and Ulrich were revealed as if in lockstep until August fourteenth. “In your statement you said you had to delay your departure until the legalities of the transfer of the funds for Ms. Folsum were settled. When were you informed that Ms. Folsum and her attorney insisted on talking directly to Mr. Arno about the settlement?”

“I don’t know when it was,” he said. “I don’t remember the date.”

“Mitchell Arno’s body was discovered on Friday, August ninth,” she said. “Following that, did you agree to arrange for the necessary documentation to prove to the authorities the legality of the transfer of funds to Ms. Folsum?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then you left Eugene and returned to New York on the fifteenth.” She regarded the calendar. “And on the previous day, the fourteenth, Mr. Ulrich picked up the Lexus, presumably with Mr. Stael, but since that is less certain, we don’t show his name here.” Ulrich and the Lexus were both revealed under Trassi’s name on the fourteenth.

“Mr. Trassi, when did you give the title transfer to Mr. Ulrich?” He blinked, then shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“Were you given the tittle transfer when you identified the Lexus.”

“Yes.”

“What did you do with it?”

He frowned, as if trying to remember. “I mailed it to the Palmer Company in New York.”

“Oh? Why? Were you not put in charge of the car and its recovery?”

“I didn’t know who they would send to get the car, but whoever it was would need the title, so I mailed it to the office.”

“I see. When did you do that?”

“I don’t remember just when it was.”

“Well, did you use the post office at Folsum?”

He hesitated, then said no. “I mailed it in Eugene.”

“So it must have been on or after Wednesday, August seventh. Weren’t you afraid that was cutting it rather fine, since the car was due to be ready in just a few days?”

“I mailed it back to New York,” he said. “I thought they could handle it any way they wanted to.”

“What about the letter of authorization you signed for Mr. Ulrich to pick up the car? When did you give that to him?”

“I didn’t sign it for any particular individual,” he said. “I mailed it with the title.”

She regarded him for a moment without comment, then stood by her table. “Mr. Murillo’s testimony is that he called you on the thirteenth, late in the afternoon, to inform you that the Lexus was ready to drive. Do you recall that?”

“Yes, he called me.”

“Did you inform Mr. Ulrich that it was ready?”

“No. I didn’t talk to him. I didn’t even know he was in the area.”

“Do you know how he found out the Lexus was ready?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Did you tell Mr. Murillo that someone would collect the car the next day, the fourteenth?”

“I probably did. I don’t remember.”

“Did you tell the front desk at the hotel that you would be leaving on the fifteenth?”

He was watching her like a snake; his eyes were almost glazed over with his intense stare. “I might have told them. I don’t remember when I checked out.”

She nodded, then turned to shuffle through some papers on her table. “I have a certified copy of your billing record from that stay, Mr. Trassi.” She showed it to him. “Is that your signature?” He said yes. “According to this, you made no long-distance call to New York on the thirteenth. But there is one for five P.M. on the fourteenth. Is that right, to your recollection?”

“I don’t remember particular calls,” he snapped.

“Did you meet with Mr. Stael and Mr. Ulrich on the evening of the thirteenth, or the morning of the fourteenth, of August?”

“No! I didn’t even know they were in the state!”

Barbara regarded him for a moment, then turned away and said, “Your witness, Mr. Roxbury.” In the last row among the spectators, she saw Palmer; he smiled very slightly at her. The expression was so fleeting, it might not have happened at all, but she knew he had smiled, that he knew where she had led Trassi, and it amused him. Shaken, she sat down and listened to Roxbury try to undo some of the damage, to disconnect Trassi from Stael and Ulrich. She couldn’t stop the thought, looking at the little gray man on the witness stand: he was a dead man. He had outlived his usefulness.

39

Although Roxbury was
rather good with Trassi, the calendar spoke louder than he did. Trassi said, responding to his questions, that there were often half a dozen employees in the Palmer anteroom; they were a delivery service and had to keep people on
hand most of the time. Some of them had familiar faces, most did not, and he knew none of them personally.

“Were you in a position to give any of those men direct orders at any time?” Roxbury asked.

“Never! I am Mr. Palmer’s attorney for contracts, things of that sort. I have nothing to do with the day-by-day affairs of his actual business or the men who work for him.”

“When you mailed the transfer title and the letter of authorization back to New York, who did you send it to?”

“The office manager, Mr. Henry McClaren. I told him that I didn’t expect to be in the area when the car was finished, and it would be best to handle it from the main office.”

“On the thirteenth of August, when you were informed that the Lexus was ready, did you notify anyone else?”

“Yes. I took a walk, and then realized that my number was the only one the garage had, so I placed a call to the main office and left a message that the car was now ready to be picked up.”

It wasn’t very good, Barbara thought, just the best he could do without more advance planning. When she started her redirect, she came back to the evening of the thirteenth. “The garage notified you late in the day, nearly five, I believe. Then you took a walk. At what time did you call New York?”

“Right away after I went out,” he said. His color had improved under Roxbury’s handling, but he was wary and gray again.

“So it had to be later than five, six possibly?”

“I don’t know what time it was.”

“All right. Of course, that would have been after eight or nine in New York. Was the office open at that hour?”

“No.”

“Do you know what office hours they keep in New York?”

“No. I have nothing to do with any of that.”

“Presumably your message was heard the following morning, if no one was there when you left it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Almost sullenly he said he didn’t know anything about that.

“Do you know when the title transfer and authorization, as well as the key, were sent to Oregon, and then given to Mr. Ulrich and Mr. Stael?”

“I said I don’t know anything about that.”

“Yes, you did. Do you believe that the company sent someone else out here with those items in advance? Would that be a reasonable explanation?”

Roxbury objected that she was arguing with the witness, and harassing him. “He said he doesn’t know,” he snapped.

“Sustained,” Judge Waldman said. “Please move on, Ms. Holloway.”

She harassed him just a little longer, then said no more questions, and he was dismissed. Barbara watched him hurry out of the courtroom, past Palmer, without a glance in his direction.

The judge gave her usual warning to the jury and everyone else not to discuss the case, and she left, but she was going to talk to the jury, she had said. And Barbara had to spend time with Ray. She had gone over all her questions with him already; it was time to warn him about the line of questioning Roxbury would take.

“A couple of hours,” she told Frank. “If someone can pick me up around eight or eight-thirty, that should be time enough.”

They were standing outside the courtroom door; Barbara glanced around, but Palmer was not in sight. Down the corridor, held at bay, the press was waiting, and a crowd of people were leaving work. Everything looked entirely normal, but, Barbara realized, she was as apprehensive as Bailey. “Let’s beat it,” she said, steeling herself for the reporters.

That night Barbara and Shelley talked about her character witnesses; they were an impressive lot. A church member or two; a counselor from the juvenile rehab center; a teacher from a local high school—Ray did a lot of volunteer work with troubled youngsters, took them fishing, taught them to fly-fish, supplied the
materials they needed…. He and Lorinne were active in church work, community affairs….

She and Shelly were talking in the study when the phone rang, and she heard Clyde Dawkins on the machine. She raised her eyebrows at Shelly and picked up the receiver.

“Ms. Holloway, I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. Judge Waldman asked me to call to see if it would be possible for you to be in chambers at eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. He said thank you and hung up.

“Now what?” Barbara got up and went out to find Frank; he was as mystified as she was. A few minutes later she told Shelley she might as well go on home; Shelley knew exactly what to do the following morning, and she was prepared.

“Something’s happening,” Bailey said. “Gramm and a detective talked to Palmer and Trassi around six, for about half an hour. Palmer and Trassi had dinner in the hotel after that, then they cleaned out Trassi’s safe and took stuff up to his room. He might have handed over the program finally. While they were at the front desk, Palmer told the desk clerk to get two first-class reservations on a flight tomorrow to New York. He went to the Hult Center to see the show, and Trassi went out twice to use a pay phone. My guy said he looks like a chicken that can’t find his head. Now he’s in his room trying to get a call through to a New York number; he stopped going out to do it, just using his own phone. No dice, so far. He gets a machine and hangs up, then tries again in a few minutes.”

No one spoke for a time, until Barbara shrugged and said, “Palmer’s up to something, but God knows what. Meanwhile, we stick with the scenario we’ve got. I don’t give a shit if they both fly to Bermuda at this point. Let the cops haul Trassi back later.”

A little later, alone with Frank, Barbara said, “Palmer must have told Trassi he’d back him up, but he won’t. He can’t admit they knew Stael and Ulrich were here. If he does, he drags the entire company into a mess.”

Frank nodded. “That’s the choice you gave them: throw Trassi out for the wolves, or risk an investigation of the whole outfit. Evidently the police aren’t going to hold Trassi right now, but they’ll have to look into it, ask the office manager questions about the title transfer and letter. What would you bet that’s the call Trassi’s been trying to get through—to the office manager?”

“And he’s suddenly unavailable. Think they’ll question him by phone?”

“I doubt it. Not this time. They’ll send someone. It’s going to take a week or longer to get answers.”

“By now Trassi understands he’s being scuttled,” Barbara said softly, “no matter what Palmer might have told him earlier. Now what?”

“God knows,” Frank said. He watched her pace about the living room restlessly, and he was well aware that she knew, as he did, that if Trassi decided to deal with the police or the FBI, she was still at risk. And to save his skin, Trassi might have to deal.

The next morning, when he came around to drive them to the courthouse, Bailey said glumly, “Trassi skipped a while ago. He drove his rental car to the Eugene airport and got on a plane heading for New York, by way of Denver.”

There was nothing to say. So Palmer would have two first-class tickets to use. Maybe he meant to take the Fredericks woman home with him. Barbara shrugged and pulled on her coat. “Showtime,” she muttered.

At eight-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, the courthouse was a bleak, echoing shell. The coffee shop was closed, barred; the room for the jury pool was sealed off; the law library was closed; no bailiffs scurried about; no police officers milled about waiting to be called.

Judge Waldman’s secretary was at her desk on the second floor, looking sleepy, and no one else was in sight. Barbara turned when she heard footsteps coming along behind her and Frank; Roxbury was hurrying toward them, his cheeks flushed by the cold morning air,

The secretary buzzed the judge, and Clyde Dawkins opened the door and motioned them to come in. Judge Waldman was at the coffee table, where the fragrance of coffee was welcome.