Evidence of Guilt (20 page)

The thought of spending seven hours on the road, each way, did not have a lot of appeal either. Especially since the drive down 1-5 involved long, tedious stretches of arid flatland. It had to be the most boring route in the world.

I sighed. "At least I'll be flying in clear weather."

'Take along a good book and you won't even know you've left the ground."

"Ha." I always knew. And it amazed me every time that we not only left the ground but returned to it without mishap.

Sam must have leaned back in his chair. I heard a creak and then a shuffling sound as he got comfortable again. "I went out to the auto shop this morning, talked with Har-lan Bailey. The guy told the same story he did yesterday in court, but I found out that he and Wes are not on the

best of terms. Office politics in the service bay, I guess. We ought to be able to use that to impeach his credibility as a witness."

"Did he elaborate on yesterday's testimony?"

"I got the feeling there wasn't much to elaborate on. The guy's taken one little incident and made it into a whole miniseries. Probably with coaching from Willis."

"Maybe we can use that too."

"With luck maybe we can find someone who's heard Wes use the same language on other occasions, with respect to other women. If so, we can show there was nothing personal about the remark."

"Great defense," I said glumly.
"People of the jury, our client didn't have anything against Lisa Cornell personally; he thinks all women are bitches.
That's not going to win us many points, Sam."

"Hopefully," he said after a short pause, "we'll be able to do better than that."

When I got off the phone with Sam I tried the number Cole had given me for Robert Simmons and got a recording. It was one of those that did nothing but repeat the number you'd reached and advised you to wait for the beep. I left my name and number, then tried Caroline. I hadn't known about the diary when I'd talked to her last. I was hoping she'd be able to help me locate it

Caroline's line was busy, so I returned phone calls from the stack of messages Myra had left me. I tried Caroline again about fifteen minutes later.

Still busy.

Finally I decided to drive over and talk to her in person.

There was a pickup truck in the driveway, a stroller on the porch. Music, heavy on the bass, was pounding away

inside the house. When I got to the door I could hear a baby crying as well. I rang the bell, then knocked loudly.

Footsteps from inside. After what seemed to be a long time the door opened.

The figure in the doorway was male. And big. Over six feet, with broad shoulders and the kind of well-developed muscles that come only through diligent effort. His hair was long on top but cropped close on the sides. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and elastic-waist shorts. Rubber-thonged sandals on his feet. One hand held a can of beer, the other gripped the handle of a plastic infant seat. The infant in the seat was howling.

"Yeah?" he said.

"Is Caroline around?"

"No, she isn't" He eyed me suspiciously. "Who are you?"

I decided on the friendly approach. "Kali O'Brien," I said. "You must by Duane."

That suspicious look again.

"I wanted to talk to her about Lisa Cornell."

The look grew wary. "My wife's got nothing to do with that."

I explained my involvement "Your wife and Lisa were friends. I was hoping she might be able to clear up a few things for me."

He bounced the baby, shifted his weight to the other foot. The muscle in his cheek twitched. "I doubt it," he said brusquely. "They worked together is all. Aside from that, they didn't have much in common."

Jeremy rode down the hallway on a plastic tricycle and rammed against Duane's leg. "Watch it," Duane warned.

Jeremy giggled and rammed him again, harder.

Duane hooked the infant seat over his arm, switched the beer to his other hand, and rapped his knuckles once

lightly against the boy's head. "You're cruisin' for a bruisin', tiger."

Remembering Caroline's bruised and swollen lip, I cringed inwardly. But Jeremy seemed unperturbed. Still giggling, he rammed Butane's leg once more, then pedaled back up the hallway.

Duane took a swallow of beer.

"How well did you know Lisa Cornell?" I asked, raising my voice to make myself heard over the baby's wailing.

"What makes you think I knew her at all?"

I shrugged. "Maybe I'm reading between the lines." Easy to do given his expression when I'd first mentioned Lisa's name. Plus the fact that Caroline had told me Duane didn't like Lisa's "type."

Duane pulled a pacifier out of his pocket, dribbled beer on it and stuck it in the baby's mouth. "Who did you say you were again?"

I explained a second time.

His thumb traced the seam of the can.

"I get the feeling you weren't any too fond of Lisa," I said after a moment.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Reading between the lines again."

He sighed. "I never wished the lady harm, but you're right, I didn't particularly like her. And I didn't like my wife palling around with her either."

"Why's that?"

A shrug. His eyes slid away from mine. "I didn't like her energy."

"Her energy?"

"Vibes. You know, her aura." He brushed the hair off his forehead with the hand that held the beer. "I just didn't like her much, okay?"

"What did she--"

"I got to finish feeding the kids," Duane said, cutting me off. "I'll tell Caroline you came by. But like I said, she won't be able to help."

The door closed before I could hand him my card.

I didn't have a whole lot of faith in Duane's passing on the message. I stopped at the corner gas station and used a pay phone to call the diner.

Caroline's voice held an edge of alarm until I identified myself.

She let out a long breath. "I was afraid something had happened to one of the kids. Hardly anyone calls me here unless it's an emergency."

"They're both fine," I said. "I was just out there."

The note of alarm surfaced again. "You were? Why?"

"I wanted to ask you a couple more things about Lisa Cornell."

"Geez, you went out to the house?"

"I thought you'd be there. Don't you usually work the evening shift?"

"I had to switch today."

"What I need to talk to you about won't take long. I could come by the diner right now if it's convenient."

"Did you see Duane?" Her tone was guarded.

"Briefly."

"What did he say?"

"That you and Lisa didn't have much in common besides working at the diner." When she didn't say anything I continued. "He also seemed to think she might have been a bad influence."

Caroline snorted. A voice from the background hollered her name. "I gotta go," she said.

"What time do you get off? I'll meet you then."

"Don't bother. I've already told you everything I know."

"What about her diary. Did Lisa happen to mention where she kept it?"

"She never mentioned it at all."

I made one last attempt. "Lisa got a phone call the Friday night she was killed. From a friend who needed her help. She canceled her dinner date with Philip Stockman on account of it. Was the call from you?"

Caroline made a sound, a kind of choking laugh. "Lisa would hardly have canceled a date on my account."

"Why, did you have a falling out?"

"Look, I've got to go. Like I told you before, Lisa and I had our own lives."

There was something about her tone that gave me pause, but Caroline hung up before I had a chance to inquire further.

Myra was back at her desk when I returned to the office.

"Sorry I had to run out like that," she said, running a hand through the tangle of dark curls. "Marc fell off the jungle gym."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. He hit his head. They wanted me to take him to the doctor for an evaluation, but he seems to be fine. Kids are pretty resilient."

If they're lucky, I amended silently, thinking of Amy.

'That new client called," she said. "The one who owns the apartment complex. He wants you to send him a bill for the work to date." She hesitated. "Apparently, he won't be needing your services in the future."

"Did he say why?"

"No, just that he felt it wasn't going to work out."

I felt my stomach clench. As far as I could tell it was

working out just fine--until I'd taken on a controversial case. A case I'd hoped would help me make a name for myself. Instead, it was going to cost me one of the precious few clients I had.

"Mr. Sturgis called too. He wanted you to know that the Harding case made the
San Francisco Chronicle.
His daughter faxed him a copy this morning."

"Great. Don't tell me he's going to pull out too."

"Not at all. In fact, he wanted you to autograph the article when he gets it. His daughter is sending the actual clipping by mail."

"Autograph it?" I said, incredulous. "I hope you told him 'no.' "

"I told him I'd ask." She raised her chin. "Though I don't see the harm in it."

"This isn't some Hollywood soap opera, Myra. Two people are dead and a man's life is at stake."

The chin jutted forward. "You don't have to get all preachy. I'm not saying you should book yourself on 'Rinaldo,' but I don't see the harm in pleasing a client"

"I'll think about it," I grumbled. And then I laughed. "Besides, it's not 'Rinaldo'; it's 'Geraldo.' "

She gave me a smarmy, cheek-sucking look and began rolling a pencil between her palms. "How's the case coming along?"

"About as expected. The judge found sufficient cause to hold Wes for trial. Now we've got sixty days to put together a winning defense."

"Only sixty days?"

"That's my feeling too, but Wes insists on exercising his right to a speedy trial."

"So what's the winning strategy going to be?"

"At this stage we're still probing, hoping something major will turn up."

"Like what?"

I shrugged. "A witness who saw or heard something inconsistent with Wes's guilt. A bungled investigation, evidence that's been compromised. Maybe something in Lisa's life that points to a different killer. If none of that pans out, we'll take every opportunity to cast doubt on the prosecution's case."

Myra thought for a moment, frowning. "Lisa might not have been the intended victim, you know."

"Mistaken identity, you mean? Like maybe the killer went to the wrong house?" Except in the movies, that sort of blunder was generally limited to cases involving organized crime or drugs.

"No, that's not what I meant." Myra took a breath. "What if it was Amy the killer wanted? What if she was the target and Lisa was just incidental?"

"Why would anyone want to kill a five-year-old child?" I asked.

But I knew the question was foolish even before it left my lips.

"It happens," Myra said, her tone defensive.

I nodded. Children were killed by their parents sometimes, out of despondency, or anger, or some twisted act of revenge against a spouse. But generally the murder of a child was tied to kidnapping or sexual assault. Death was the ultimate guarantee of silence. Was that the reason Amy had been killed?

Myra crossed her arms on her desk and leaned forward. 'The psychologist who talked to the parents' group the other day said people who abuse children often threaten them with physical harm or death. A person like that is so terrified of being discovered, he'll find a way to justify the killing."

"You're suggesting someone might have been molesting Amy?"