Guilty (39 page)

Tom looked up inquiringly.

"I just wanted to let you know that we've got an ID on that dead guy in Mrs. White's garage."

"Oh, yeah?"

Kirchoff 's telling him was a courtesy thing, because Tom had been there in Kate's house and obviously had an interest in what was going on. But it was Kirchoff and his partner's case, technically nothing to do with Tom at all.

"It's all right here." Kirchoff tapped the manila folder he was carrying.

"Can I have a look?"

Kirchoff handed it over. Tom flipped it open.

"Guy's name was Mario Castellanos," Kirchoff continued. "Just got out of the detention center a few days ago. Rap sheet a mile long. So far, no idea what he was doing in that garage."

Tom had no idea, either, not even when he finished checking the guy out. But he did have lots of ideas about lots of other things.

Like some of the things Kate had been lying to him about.

C h a p t e r 26

WHEN TOM WALKED THROUGH the door to her office, Kate had just returned from a makeshift courtroom in City Hall—the Justice Center was still closed—where she had argued that a motion to suppress evidence in an upcoming armed-robbery trial was unjustified, and won. Kate was at that moment on the phone, relaying this news to Bryan, whose case it technically was, although she was handling it as one of the residual cases they were both assigned to before she went totally solo. Bryan had just called to ask about its resolution, interrupting Mona, who had dropped by to offer Kate what she promised was a totally to-die-for slinky black evening gown to wear to the upcoming fund-raiser for Jim Wolff, the very thought of which was enough to make Kate groan.

"... look fantastic," Mona mouthed over her shoulder as she headed out the door, only to say, "Oh, hello," out loud, and in a tone that made Kate, who was still talking to Bryan, look up.

Then Tom walked in, his usual tall, dark, and hot self, and Mona, behind him, made big eyes at Kate and gave a speaking little wave of her manicured fingers before disappearing. He didn't look any too happy, but that didn't stop Kate's heart from radiating a warm little glow at the sight of him.

Where he was concerned, she still didn't regret a thing. She smiled at him.

He didn't smile back. In fact, he looked downright grim. Kate began to feel the first stirring of unease. Finishing up with Bryan as quickly as she could, she hung up the phone.

"What?" she asked without preamble, because it was clear from Tom's expression that there was something wrong.

"Come for a walk with me." There was absolutely no intonation at all to his voice. His eyes were darker than usual and impossible to read. His cop eyes. His cop face. Kate glanced at the clock. It was thirteen minutes until five. Her eyes flew back to his. Her heart began to beat faster.

"Where to?" she asked. Then, because something in his expression told her that this was very, very bad, her mind immediately went to the worst thing she could think of, and she started to her feet. "Is it Ben? Has something happened?"

His eyes narrowed. "Ben's fine, as far as I know." His gaze swept past her, to the coatrack in the corner. "Get your coat."

Because it had been cold this morning, and because she'd known she would be walking to and from City Hall, she had worn her black felt overcoat, complete with a long, gray crocheted scarf, over her favorite black pantsuit and white tee, with her black flats. Puzzled but obedient, she fetched it from the rack and put it on, looping the scarf around her neck.

"What is it?" she asked again, as she joined him. He wasn't wearing an overcoat. His charcoal blazer, black slacks, white shirt, and red tie were what he'd left the house in that morning.

He shook his head as he immediately started walking toward the door. Without touching her, yet.

Her unease started to turn into real anxiety.

"I don't want to talk about this here," he said.

So they didn't talk, not one word, at least not to each other. Kate told Mona, whose head popped out of her office as they passed, that she had to run an errand. She waved at Cindy and exchanged a few remarks with other people she knew on the way out of the building. But Tom, beside her, remained silent as the Sphinx.

Finally, once they were on the sidewalk moving at a brisk pace away from the building, she tugged at his sleeve.

"Would you please tell me what's going on? You're scaring me to death," she said, exasperated.

Tom cut his eyes at her, then glanced around at the jostling crowd they were in the midst of, at the dozens of pedestrians waiting to cross with them when the signal changed, at the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Dozens of chattering voices combined with the sounds of the traffic and the
whoosh
of wind through the concrete canyon into a low roar. The smell of car exhaust was strong. Sunlight glittered off the cantilevered tops of the skyscrapers, limning them with gold.

"In a minute," he said, and caught her elbow to propel her through the intersection as the signal changed. His grip wasn't gentle. It was hard—and purposeful.

Two blocks later they were in the paved center courtyard of the Masonic Temple, a circa-1873 architectural treasure that was actually a series of meeting halls with various courtyards and its own museum. Only steps away from the busy street, the parklike square was all but deserted. Surrounded on three sides by ornate stone walls complete with arched leaded windows and fantastical carvings, the courtyard boasted fountains, statues, and benches. A flock of cooing pigeons pecked placidly at some crumbs that had found their way into cracks among the paving stones. The scent of burning candles from the nearby chapel wafted through the air. The autumn sun, apricot-colored this late in the day, hung just above one of the Gothic towers. The sky, which earlier had been a clear, pale blue, was just starting to turn pink to the west. It was warmer than it had been that morning, and there was no wind in this secluded enclave, but Kate was still glad of her coat.

Tom stopped walking near the base of a large bronze statue of a man on horseback and swung her around to face him. A few tourists were climbing the steps of the temple across the way, but no one was nearby. If he'd been seeking privacy here in this crowded part of the city, this was probably as good as it was going to get.

"So,
what?"
Kate demanded.

Jamming his hands into the front pockets of his pants, he seemed to be studying her face.

"Does the name Mario Castellanos mean anything to you?"

Kate felt a sudden constriction in her chest. Little curls of panic swirled like ice shavings through her bloodstream.

"Why?"

Tom's lips compressed. "That's the name of the man who was found shot in your garage."

Kate didn't say anything. She couldn't. She couldn't bear to lie anymore, especially not to Tom. But she couldn't tell the truth, either. She pressed her lips together with what she hoped looked like firm resolve, and stood her ground.

"I checked him out," Tom continued, when she didn't answer. "He's got a rap sheet stretching all the way back to when he was a kid in Baltimore. You know what's funny about that? He lived in Baltimore at the same time you did. Same general area, too."

He paused, obviously waiting for her to reply. His face was tight with tension.

Kate said nothing. Her stomach was in the process of tying itself into knots, and the constriction in her chest had spread to her throat. She could feel her heart thumping against her breastbone.

His jaw tightened when it became obvious she wasn't going to say anything.

"Okay, how about we go for another coincidence? He was in the Criminal Justice Center Monday to testify in a trial. They lost track of him in all the confusion, but when they found him again as they were evacuating the building, he was in a holding cell all by his lonesome on the second floor." He smiled at her, but it wasn't a nice smile. "Oh, and you want to hear something else funny? Castellanos was left-handed."

Kate suddenly found it impossible to breathe. She felt like she'd just taken a blow to the stomach, one that had knocked all the wind out of her. Mutely, she looked at him. His jaw was set now. His mouth was a thin, straight line, with white triangles of tension at the corners. His eyes bored into hers.

"Say something, damn it." His mouth twisted violently, and he reached out and caught her by her upper arms. Kate jumped. She could feel the strength of his fingers through the layers of her coat and jacket. He didn't shake her, didn't hurt her, but he pulled her closer and loomed over her, his eyes blazing angrily down into hers. "What do you want me to say?" She was surprised at how cold and clear her voice sounded. He glared at her. Dark color had risen to stain his cheekbones. His face could have been carved from stone. "I want you to tell me the truth. Did you know Mario Castellanos?" The thing about being a lawyer was, it had taught her one important rule: When the going gets tough, keep your damned mouth shut. She had to stay mute. He was on the trail of her terrible secret, although he clearly didn't know anything for sure, or yet have an inkling of the worst of it. But knowing something and proving it in a court of law were two very different things. They might be involved, she might have spent a good part of the weekend in his bed and in his arms, but when it came right down to it, he was a cop. With that in mind, she had to remember that she was once again fighting for her life.

"Get your hands off me." She tried to pull her arms free, but he only tightened his grip.

"I take that as a great big
yes."

"You can take it any way you want. Let
go
of me."

He ignored that. "Castellanos was the second man Charlie saw back there in the secure corridor, wasn't he? You knew him, he was back there in that corridor with you, and I'm willing to bet anything you want he's the one who shot Rodriguez." Kate felt the color leaching out of her face. Tom's face tightened with anger. His voice turned harsh with it. His eyes glittered like pieces of jet. "Goddamn it, Kate, tell me you didn't have anything to do with getting those guns in there, or setting up that escape attempt."

"I already told you that."

"Yeah, and I believed you, too, like the damned fool I am." He let go of her suddenly, walked a few steps away, ran his fingers through his hair, and turned back to look at her.

"Look, do you think I'm the only one who's going to be asking you these questions? I just put it together quicker than anybody else because I have access to the files from Castellanos's murder and the murders at the Justice Center. And I know something about your background. But I can't keep it a secret.
I can't fucking keep this a secret."
"So why did you bring me out here? To warn me?" His eyes flashed at her. "You want the truth? I was hoping I was wrong. I was hoping there was an explanation. I was hoping you would deny everything." He laughed bitterly. "But I'm right on the money. I can see it in your goddamned face."

Kate's fists clenched. She felt dizzy, sick to her stomach, faint. "Did you shoot him? Castellanos? " Tom's voice was sharp. That was so unexpected she was startled into replying:
"No."
He stared at her. It was the first of his new questions that she had answered. Apparently, he realized it, too, because his eyes took on a hard, cold intensity.

"Ah," he said. "So we've finally got a
no."

"Go to hell." Furious at herself, Kate turned and started walking toward the street. "And stay away from me," she threw back at him over her shoulder. "You want to ask me any more questions, I'll get you the name of my lawyer."

She half expected him to come after her, but he didn't. He let her walk away without another word. Which was a good thing, Kate thought fiercely. She should never have allowed herself to get involved with any man, much less a cop.

She could feel tears starting at the back of her eyes. Her heart pounded. She felt an aching in her chest, too, that she hated. But she knew, and there was no denying it: It was her poor, fragile heart breaking in two.

She should have known better. She had known better. But she had walked right into this disaster anyway.

It was because he'd had a son who had died. That's what had done it. When she had learned that about him, the hard little shell that she'd grown around her heart had cracked.

And let Tom in.

Now she was having to wrench him out again. And it hurt, badly, just like she deserved.

That little bit of happiness she'd had with him had just been a setup for today's crash and burn. Just like she'd feared. Just like she'd known.

Now she got to pay the price, and the price was pain. Tears blurred her eyes by the time she reached the street, but she determinedly blinked them back.

I'll
be damned if I'm going to cry over him.

Knowing that what they'd had was over hurt so much, though, that she had trouble pushing it aside to focus on the rest of her problem: what Tom knew. If he managed to put a few more puzzle pieces together, or even if he didn't, she was likely to find herself in legal jeopardy very soon. On the face of it, the prospect was terrifying. The thing was, though, he didn't know about David Brady, and with Mario dead there was no way that she could see for him or anyone else to find out. That was the charge that would ruin her. That was the charge that would stick.

Because in the eyes of the law it was true.

Of all the rest, she was innocent.

She just had to keep that firmly fixed in her mind.

So maybe she could weather this. Maybe she could get through it with her job and her life intact.

Maybe she could end up making Tom look like the suspicious jackass he was.

But that still wouldn't bring him, or what they'd had this past weekend, back.

Damn it, she was crying. Right in the crowded middle of Kennedy Boulevard. She could feel the tears spilling over to course hot and wet down her cheeks. Glancing around self-consciously to discover that she was already the object of curiosity for a couple of passersby, she discreetly swiped at the tears with her knuckles.