Reilly 04 - Breach of Promise (48 page)

“Uh-oh,” Nina said. A piece of baseboard had dislodged where Winston’s desk had been. Moving day had been rough on this office. She knelt to try to push it back into place, and caught sight of something no bigger than a spider in one corner that looked like it had fallen behind the baseboard. Leaning over to examine the area, she picked up a small metal disk. “Some kind of battery.” Maybe for that little radio he always wore when he jogged? Or a watch? “He has all kinds of watches. Sandy, why don’t you pop this in the mail to him. It’s unusual. Maybe hard to replace.” She held it for them both to admire. “It’s terrific how minuscule they can make those things.”

Wish took it from her. Setting the bag down, he walked over to the window and took a closer look. “That’s not a battery. Look at these little holes here.”

Nina peered over his shoulder. “Well, what is it?”

“Hmmm,” said Wish. “A microphone?” He twisted the tiny thing between huge fingers.

“What?”

“Well, it looks a little like a bug . . . but . . .” He put the object very close to his eyes and studied it.

“You’ve been filling your head up with junk, reading those spy magazines,” Sandy said. “I told you that was a waste of time.”

“Well, maybe so,” Wish said. He set the disk down on the windowsill. “I’m probably wrong.”

“Oh, my God, you had me going there. I had the strangest idea,” said Nina, putting a hand to her pounding chest. “I thought maybe, I don’t know what I thought . . .”

Wish left Nina and Sandy for a moment, trotting swiftly into Sandy’s office and back, while they stared at the tiny thing on the ledge.

When he came back, he was holding one of those spy magazines that caters to teenagers. “See this?” he said, pointing excitedly at a quarter page advertisement near the last page. “Same thing.”

The women continued to stare, only now they stared at the page. SLY BOY! trumpeted the boldface. THE WORLD’S TINIEST BUG!

“Told you,” said Wish.

Sandy opened her mouth, then closed it. She folded her arms.

“But . . . how could Winston get a bug?” Nina asked.

“Anybody can buy surveillance equipment,” Wish said. “Really. There are spy catalogs on-line from all over the world. Haven’t you ever checked it out on the Internet? You can buy neat stuff. I wrote a paper on state-of-the-art technology for one of my classes.

“In the 1950s the Soviets bugged the American embassy in Moscow by hiding a little round thing like this behind a wooden carving of the Great Seal of the U.S., a gift from them that hung above the ambassador’s desks. Whoever said the Slavs have no sense of humor, huh? That was a different device.”

“How does this one work?”

“It’s a simple radio transmitter. There’s a range, like maybe eighty to a hundred megahertz, where you can tune in to hear it.”

“How far away can you be for something like that to work? I mean, could I go home and listen in?” Nina asked, gripping the windowsill.

“You’d need a receiver. Of course those can be very tiny, too, but the quality isn’t very good unless you’ve got something, say the size of a transistor radio, to collect and amplify the sound. Maybe two hundred meters? It varies. This is pretty sophisticated stuff.”

Nina and Sandy couldn’t seem to think of another thing to say.

“So someone bugged Winston’s office,” Wish said. “Who do you suppose was interested in listening in on Winston’s conversations? Hey, Nina. Do you think Riesner and Casey bugged his office to find out what you guys were up to before the trial?”

“No,” said Nina. “I don’t.”

“It is terrific how small they can make those things,” said Sandy, taking the object from her son. “Now, Wish, you take that trash out to the Dumpster. There’s a couple of chairs left in the reception area you forgot. They need to go, too. I’m not paying for any damages, so you’ll want to be very careful.”

“But . . .”

“Move it.”

Grumbling at being ordered around, Wish left.

“You don’t think someone was bugging Winston,” Sandy said.

Nina sat down on the floor. “No. Nobody planted that thing behind the baseboard. It was lying there, loose. I think the bug is his. God, what was he doing with that thing? I knew how desperate Winston was to win the case but . . .” She sniffed. Sandy handed her a tissue, and she blew her nose. “He was not around during those couple of days the jury deliberated. He did a lot of jogging.”

“With that disc player–radio thing he always wears,” said Sandy, frowning.

“Could he have been listening in? Or maybe he had a receiver hooked up to a recorder in his car, and just listened later, some of the time. All he would have to do was park his car somewhere near the courthouse.”

“But, Nina. It doesn’t make sense. What’s the use of bugging the jury room? At that point, you can’t control the outcome of the case.”

“My God. Maybe Paul was right. Maybe he . . . did something to Clifford Wright’s food, to stop him. He might not have realized how serious it could be.”

“But, Nina, they always leave the jury’s food in the private hallway outside the judge’s chambers until it’s served, right? And the door to that hallway is locked.”

“Nobody bothers the lawyers if they pass through that hallway, and you can go straight through from the courtroom. I’ve done it myself. And Winston had a thing going with one of the clerks back there . . . He knew all about the allergy from our jury files, I’m sure. He knew about the vegetarianism. Cliff’s food was probably specially marked. He could have put something in the food.”

“Why leave the bug here?”

“I don’t know! I can only imagine. It’s very small. It must have fallen during the shuffle of moving. Either he didn’t notice, or couldn’t find it.”

“He’s got a good reputation, lots of clients. Why would he do this?”

“He lost his last case. He was desperate to win this one. His professional success really depended on that. And he knew he had a huge payoff coming if we won big enough to help him get out from under some heavy debts. Oh, Sandy.” She dropped to the floor like a sack of flour and hugged herself. “Oh, my God. My case.”

“You better call Paul.”

She couldn’t move. Reality had caught up with her, and she didn’t know what to do. “Paul’s gone, Sandy. I can’t call him.”

Genevieve appeared in the doorway, a leather bag dangling from her shoulder. “Everything okay in here?” she said. “I never saw two such blue faces in my life. What’s that thing you’ve got there?”

“Nothing,” said Nina, tucking the mike into her pocket. She stood up, dusting her hands off. She had to think more. No sense involving anyone else.

“Well, ladies,” Genevieve said, looking a little sad, “the much-anticipated, awful moment has arrived. Genevieve Suchat is leaving the building.”

They said their good-byes. “Don’t let her work you too hard, Sandy,” Genevieve said. “And, Nina, don’t you let Sandy drive you to an early grave. Oh, I’m gonna miss you two.”

When she left, gloom descended on them, as thick as dust.

“Where’s Paul, Nina?” Sandy said as they walked slowly back into Nina’s office.

“Going to Washington. For good.”

Sandy’s lips tightened. “Why that little . . . Where is he right now?”

“He might still be having lunch at Sato’s. He was going to stop on his way out of town.”

“Call him. He’ll know what to do about this thing. He’ll have some ideas.”

“No.”

“Okay, then. I will. We need him. He’s not getting out of this.”

“Don’t. I’ll figure this out myself.” Nina went into her office, shut the door, put her hands down on the table, and placed her head over them. She stayed that way for five minutes, then called Paul.

He didn’t answer his cell phone. Nina listened partway through “Announcement One. Your call cannot be completed at this time. The cellular customer you have called may have reached his destination or . . .” and hung up. “This is never going to work,” she said. The Sly Boy felt hot as a live grenade in her pocket.

At Sato’s restaurant, the phone was busy. She tried again and again for nearly forty-five minutes, but the phone continued beeping rapidly. Paul would be out of there any minute. Nina made up her mind. Grabbing her jacket, she went back into the reception room. “Sandy, cancel anything I have left this afternoon. I don’t have court and tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m going to see if I can catch up with him.”

“You do that.”

“Meanwhile, keep trying the restaurant just in case you can get through. Tell him to wait for me there. I’ll keep my phone handy. Call me if you get through.”

Fortunately, the Bronco was gassed up. Pulling up to the front door of Sato’s, about to pull her parking brake, she spotted Paul heading for his van, which was parked across the street about a block behind her. Reversing quickly, she turned around and passed his van, backing up to parallel park smoothly in the slot behind him.

“Nina?” He got out of his car to meet her at her door.

“Who else, Paul?” she said, flooded with the emotion she hadn’t been able to express earlier, and with relief at finding him.

“To say that I didn’t expect you is an understatement . . . unless you caved in to a sudden uncontrollable yen for sushi?”

“Paul, just listen to me,” said Nina, shutting her car door. They moved to the sidewalk in front of the restaurant while she gave him an abbreviated version of the events of the morning, handing him the Sly Boy to examine. “What I want to know is, am I crazy to think this means anything? I like Winston. I don’t want him to be a bad guy.”

“Then why don’t you just call him and ask him to explain?” he said. “Don’t you trust him?”

“It’s awkward,” she said. “Me asking him, hey, did you plant a microphone in the jury room? Did you listen to the proceedings? Of course he’ll say no. It’s illegal for starters. And it’s not like he necessarily used the information to win our case. Maybe he just listened. Maybe he didn’t use it for that at all. I can’t believe he would hurt me like this, destroy me. . . .”

But Paul was lost in thought. “What are you going to do?” he asked finally. “If he bugged that jury room, this may go beyond jury tampering. He would know Wright basically sabotaged Lindy Markov’s case. Did you find any peanuts?”

For a split second, it was almost funny. Then she remembered what it could mean. “If he did anything to Wright, I’ll kill him! The case . . . my God, Lindy’s verdict will be in question. All the months of hell with this trial . . . Riesner! How he’ll crow! And oh, Paul . . .”

“The money,” he said.

“My money!”

“If you don’t mind,” said Paul, “I’d like to talk to Winston with you. Is that okay?”

She nodded. “Thanks. I didn’t feel I had the right to ask you. But . . . didn’t you say you had to get to Carmel?”

“I can leave for Washington from Sacramento tomorrow. Skip the stop in Carmel. Where is Winston?”

“I think he’s out on the lake somewhere.” She called Sandy on her car phone. “I’ve got Paul.” She hung up.

“Does Genevieve know about this?”

“I don’t know,” said Nina. “She came in and saw me holding the microphone. I wasn’t paying attention to her, I was so freaked out at what I was holding. And Winston’s too smart and too proud to tell her something like this.”

A new implication hit her. She sighed unhappily. “Maybe she suspected something. It’s possible she recognized the microphone, come to think of it. She did look upset when she came in to say good-bye. I put that down to it being her last day.”

Playing with the plastic lid on a Styrofoam cup in his hand, Paul digested this information. “Where’s Genevieve now?”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“Does it make sense to you like it makes sense to me that Genevieve might just run off and warn Winston that you found the bug? What if she did recognize it, Nina?”

“She might.”

“And how do you think Winston’s going to react to the information if she is reporting to him right now?”

“Mad?” said Nina, light beginning to glimmer on the edge of her consciousness. “Threatened?”

“Threatened enough to want to shut her up? He probably figures he could convince you of anything. He’s got to know you’re dying to be convinced. You’ve got a fortune at stake. But he knows she of all people can nail him good. She probably knows more than she thinks she does, and it’s all beginning to make sense to her.”

“But,” said Nina, “even granting that Winston isn’t who I always thought he was, granting he might even be dangerous,” she thought out loud, “how could she catch up with him today if he’s on an island in the middle of Emerald Bay?”

“Same way we can,” he said, picking up her sunglasses from the backseat, pulling her by the hand, opening the passenger-side door on his van, and pushing her in. “Motorboat, motorboat, go so fast . . .”

Nina got into the van with him and made some quick phone calls. “Okay, head for Meek’s Bay. I called Richardson’s Resort. They refused to rent us a boat. It’s too late in the day, and the wind’s up, they say. The bad news is, they rented the last one of the day to Genevieve, so we know she probably followed Winston. Oh, God, Paul. By now she’s a good hour ahead of us.”

“Why should we go to Meek’s Bay?”

“Matt offered us his boat, and that’s where it’s docked.”

“You’ve had some unkind things to say about that boat.”

“Last time it went dead out in the middle of the lake I swore I would never ride in it again, but it’s our only option. He gave me some tips about starting her up.” They pulled into the parking lot. “Look for the one called the
Andreadore.”

“Catchy name. Didn’t another ship ram that boat?”

“You’re thinking of the
Andrea Doria.”

“Your brother has a strange sense of humor.”

“Tell me about it. Usually he’s docked down by Heavenly, but luckily for us, a friend was working to get it ready for the summer season. Some kind of trade. Meek’s is closer to Emerald Bay.”

They found the scarred twenty-two-footer easily. “Nina,” Paul said, untying the ropes that held it to the dock. “I know you don’t really think Winston killed Clifford Wright . . . but let’s just admit the possibility.” He jumped in, fiddled with the ignition, and started the boat.