Suspicion of Guilt (38 page)

Davis went over to see. "Oh, I hate this. God damn."

Gail pulled Karen back. Davis looked at Gail and shook his head.

The blond officer bent over the grass. "Yipes. It's flat in the back. Gross."

The young cop said, "What'd the old bastard do, throw it out?"

Karen buried her face in Gail's stomach and clung to her waist, screaming. "Mommy! Take her to a doctor. Pleeeese!"

Gail hugged her tightly. "All right. The policemen will take it to a vet. Won't you?" She looked at them. "Won't you?"

"A vet?" The young cop looked down at Karen. "That's right. We'll take good care of her."

"Now! Take her now!" Karen sobbed, and Gail pulled her toward the house. She glanced back. The blond cop toed the dog gently with his shoe and it yelped. Karen put her hands over her ears. "Don't!" She screamed. "Mommeeeee!"

Irene pushed past him and fell to her knees on the ground. Mitzi was whimpering, a high, staccato cry, as if her jaws were trembling. Irene looked around at the young cop and yelled at him, "Go get me a hand towel out of the kitchen! Move!"

Davis jerked his head in that direction and he took off. Irene pushed her sweater sleeves to her elbows. When he returned with a blue checked towel, Irene told him to spread it on the ground. She picked up the small shape, laid it on the towel, and wrapped it tightly. The cries were muffled now. She got up, walked quickly to the edge of the swimming pool, knelt, and plunged the bundle into the water, holding it there. The water darkened, blood spreading.

"Oh, shit." The young officer turned and looked up at the sky.

Karen stared.

Gail dragged her to the house. "Come inside."

"Leave her here!" Irene's arm was still straight down into the water. "Karen. You listen to me. Stop crying. This dog was too badly hurt to live, and she was suffering. She wouldn't have made it to the vet. Do you understand?"

Karen wailed.

"Answer me!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now you and your mother go inside and find me another towel. A pretty one. Bring a spoon and we'll make a place to lay Mitzi to rest. It's all right now. It's all right. Go on."

They found an embroidered hand towel in Irving Adler's linen closet. Gail went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth and cleaned off Karen's face. Karen was weeping silently, taking big gulps of air.

Gail said, "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I'm so sorry." Her throat hurt too much to talk, not from grieving over the life of Adler's poodle, or from the horror of watching it die, but from shame. When she was a child she had seen Irene drown a kitten in a bucket that way, after a dog got it. Gail and her sister Renee had said prayers and sung songs over the little mound of dirt in the backyard.

This time she should have been the one to do it.

Chapter Twenty-Four

At the federal courthouse, Gail looked inside the courtroom on the twelfth floor. Empty. Only the flags, the empty judge's bench, and a few rows of seats upholstered in mauve. Anthony's trial would restart at nine o'clock, according to the court clerk. Gail had detoured a few blocks north on the way to her office, hoping to find him here by now, half an hour early.

She took the elevator back downstairs to the lobby. Through two-story plate glass, light poured in from outside, a glare on the brown marble floor. She felt clumsy and disconnected; she had not been able to sleep last night.

People came and went, voices echoing. She scanned the faces, then glanced toward the street. He was just coming along the sidewalk, carrying his briefcase. Three people were with him, a younger associate from Ferrer & Quintana on his left, and a man and a woman on his right. The man would be the client—Latin, mid-forties. He was a co-defendant in an embezzlement case, and he held the woman's hand. Anthony spoke to the client, touching his shoulder for emphasis. He wore a conservative gray suit today, which said this must be a jury trial. He had told Gail that jurors prefer such suits, having seen them on lawyers in the movies or on television.

From an insider's vantage point she had watched him in trial. He was measured and calm, or could explode with enough raw emotion to make a jury gasp. His timing was superb, his gestures so assured they seemed completely without artifice—the eyes up to heaven, the little shrug, the ruffling through papers as if he had just recalled a vital point. But he had done his homework; he knew his lines. Once when he had finished mangling a government witness, he stalked back across the courtroom, blood still on his claws, and his eyes had caught Gail's, and the desire that had shot between them in that instant had nearly made her faint.

At the top of the steps the associate held the glass door. Anthony let the client and his wife go first, then followed them inside. He noticed Gail and said something to the others.

He crossed the lobby, curious, smiling. "This is a surprise."

Gail said, "I wouldn't bother you during a trial, but I need a favor."

"Why are you so pale? What's wrong?"

"I didn't get much sleep. Irving Adler died last night."

"Died? How?"

"A heart attack. He had called my mother, wanting her to bring me over to talk to him. He was going to confess the will was forged. When we got there, he was dead. Karen was with me. She found the dog with its back broken and thrown in the trash. She had nightmares all night."

Anthony took Gail's hand.

She said, "I thought of calling you, but it was so late."

"No, no. You should have called." With an arm around her shoulders, Anthony steered Gail out of the way of people walking past. There was a deserted spot along one wall, and he set his briefcase down. "Where is Karen now?"

"With my mother. She's all right. Anthony, what I need from you is Rosa Portales's address and phone number. My case just took a hit. Irving would have told me the truth. Now he's gone. I want to talk to Rosa Portales today."

"Why? Is there a rush?"

"Yes. We're in settlement. I told them I could prove the forgery. Now I'm not sure I can," Gail said. "Do I have to explain it all now? I want to talk to her."

"When this trial is over next week I'll go with you," he said.

"I don't need you to go with me," she said sharply, then dropped her voice when a woman glanced at her. "You told your secretary not to give me Rosa's number. Why?"

He took a moment, then without looking at her spoke as if she were a law clerk asking an obvious question. "Because this involves the criminal prosecution of my client, and I prefer to speak to the witness first, before her memories have been altered by questions on other matters."

Gail laughed a little. "Excuse me? Your client?"

"Yes. Patrick Norris."

She felt the blood pounding in her head. "You didn't even want him as a client."

"But now I have him, no?"

"You don't care about Patrick. You want to control what I do, and I don't like it."

He looked down his fine, narrow nose. "Where a client is involved, what anyone else does or does not like is of minor importance."

The room seemed to tilt. "Well, where was that noble sentiment when I was telling you the same thing? You were screaming at me because I wanted to handle my case in my way. True? Yes?"

"It isn't the same."

"Yes. It is. Call Mirta. I believe you have a phone in your briefcase?" She made a polite little smile.

"I have a client waiting for me, Gail." Face completely neutral, he moved closer, not to let anyone hear them. "I'll call you tonight. We'll discuss it then."

"Forget it." Rage leaped up her throat and for an instant the corridor vanished into a blur. "Forget calling, forget everything."

"What do you mean?"

"I made a reasonable request. You're being a jerk. It's what you always do. I've had it. I can't take this from you anymore."

Anthony picked up his briefcase with one hand and clamped the other on her elbow. He looked around, smiled across the lobby at his associate, then headed for the doors. He spoke through his teeth. "I'll give you the damn phone number, but first we're going to talk."

She nearly tripped going down the steps. He took her around the corner. The sun was glaring over the buildings across the street.

He said, "Now tell me what is the matter with you."

As if she should explain her surly attitude. The talons of her rage sank deeper. "My mother always told me, Try to end a bad relationship with a man before it goes completely sour, so you can remain friends. Am I too late? What do you think?"

Anthony looked at her, stunned. She closed her eyes and said, "Oh, Christ. Just go back to your clients. I don't want to talk about this now. I don't, don't, don't."

He set his briefcase down as though it might contain a bomb. "What are you saying to me? We're through? What have I done?"

"It isn't you." She pushed back her hair, laughing a little. "I always wanted to go to Mykonos, now I've been there. I want to go home."

"What has happened?" The sun was on his face, making him squint. "I know. It started Friday, at the hotel on South Beach. All right. It was a bad idea. I shouldn't have suggested it. You were too upset about the police—"

"Anthony—no. What happened at the hotel—it was going to happen sooner or later. I've felt it for weeks."

He continued to look at her. "Why didn't you tell me this? If you felt this way, you should have told me."

"I know that. Oh, God, I know." She leaned heavily against the wall. "Anthony, what are we doing with each other? Do you ever really think about it? We play at being in love. It's loads of fun, but it isn't
real.
I play with you and neglect my daughter. Last night—last night I saw what I've been doing to her. She needs me. I'm all she has. My marriage died because I neglected it. Now my daughter is without her father. There's only so much of me—"

"Ah, this is it. You feel guilty. You blame yourself for her problems. Gail, he never writes her. You said so. A postcard. A phone call if he thinks of it." Anthony's voice was rising. "He abandoned you. He is living on a boat in the Caribbean with another woman. You told me this!"

"Well, good for Dave. Let him do what he wants. I can't be so free."

Two men in suits came nearer. One of them raised a hand to Anthony. He nodded. Gail studied the sidewalk, a pattern of a leaf that had dried there long ago.

The men were gone. Anthony said, "You complained that I didn't know what I wanted from this relationship. Are you asking me to make a decision?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't tell you what to do, even if I wanted to." Gail wasn't angry anymore. She regretted the way she had spoken to him. She smiled, touching the front of his jacket. "You had the most placid life until I came along, didn't you? You'd always say 'Oh, Gail, you make me crazy.' I know you never meant it, but it's true. If we spent a lot of time together, I really would drive you crazy. I know you. You'd feel trapped. I can't ask you to be anything but what you are. It wouldn't be fair."

"A lovely speech. And you said
I
was condescending."

Her smile faded. "I'm trying—really trying—to be honest with you."

"Unbelievable." He moved away from her, paced, looked at his watch, then came back. "You arrive at the federal courthouse just as I am about to go into a trial and you deliver me a package. I unwrap it, and it's a notice that we are through. I didn't ask for it. I wasn't consulted."

"Listen to you," she said. "That's what I mean. Have you ever noticed that you've got to have everything exactly the way you want it, when you want it?"

He laughed.
"¿Y tú?
You don't? I think you want me to beg you to change your mind, no? Is that what you want?"

She flared again. "I don't want you to do a damn thing. You like not making choices. Look at you. You float between Miami and Havana and your whole life is like that. You believe in nothing unless it affects
you"

"Aha.
Ahora tenemos la verdad.
This is it. Now I know what you really think of me. Finally the truth."

She felt a sudden, unreasoning urge to weep, but only crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "You were right. I should never have taken this case for Patrick. It made me open my eyes."

"This man is a self-deluded—¡
Este mongólico retardado! ¡Este hombre está fundidor!”

"You want more honesty?" Her voice was shaking. "You thought we must have been lovers because I wanted to help him. I denied it. Well, you were right about that too. I did have an affair with Patrick. Me, a married woman at the time. I didn't tell you because I knew it would only have pissed you off."

Anthony said nothing, but a muscle in his jaw bunched into a knot.

She smiled a little. "See?"

"No. I
don't give a
damn
what you did with Patrick Norris in law school. What you do now is worse. This is not our affair, it is yours. Gail—poor, suffering Gail—must decide what will happen because Anthony's emotions can't be trusted. Your conceit is beyond belief!"

Suddenly he laughed and let his hands fall to his sides.
"Bueno.
Maybe you're right, you know? We should end it. Yes, I agree. You're not so easy to put up with either."

Gail saw heads turn in their direction. She said quietly, "Well. We've had our talk. Are you going to give me Rosa Portales's address or not?"

For a long moment Anthony looked at her, eyes blazing. Then he sat on his heels to click open his briefcase. He pulled out his portable telephone, hit some numbers with a stiff forefinger, crossed his arms, and walked away a few paces, his back to her.

"Mirta. Es Quintana. Llama a la secretaria de la Senora Connor con la dirección y numero de teléfono de Rosa Portales. "
In another burst of Spanish he said no, he didn't want his messages; he would be back at six.

Anthony rammed the little antenna back into the phone, threw it into his briefcase, and slammed the lid. "All right?" He grabbed it up and tucked his tie into the front of his jacket, not looking at Gail. "Mirta will call your secretary. Is there anything else? I have a trial, which now I do not know if I can get through without shooting someone."