Suspicion of Malice (42 page)

Anthony had sat listening to this until nearly three
o'clock in the morning. The roommates gone. The
place cleaner than he'd expected. He had accepted a
cafecito
to get him home. Leaving, he had asked, How
do you know Sean was telling you the truth? Softly,
and with certainty, Bobby had replied, I just know.

Bobby Gonzalez had laid the knowledge at Antho
ny's feet like a young wolf with a fresh kill. An
offering.

"Sean thought Bobby had killed Roger. He says he never told the police or his parents because he was
trying to protect him. I don't agree. A boy like Sean is motivated by fear, not loyalty."

When Anthony glanced at Gail, she was looking
at him with both amusement and wonder. "You ap
prove of what Bobby did," she said. "Go ahead,
admit it."

He waved away the thought. "It was foolish. I told him that. He's lucky not to be in jail. Sean could still
file a report. I don't think he will."

"What are you going to do now? Talk to Frank
Britton?"

"Not yet. Sean would deny it. He'd say Bobby confessed, or that he saw Bobby run from the scene. No,
we aren't in the clear."

Gail looked at her notes. "Well. Where was every
one else between eleven and eleven-thirty? Nikki was
supposedly in bed waiting for Jack. Jack was with
his guests. Porter was at home with Claire. Dub and Ted Stamos were at the strip club. Elizabeth was watching television with her older daughter. Every
one has an alibi."

Anthony smiled. "Everyone
claims
to have an alibi.
Tomorrow morning I'll be at Cresswell Yachts. Claire
arranged it. She says she was able to sell them on
my cover story. Mr. Quintana has been retained to examine the books for evidence of Roger's financial
crimes. Would you believe that?"

"It sounds plausible," Gail said. "We're lucky to have Claire's help. She agreed to meet me at the ballet on Thursday. I'd like to speak to Nikki again, but she probably won't let me come as close a second time."

The intercom buzzed. Anthony pushed his chair back to reach the telephone on the credenza. Extending an arm, he asked Gail, "How did you per
suade her to tell you so much already?"

"She hates the Cresswells. Nikki may be as shallow
as a saucer, but she doesn't like to have her feel
ings hurt."

He picked up the phone. "Yes?" Nate Harris had
arrived.

Anthony went to get him, and when they came back
into the conference room, Gail stood up and ex
tended her hand. "Judge Harris, I am so sorry for
everything you've had to go through. I had a client to protect, and I never intended—"

"No, no, don't apologize for doing your duty." He
took her hand in both of his. "I understand com
pletely." Looking around, Nate included Anthony in his next remark. "Are we ready for the latest, folks?
Senator McCaffrey's office called. I have the nomina
tion. They'll announce it tomorrow morning."

No one broke out in a cheer. This had come sooner
than expected, putting more pressure on. Anthony gave Nate a one-armed hug and a slap on the back.
"That's great." Gail smiled and shook his hand
again.

Nate had left his jacket and tie in his car, and he
wore a plain, long-sleeved white shirt and dark
slacks. His gray hair looked windblown, and his eyes blinked behind his tortoiseshell glasses as if he were
still trying to assimilate this news.

"It won't be easy. Jesus, the forms to submit—
stacks of them. Every tax return since I was a pa
perboy. It will take them six months to a year to
decide if I'm acceptable, and then the White House
has to agree. Then the Senate. They'll want to know
what brand of shorts I wear." He gripped the back of a chair. "This Cresswell thing could blow up in
my face. If you think there's going to be a problem,
tell me. How are we coming?"

Anthony exchanged a look with Gail. "It's coming
along faster than we'd thought."

"Good, good. Where do you want me to sit, Gail? Here?" He sat at the head of the table, Anthony and Gail across from each other. "Okay. You have some
questions?"

Gail glanced at some notes she had brought with her. Anthony was prepared to break in if she steered the conversation onto forbidden ground—smoking dope with a young ballet dancer. Nate had told him there was no question off limits, but Gail didn't ask. There were a few general questions about the party,
nothing awkward, no mention of a transvestite
samba dancer, or the drunks, or the raucous music.
She asked about times, places, who was there and who wasn't.

Her voice was soft and warm, and she had an easy
rhythm to her speech. She was back from the table
far enough for Anthony to see her stomach. It looked the same. Child due in mid-February. He counted backward. Conceived sometime in May? Perhaps in
the house on Clematis Street. She and Karen had
lived there, and he had planned to move in after the wedding. It was an old house with wood floors and a rarely used fireplace in the master bedroom upstairs.
King-size bed. Ceiling fan over her head going
around, around. Hands on his shoulders. The points
of her breasts moving, hair bouncing on her forehead. Lower lip caught between her teeth. Eyes
squeezed shut. Breathing in time with their rhythm.
Huhh. Huhh. Huhh.

"How did you happen to choose this particular painting?"

"Jack suggested it."

Startled out of his reveries, Anthony said, "I must have missed something. What are we talking about?"

Gail lifted her brows. "The portrait of Diane. I
asked Nate how he came to choose it for Porter and Claire, and he just said that it was Jack's suggestion."

Anthony spread his hands, assuring her: a slight
lapse of attention.

She turned back to Nate. "A generous thank-you
gift.”

Nate said, "They deserve it. After my marriage to Maggie, they financed my reelection campaign. Porter used his political connections to make my name
known, and it was he who suggested I apply for the
federal bench."

"Really. May I ask how much you paid for the portrait?"

"Twenty thousand. Rather, I put down a deposit
of five thousand when I picked it up at Jack's house.
Jack tells me not to worry about the other fifteen, and that he hopes to get my five back to me when
he sells the painting again."

Gail looked at him. With a touch of surprise in her
voice, she asked, "Sells it to whom?"

"To whoever pays the price, I suppose. Jack's in
the business of selling art. He said that title to the
portrait is up in the air at the moment, but he hopes to get everything straightened out." A half smile
creased Nate's cheek. "He tried to explain how he
reacquired the thing, but it was too much for me
to follow."

"Hmm." Gail tapped her pen on her notepad. An
thony could see the thoughts whirling around in her head like a cage full of birds. "Well, actually, Diane has it. Frankly, I hope she can keep it." She returned to her notes. "Tell me. Did you know that Porter and Claire had already owned the portrait once, and that they gave it to Roger, and that he sold it to Jack two
months ago for ten thousand dollars?"

"Good God, no. Are you sure?" He looked around
at Anthony, who nodded gravely. Nate sat back in
his chair. "I knew none of this. I wish Jack had
told me."

Gail said, "He was using you to cause trouble for Roger and double his money at the same time. Do you think so?"

The answer took a long while to arrive. "I don't
want to think that of Jack." Nate's face bore an ex
pression of chagrin. Disappointment. A friendship
had just ended. Releasing a long breath, he adjusted
his glasses on his beak of a nose.

"Did you ask Claire why they gave it away?"

"Yes, after Anthony told me about it. I was afraid I'd committed some faux pas, and she said no, Porter
went into a senior moment and took it to the office
to his brother and sister-in-law. She could only guess that he'd wanted Diane's parents to have it. I'm sorry for all this trouble Diane is going through with her mother."

Gail's pen was tapping on her notepad. "Roger originally got the portrait from his parents a year or
so after his sister died. Do you know where Porter and Claire got it?"

He shook his head. "No. I'd never seen it at their house, neither where they live now nor their previous place in Miami Shores. I'm going to guess they bought it from a gallery or a collector. Perhaps . . .
from Jack."

While Nate mulled this over, still stunned by his
sudden glimpse into Jack Pascoe's nature, Gail
glanced across the table at Anthony. He could see
from her expression that she was moving in on some
thing, and that he should stay out of it.

She cleared her throat and sat up in her chair.
"Judge Harris, how much do you know about Maggie's childhood?"

"Her childhood?"

"Yes. Jack told me that at fifteen, Maggie tried to
kill herself. Did you know?"

Anthony had to protest. "Gail, what is the rele
vance—"

"Did you know?" she asked again, ignoring him.

"Yes. Maggie mentioned it in an offhand way."

Gail smiled and tilted her head. "Offhand?"

"She didn't like to talk about it, and I didn't press her. But if you're curious?"

"Yes, I am, actually."

Giving up, Anthony leaned back in his chair and
waited to see what Gail would do with this.

"Maggie said she'd had a crush on a boy, and it
hadn't worked out. Porter and Claire hadn't ap
proved, and Maggie had taken it badly."

"Apparently. Who was the boy?"

"Goodness, I don't know. A kid doing some fixup work at her parents' house. I think his father worked for the company. If she ever said his name, I've forgotten."

"Please forgive me if this seems like a strange line of inquiry," Gail said. "Did Maggie say she'd been
pregnant? I think that might have been the case."

Another surprise. Anthony had to clamp his teeth together to keep from asking her where in hell she'd
come up with that information. His eyes went to
Nate.

"No, Maggie never mentioned a child. Are you certain? Well, you know, that makes sense now. She
was only thirty years old when I met her, and she
said she didn't want children. I thought it was funny,
you know, a woman so young, but it was okay with me. I preferred it, in fact. We both had full careers.
I sensed that something had happened in her past,
and I asked her, but she didn't want to tell me. I
said, whatever it was, I could overlook it. It wouldn't
be an issue between us. But she never said, so I as
sumed it was of no importance. I don't think she
actually gave birth. Knowing her parents, I'd say a
termination would have been more likely. They're
very practical people. So was Maggie."

"And your marriage was.. . . happy?"

"I'd say so. We never had a serious argument. We were sexually compatible. Kind to each other. She respected my priorities, I respected hers. Her life was her art. Mine was the law. It worked out quite well."

"She traveled, didn't she?"

"Oh, yes, she spent most of her summers on the Cape, and she had a small place in Manhattan. I was
often buried in trials for weeks on end, or I'd be off to this or that judge's conference. When we were home, she'd go out to the cottage to work, and I'd
write my opinions. You know, being a judge is a sort of monastic existence, but she was great about it, and I understood her need to paint. Maggie was a genius. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hold her back from her calling."

"Do you have any idea why she ended her life?"

"Not to this day, I don't. Toward the end she be
came more depressed and remote. I'm sorry I
couldn't save her. Nothing could have."

Gail laid her pen on her legal pad. Silence stretched
out. Finally she said, "I have no more questions. Thank you."

Nate stood up, stretching a little. "Well, if there is anything else, just ask. Anything I can do. I'm grateful to both of you. Anthony, you're going to give me
an update on everything so far?"