Web of Smoke (15 page)

“About seven. Around there.”

“Were any of your doors unlocked when you got home?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember if I locked the back door when we left that morning. We were late and…and I don’t know how he got in.”

“So he was waiting? Did he go for you or Jessica first?”

“Jessica was in the kitchen and I was in my room when I heard her scream. I ran out and then he...we fought. He knocked me out. Jessica ran away, but she ran to my room. She didn’t know any better. She thought she’d be safe there, I guess. Her voice cracked on the last words.

“How could you see where Jessica ran if you were unconscious?”

Kathy paused defensively, her chin jutting at an angle. “Jessica must have run first. It all happened so fast.”

“How did he knock you out? Did he hit you with something?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she demanded.

He lowered his chin and gave her a look that made her squirm. Of course he wasn’t enjoying it. She was just being defensive. Mike had always brought out that side of her.

“If you want my help, I have to know the facts,” he said.

“What does it matter how?”

“It matters a lot.”

“If you want the facts, why don’t you just read the report?’’

“I have read the report. Look, Kathy, I know you’re trying to forget last night instead of remember it, but you’re an eyewitness. You know who took Jessica. Give me the facts and maybe I can figure out who it was, too. Then we’ll catch us a kidnapper.”

Mike lit another cigarette. With a pointed stare, Kathy moved her chair to the other side of his desk, out of the path of smoke.

“You know I can’t remember everything that happened,” she said, keeping her words low and controlled.

“You seemed to be doing all right to me.”

She straightened her back and steadied her gaze. Slowly, in a detached voice, Kathy repeated what she remembered of that night including as many details as she could muster. “…and then he raped me. He was strangling me. Squeezing tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe anymore…I blacked out.”

“How tall is he?”

She paused, picturing his faceless form hovering above her. “About five-ten, I think.”

“What color hair does he have?” Mike whispered.

She gave him a blank stare.

“Hair, Kathy. What color?”

“Blond.”

“Eyes?”

She widened her own in amazement. “Blue.”

“Can you picture his face? Try, think about his eyes, think about his face.”

She shook her head, sighing. “No. No face.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll come. In the meantime, we’ll check out the mug shots again. What happened next?”

“When I regained consciousness I was on my living room floor. The police were already there and so was an ambulance.” She lowered her face so he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “Jessica was gone.”

“Okay,” Mike said. “So let’s get her back.”

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning when Christie came down the stairs, Sam was waiting for her. He sat on a barstool at the counter, sipping coffee and reading the paper. He hadn’t showered yet and his hair stuck up in a swirl from the side to the front. A light stubble shadowed his lean cheeks and his eyes glowed with the same sleepy brightness that they always had when he first woke up.

He smiled at her, letting his gaze touch her. When they were still happily married, Sam had told Christie that he loved her best in the morning. It hurt now to think of those happy times when she considered that such sentiments had been tossed out, without thought, like bright pennies into a fountain.

“Good morning,” he said.

She answered his greeting, feeling shy and very aware of her crumbling defenses. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down next to him. His shoulder brushed hers as he handed her a section of the paper. The light scent of coffee and newspaper dragged her farther into the past.

“Christie?” he said.

She looked up to find him staring at her. He seemed to be choosing his words with care, as if each were of utmost importance. She held her breath, waiting expectantly for him to continue.

“I was thinking . . . Why don’t we go see the lawyer who handled your mom’s estate?”

She exhaled, wondering what she’d thought he was going to say that made her feel so disappointed now.

“Why do you want to see him?” she asked.

“He might know something about DC. Do you remember who it was?”

“Yeah, I remember his name. We corresponded forever, it seemed. But I’ve only actually spoken to him on the phone a few times and I never met him. What do you think he’ll know about DC?”

“Maybe nothing, but it won’t hurt to check.”

“I guess.”

* * *

The sophisticated letterhead that Leonard Pfeiffer used matched the elegance of his office. The elevator transported them to his floor with a swish of closing doors and the humming cadence of precision. The air had a lingering floral fragrance that managed to smell both synthetic and recycled.

Inside the box-shaped lobby, Southwestern paintings hung from the pristine walls, their peaceful scenes at odds with the sleek technology between them. The secretary ceased her rapid-fire assault on her keyboard long enough to look their way with a generic smile.

“Mrs. McCoy?” she said before Christie had the chance to introduce herself. “Mr. Pfeiffer will be right with you.”

Christie and Sam took seats on the seafoam green sofa next to a whitewashed oak end table with a clay lamp in its center. After a few minutes, Leonard Pfeiffer hurried through the door. Dressed in an expensive, charcoal gray suit that hung awkwardly on his frame, as if it had been tailored for a man of a different build, he smiled and offered a cool and moist handshake. His palms felt silky smooth.

Christie shook his hand, trying not to stare at his ears, which stuck out like handlebars from a V-shaped face. The light bounced off his shiny forehead and disappeared in the edged valleys of his cheeks, giving him a weasely look that didn’t quite match his regulation crew cut.

“Pleasure to meet you face-to-face,” he said.

“Thank you for making time to see me on such short notice,” Christie answered, introducing Sam. Pfeiffer motioned for them to follow him down the hall.

His office echoed the tasteful theme of the lobby, full of whitewashed wood, Native American pots and carved totems. His diploma hung on the wall, encased and matted, at obvious cost. Above it hung the certificate reputing excellence in the law by the Supreme Court of the State of California. Christie and Sam sat in the two chairs facing his oversized desk.

“Now what can I do for you, Christie?”

“I’m not really sure you can do anything,” she began when Sam interrupted.

“How long were you Mary Jane’s attorney?” he asked. “I mean, before she died?”

Pfeiffer blinked several times, bouncing a questioning look between the two of them. When he answered, he spoke to Christie.

“A couple of months, I believe.”

Sam nodded. “How did she find you?”

“How did she . . . ? I imagine she used the phone book.”

“She wasn’t referred?”

Pfeiffer’s expansive forehead furrowed in a frown. “No, I don’t believe she came by referral. As I recall, she wanted to write a trust and I assisted her. I advertise as an estate lawyer in the yellow pages as do most of my colleagues. You said on the phone that there was a problem with the estate?” he prompted. “Some trouble?”

“We’re trying to piece together some facts about Mary Jane’s estate,” Sam said. “Specifically, we want to know how she got the residence in La Jolla that is now Christie’s.”

Pfeiffer stared at him hard, his eyes squinty and measuring. “Are you with the police, Mr. McCoy? Because I have the definite feeling I’m being questioned.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pfeiffer,” Christie answered before Sam had the chance. “We don’t mean to make you feel that way. It’s just that things have been a little…
stressed
lately and it may have something to do with the house.”

“Well,” the attorney said. “I assume your mother purchased the house. She had it in her possession when she came to me.”

“And when was that?” Sam asked.

“A few weeks before she died.”

Sam leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of Pfeiffer’s desk. “I thought you said she’d been your client for months?”

“That was an approximation, Mr. McCoy, and since you are asking for privileged information, I’m afraid I won’t be able to assist you further. I simply cannot violate client confidentiality laws.”

“But the client’s dead,” Sam insisted. “You can’t keep a dead person’s confidence.”

He leaned back in his executive chair and studied them over templed fingers. “Tell me, Mr. McCoy. Where did you get your law degree? Confidentiality goes to the grave. I will tell you this, as the trustee of her estate, I’ve transferred all the property. There is no more. As simple as that.”

Christie nodded. “We understand your position, Mr. Pfeiffer, but we are desperate for information. Could you tell us if she ever mentioned a DC Porter in your dealings with her?”

He blinked again, considering her request. Apparently making a decision, he pushed back, the wheels of his chair whirring over the plastic mat underneath as he reached for his phone. He punched a button, then spoke to his secretary, requesting Christie’s mother’s file. The secretary whisked into his office moments later and gave it to him. Pfeiffer scanned the contents.

“DC Porter, DC Porter,” he mumbled to himself as he flipped through the pages. “Relative?” he asked Christie.

“No.”

“I don’t see his name.”

“She asked if Mary Jane ever mentioned him. Does his name mean anything to you?”

The attorney leveled a cold look at Sam. “I am a very busy man, Mr. McCoy. I don’t have time to familiarize myself with the personal lives of my clients.”

“Of course not, Mr. Pfeiffer,” Christie said, giving Sam a warning look. “We thought she might have discussed him, though.”

“Not that I recall.” He checked his watch. “If that answers your questions, I have another appointment now that I must prepare for.”

“Thank you for your time,” Christie said, rising.

Sam looked as if he would argue, but then thought better of it and followed Christie out of the building into the blinding sunshine.

When the door closed behind them, Christie looked at Sam and said, “You didn’t have to bite his head off, Sam.”

“The guy was lying.”

“About what? He said he handled her estate and I know for a fact that he did.”

“He was lying about DC.”

“How do you know? It seems more likely that he was telling the truth. There’s no reason for him to know anything about DC, Sam.”

“You’re telling me you think he’s for real? Did you really buy that confidentiality crap?”

“It sounded legit to me. I think you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how he evaded my questions.”

“Sam, you may not realize this, but you came on just a wee bit strong in there. He was probably waiting for you to whip out your automatic and blow him away. I wouldn’t have cooperated with you either.”

Sam seemed to consider what Christie said, then surprised her by grinning.

“I guess I did get a little excited and carried away,” he said with an embarrassed smile.

Christie nodded, feeling an answering grin on her lips as she climbed into the Jeep. It occurred to her what she was doing. Smiling. He had her smiling. Wasn’t that what she’d just warned herself about yesterday?

Smiling, laughing, forgiving him?

Already she was feeling happy to be with him and last night she’d begun to think that maybe he hadn’t been so wrong…. But that wasn’t true. He had been wrong. He’d betrayed her trust. No matter what the reason, Sam had betrayed her.

She gave herself a mental shake coupled with a warning. It would be easy to forget the past and move on, but Sam had ripped her in two when he’d cheated on her. She wasn’t strong enough to survive that again, and she wasn’t so naive as to think there wouldn’t be another time. She’d seen her mother battle the same problem in too many relationships and she’d never emerged the winner. Sam had been breaching Christie’s barriers at warp speed, but she wasn’t ready to surrender the fort to him.

He jumped in on his side and started the Jeep, glancing her way as he did.

“Christie?”

She forced the smile back on her face, but it didn’t fool either one of them. “I was just thinking of DC.”

He nodded, accepting her answer without question. “The bastard. And that…that
attorney
is in on it too. I’ll admit I jumped the gun a bit in there, but I still think he’s lying.” Sam checked his watch. “Let’s go see what they know at your mom’s clinic. We should have gone there in the first place.”

As they pulled into the heavy traffic on La Mesa Boulevard, Christie stared at her surroundings, realizing for the first time just how close Pfeiffer’s office was to the house her mother used to live in. Christie leaned forward.  She wanted to go there and see it.

“Let’s drive by my mom’s old place.”

“Why?” Sam asked, glancing from the road.

“I don’t know. Just to see. It’s not far and it’s on the way.”

They headed east, into the bright morning sun, fighting traffic that bunched in narrowed lanes. Angry drivers blared their horns at the construction crews that seemed to tear up roads just so they could repair them. The business district bordered tiny neighborhoods that degenerated as they made their way past the numerous apartment buildings. Christie leaned against the door, withdrawing into herself as Sam drove. Several times she knew he glanced her way, wordlessly questioning her sudden silence. Staunchly, she avoided his looks, afraid of what he might see in her eyes if she allowed him a glimpse.

Finally free of the jammed cars, Sam turned and parked in front of the small, pale green house. They sat for a minute, neither making a move to get out.

“Christie? Is something wrong?”

“No.”