Missing Justice sk-2 Page 33

  there with Melvin Jackson's new prosecutor.

  I had hoped to be out of the building before Russ made it up to the

  eighth floor, but he managed to catch me while I was still getting my

  things together. One more reason not to keep such a messy office.

  "Don't worry about the call to Prescott," he said. "I won't make you

  look like a jerk."

  "I think Duncan already took care of that," I said, throwing my pumps

  in my gym bag. One of them didn't quite make it in and hit Frist in

  the leg.

  "Easy now. For what it's worth, it would've been a lot worse if Duncan

  didn't actually like you."

  "If you didn't notice, I just got kicked off my first murder trial," I

  said, pulling the pictures of Vinnie and my family from my cork board

  and tucking them safely away in my briefcase, just in case.

  "Yes, but you walked out with your job and the case on track, and with

  very minimal ass-kissing. I know you'd rather hang on to it, but I

  won't bungle it."

  "Better not," I said, laughing, while I pulled my rain slicker on.

  "You're obviously going somewhere, but before you leave, why don't you

  let me in on the parts you edited out for Duncan."

  I did my best to look confused.

  "Cut the shit, Samantha. I can tell you're leaving something out. If

  you need me to go into cross-examination mode, I'll point out that you

  told Duncan there were some details you left out. As in plural. And

  you clearly had more to say to me before we got pulled into Duncan's,

  but I don't think it was the secret immunity deal, because you

  obviously didn't realize it was going to be so explosive. So spill it:

  What were you saving up for last?"

  What the hell. He'd stuck by me so far.

  "Earlier, I thought it was a big deal, but now that you've convinced me

  I had my head up my ass" he laughed too "anyway, it's probably nothing,

  but the safe deposit box that had the videotape and the Gunderson

  file?"

  He nodded.

  "Well, the one other item in the box was a password-protected floppy

  disc containing the budget information for Townsend's new hospital

  wing."

  "And how does that fit in with everything we just talked about

  downstairs?"

  "It doesn't. If you're right, it just so happens that Clarissa stored

  a backup of her husband's data in the same place as the other things.

  But, earlier, it made me wonder if maybe Townsend had something to do

  with it. Maybe Gunderson coughs up money for the hospital in exchange

  for Clarissa's help, something like that."

  "And he lets her sleep with Caffrey so she can deliver his vote for

  Gunderson? I don't see it."

  Me neither. On the other hand, according to everyone who knew him, the

  pathetic guy we'd been talking to the past week wasn't the same man

  Clarissa Easterbrook had married.

  We talked it through but kept going around in circles.

  When I finally retrieved my gym bag from under the desk, Russ handed me

  my briefcase. "So where are you going, if you don't mind me asking?"

  I wasn't ready to answer that question yet. "Sounded like Duncan was

  going to steer the meeting toward a holding pattern. Let the news sink

  in and the personalities calm down."

  "I know," he said. "I was there, remember?"

  "It may have been a mistake to drag Gunderson into the murder case, but

  now he knows we're looking at him on the bribery. Not the best

  situation for the preservation of inculpatory evidence."

  "You mean Slip's mistake," he said.

  "Right."

  "Well, you heard the boss: Nothing's happening until decisions get made

  at the highest level," he said, like we were still shooting the

  breeze.

  "But maybe someone could poke around a little on the side. Just to see

  what falls loose," I said.

  "Maybe."

  "You mind if I take the rest of the day as personal time?"

  "Not if you need it," he said. "Just tell me what you find out."

  9R9

  Fourteen.

  By the time I got to Metro Council headquarters, Terrence Caffrey's

  office was already locked down. Metro was probably only a part-time

  legislative gig.

  I took a chance and drove past the address I had copied from the

  mailing envelope Slip had found in Clarissa's safe deposit box. T. J.

  Caffrey and his family lived in a brick colonial just a couple of

  houses south of Reed College. A woman probably Caffrey's wife was

  planting bulbs along the front walk. A mini-van and a Toyota Avalon

  were parked in the driveway.

  Two cars hopefully meant two drivers.

  I wanted to talk to Caffrey alone, but I was willing to do it the hard

  way if necessary. I parked my Jetta around the corner on Woodstock

  Boulevard, confident that it blended in among the students' cars across

  from the library.

  I looked at my watch. I'd give it an hour before I knocked on the

  front door.

  Fifty-five minutes later, the front yard was empty, my stomach was in

  knots, and my self-imposed boldness deadline was preparing to bend.

  Chuck had been paging me, and I hadn't called him back out of fear that

  he'd convince me to take the night off and abandon my stakeout. Then I

  got lucky.

  The gardener walked out the front door holding a toddler and a Meier &

  Frank shopping bag, yelling back to someone inside. A little boy

  probably four years old followed her. She strapped them both into the

  minivan, threw the bags in front, and drove off.

  I didn't know how many kids Caffrey had, but most folks stop at two

  nowadays. Then it dawned on me he might not even be there. What woman

  in her right mind takes her children on a mall run when she could leave

  them at home with their dad?

  There was only one way to find out. I mustered my courage, got out of

  the car, marched to the front door, and panicked.

  Just when I was about to bail, Caffrey opened the door. "I thought I

  saw someone. Can I help? Oh, Ms. Kincaid. It's you."

  He looked down the street, no doubt to make sure the missus had left.

  "I'm not trying to cause you any problems."

  "As I know you're aware, my lawyer quashed that subpoena."

  "Well, that's just it. The subpoena was served by the defense to

  require you to testify under oath at the preliminary hearing. I just

  want to talk to you, but I need to know if you're still represented."

  "Ronald Fish is my lawyer. I'm sure you remember the very

  uncomfortable meeting we had Friday morning."

  Of course I did, but that wasn't what I was getting at.

  "I guess what I'm asking you, Mr. Caffrey, is whether you hired an

  attorney specifically because of the subpoena, or are you telling me

  that you've retained counsel to defend you in all matters involving

  Clarissa Easterbrook?"

  Caffrey was savvy enough to know that, as I had worded it, the latter

  sounded bad. It sounded well, guilty. By now, he may even have heard

  the news about witnesses taking the Fifth at the prelim. In the news,

  they always make that sound like a confession.

  I was taking advantage of a loophole in the
rule against contacting a

  represented party, but I was squarely on legal ground. And I had no

  respect for a guy who was more worried about his own political future

  than the murder of a woman he'd been sleeping with.

  "No," he said, without hesitation. "I thought I should have a lawyer

  for the courtroom proceedings, but I've got no problem speaking to you

  informally. Within limits, that is. I've only got about ten

  minutes."

  He was giving me a warning signal. I needed to be gone before the wife

  came home. Press too far, and I'd be out of here. With the rules of

  the game defined, he asked me in.

  "Since time is short, I'm not going to waste it pushing you to answer a

  question I think we both know is pointless." As I spoke, he folded his

  hands in his lap and looked down at them. At least he seemed to have

  some shame about his cowardice. "I think Clarissa got herself in

  trouble on one of her cases at work, something to do with Gunderson

  Development. And I also think she talked to the City Attorney about

  it."

  "Gunderson Development had a case in front of Clarissa?"

  I told him about the file, including the note about Clarissa's

  conversation with DC. The skin on his hands creased as he tightened

  the resistance in his fingers. I was on to something, and he was

  surprised by it.

  I went for broke. "Clarissa also had a videotape of the two of you

  leaving the Village Motor Inn, and it was in an envelope addressed to

  this house. She was blackmailing you, wasn't she?

  Was it so you'd leave your wife, or was she trying to pressure your

  vote for Gunderson?"

  He was no longer surprised. He was downright flabbergasted. He was

  looking at me like I had just invited him to a fund-raiser for Satan.

  "No?" I sounded pitiful.

  He shook his head, then said what his expression had already made

  obvious. "Clarissa was not blackmailing me."

  "But you do know something that might be related to her death." I

  could state the obvious too.

  When a few moments passed and he realized that I wasn't going to

  interrupt the silence, he finally spoke up. "Clarissa wasn't perfect.

  No one is."

  "Is that why you haven't said anything? With all due respect, making

  sure we get the guy who killed Clarissa is a hell of a lot more

  important than preserving her reputation."

  "I've been tearing myself apart. When she first disappeared, I didn't

  know what to do. But then it sounded like the evidence against Jackson

  was so strong, I felt I'd be dragging Clarissa through the dirt for no

  reason."

  The fact that he got to keep his own name clean may have factored in as

  well.

  "Look, the case against Jackson is strong, but the defense is arguing

  that someone set him up. I started to believe it myself, but it looks

  like whatever Clarissa had going with Gunderson wasn't involved in her

  death. But I think it did have something to do with your upcoming vote

  on the urban growth boundary."

  "If it's not related to her death, why does it even matter at this

  point?"

  "I hope I don't need to explain to you, of all people, that if

  Gunderson was blackmailing or bribing a public official, he should be

  punished." The argument seemed to fall on deaf ears.

  "And if we don't find out for ourselves what was going on between

  Clarissa and Gunderson, then the defense attorney can use innuendo and

  speculation to confuse the jury at trial. I don't want Jackson to

  walk."

  The possibility of Clarissa's murderer going unpunished seemed to be

  more persuasive. "It doesn't have anything to do with my vote." He

  was clearly insulted at what he perceived as the insinuation. "Clarissa

  never talked to me about that. Just like I never tried to tell her

  what to do on her cases. But I think she did have a connection to this

  Gunderson you're talking about."

  He stopped, but I did nothing to disturb the silence.

  "A few weeks ago, she told me she rigged an appeal for someone. I

  don't know the details of the case, but I know she ruled in his favor

  when she shouldn't have. I was shocked when she told me. It was

  totally unlike her."

  "Did she tell you why she did it?"

  "No. I think she only told me because she was worried about something

  else, some newer problem. She said the arrangement was supposed to be

  the one case, but it hadn't ended at that. They wanted something else,

  but she wouldn't say what. I begged her to talk to me about what was

  going on, but she wouldn't. She said she was going to handle it

  herself."

  "How was she handling it?"

  "I'm not sure. I know she went to Dennis Coakley so she could clear

  herself from any other cases where she might be pressured, but I don't

  know if she told him the full extent of what she did. The next thing I

  knew, she said she had figured out a way to get out of the position she

  was in, but that there was a risk that people would learn about well,

  about our friendship."

  "Did she talk to anyone else about it?" I asked.

  "Not that I know of. I doubt it. She was incredibly embarrassed.

  Ashamed. She was trying to find a way to get herself back on the right

  track without losing everything. God, in retrospect, it explained why

  she'd been so damn .. . good those last couple of weeks. You know she

  actually felt sorry for that monster?"

  "For Gunderson?"

  "No, for Melvin Jackson. Well, she never told me his name, but she did

  tell me his whole sad story. She called HAP to see if zero tolerance

  really meant zero tolerance. She called SCF to see if he was really

  going to lose his kids. Hell, she was even talking about finding the

  man a job to make sure he'd be on his feet when he was evicted. At the

  time, I asked her why she didn't just rule in his favor. But that was

  before I knew she'd already gone down that road before. I guess she

  wasn't willing to bend the law again, even for what she thought was a

  good cause."

  Despite what Clarissa had done for Gunderson, I respected her even more

  now that I knew what she'd gone through. She died doing everything she

  could to turn her life around, looking for redemption by helping a man

  like Melvin Jackson, a man who showed his gratitude by bashing her head

  in with a hammer.

  "How long had you been .. . close?" I asked.

  "Almost seven months." It was clearly painful for him to talk about

  this, and I had allowed the conversation to get off track. Just then,

  my pager vibrated. Chuck again. I turned the thing off.

  "When she said people might find out about your friendship, I imagine

  that must have alarmed you a great deal."

  "Perhaps not as much as you might think. I had very real feelings for

  Clarissa. Think what you want about me, but she was truly a decent

  person. She was under so much stress the guilt over what we were

  doing, combined with whatever she was involved in I could tell it was

  tearing her apart. Obviously,

  I pressed her to tell me what our relationship had to do with her
/>
  problem, but she refused. In the end, I told her to do what she had to

  do."

  "When was that?"

  "The Friday night before she disappeared."

  I tried to think of any other information I needed from him while he

  was being so cooperative. I had a newfound respect for cops. This

  off-the-cuff stuff was much harder than the questioning I was used to

  with a legal pad and the artificial setting of a courthouse on my

  side.

  "I know I gave you my assurances that I wasn't going to push on certain

  topics, but there's one other thing I need to know." I explained the

  ME's report of nonoxynol-9 in Clarissa's vaginal canal. "It's very

  intrusive, I know, but is it possible that was due to her relationship

  with you?"

  He bumbled around awkwardly trying to find the right words, but he

  finally got the point across. He and Clarissa had used a condom on

  Friday night.

  "We met well, let's be frank we met at the hotel you mentioned on the

  videotape you found. Her husband was at the hospital late." I noticed

  he didn't use Townsend's name. "She was in good spirits, although a

  little nervous. She said that on Saturday she was finally going to

  clear herself from this problem she was having. I braced myself all