A Wrongful Death (12 page)

"You're going to be called as a witness. You will be the one to establish the time that Elizabeth Kurtz called you, possibly the last call she ever made. You could be the last person she ever talked to, and you're going to be the state's most important witness against Leonora Carnero. You can't also act as her attorney. Stay away from her."

"I wasn't even thinking of her as a client," she said. "I just want to know what Elizabeth told her, if she'll talk to me. Believe me, Dad, I don't want a new client, a new murder trial to go through. In fact, on Friday we're closing the office until after Christmas, and Bailey and Hannah are going down to San Diego to visit her family over the holidays, leaving this coming Monday. I don't want Carnero, and even if I did, no judge would allow me to represent her. I know that. I just want to talk to her."

"And you can't. So forget it."

She gazed at the snow. It was very beautiful with city lights reflected in eerie patterns, softened, other worldly. Snowbound, she thought. At least temporarily, they were all snowbound. At a standstill. For now.

Chapter 12

All through the following day Frank had a growing sympathy for zookeepers watching their charges pace cages endlessly. Barbara was upstairs and down countless times, from the back door to a window to the front windows, as if the snowscape might change depending on where she stood. Between her weather checks, she worked on her computer, read and channel-hopped on TV. The two cats were as restless as she was. They exited through the cat door several times and kept to the snow-free sections of the porch, sniffed snow, backed away, sniffed somewhere else. Finally, they gingerly stepped out into it. When they came inside again, they complained bitterly and roamed some more.

Late in the afternoon the wind began to blow in from the southwest, bringing clouds, then rain, and snow dripped from tree limbs, from the roof, from the fence, and fell now and then in clumps that splashed when they landed.

It was nearly dark when Barbara came down in her heavy jacket and boots, her hood up. He did not comment when she walked out the front door, nor when she returned after a few minutes with one whole side covered with slush and snow, and without a word went straight upstairs.

Still later, she said, "I looked up the robot research Knowlton was involved in at Caltech. Pretty interesting. They were developing a robot with sensors and a feedback mechanism so the robot hand could pick up a feather, or turn a wrench or do a number of other tasks. And computer-assisted articulated legs with feet that could sense differences and adjust to them in the floor level, stairs, risers, just bumps. That's probably the expertise he brought to Diedricks's prosthetics. It's hard to tell now just how far the research had gone eighteen or twenty years ago, about when he joined forces with Diedricks. It's pretty much a reality now."

"Visionary," Frank said softly. "No more peg legs and Captain Hook claws."

"According to Brice Knowlton, his father was the one who understood computers and how to make them work with prosthetics. They must have made a terrific team, Knowlton and Diedricks. Why would a company freeze out anyone who opened a whole new avenue, with almost guaranteed profits down the line? And why didn't the old man speak up? That's the real question of the day."

They watched the late news but there was no mention of the murder or of Jason Kurtz.

"I'll go on up," Barbara said, going to the door of the study, where she paused. "Dad, if Janowsky starts pushing, how long can we keep him from getting my records, computer files, everything? If he's convinced that I know something, he'll go after them."

"I know he will," Frank said. "But we won't make it easy. And I'll try to limit it to that one issue, if you were ever in touch with Elizabeth Kurtz."

She nodded. "Good night." Try, she thought, going up the stairs, not that he would limit it, or that he could. He would try. A lot would depend on how hard Janowsky pushed, or whether Jason turned up and if there was an explanation that left Barbara all the way out of it.

In the upstairs hall, she walked back and forth for a long time, trying to think of a way to see Leonora Carnero, and once there how to force her to tell whatever she knew.

The next morning Barbara brought in the newspaper while Frank made French toast. "Two for one today," she said, tossing a newspaper down on the table unopened. The delivery boy had not made it the previous day. She unfolded the current paper. On the front page, in the lower half, was a picture of Sarah Kurtz, and one of Terry. The headline read Where Is Jason Kurtz?

She read the item. It included a statement and plea by Sarah Kurtz.

Barbara Holloway was present when she was attacked the first time, and she was present when she was murdered. Why won't she tell us what she knows about Jason? If her father were not the senior partner of the influential law firm of Bixby and Holloway, would she be granted such immunity? Does her privileged position place her above the law? Why are the investigators not using the authority of their office to demand an explanation? Please, whoever you are, wherever you are, please, my son and I beg of you, bring Jason back to his family.

She threw the paper down and cursed.

Frank brought a platter of French toast, and a bowl of warmed blueberry preserves and sat down, picked up the newspaper and read the article. He put the newspaper aside and helped himself to breakfast. "Used to add a lot of butter and even whipped cream for the top," he said. "Remember? The good old days, before we knew about cholesterol."

"Dad! Cut it out. You can't just ignore something like that!" She pointed to the newspaper.

"What do you think we should do about it?" he asked, and poured coffee for them both.

"Sue them. Bomb them. Hire a hit man. Run her down with your car. God! I don't know."

"Exactly. Try the French toast. Organic blueberries."

"If Sam Bixby had any hair left, he'd be pulling it out along about now."

"Well, he doesn't. Don't worry about Sam. I can handle him."

He and Sam Bixby had started the law firm nearly fifty years before, and Frank's criminal practice had sustained it for a long time, until the corporate, business and other wealthy clients had come along. These days Sam wanted the firm to have nothing more to do with criminal cases; too much bad publicity, he had said. And he had a point, Frank had to admit. He did have a point.

Barbara ate in silence, seething. What could she do? She could think of nothing. Darren, Frank, anyone associated with her, no doubt, would be smeared, ridiculed, maligned. She remembered clearly Sarah Kurtz's parting words— "I'll crush her, and anyone who comes to her aid."

She left Frank's house not long after breakfast and headed for the office. The streets were not bad, once she walked down to her car, but the side streets were slushy, and even frozen where shadows were deep. It would all freeze over again after dark, she suspected, but she intended to be in her own apartment well before that.

Maria handed her a memo with several calls listed, and bemoaned the loss of another shopping day, with Christmas crowding in so close now. She said Shelley had called in; their roads were still blocked by snow.

"Take off whenever you're ready," Barbara said, walking to her office. "Dead time around here. You might as well be out shopping."

But she knew Maria wouldn't do it, not as long as Barbara was checking in, and the possibility existed that there might be something for her to do. In her office, she took off her boots to let them dry, and put on old sneakers she had brought from her closet at Frank's house. She looked over the messages.

Two reporters, a TV producer, nothing urgent, she decided, then she stopped and regarded the last message, clocked in just minutes before her arrival. Mrs. Beatriz Cortezar. She would call back.

Elizabeth Kurtz's mother, she thought, and looked impatiently at her watch. Call back when? Her message didn't say.

She had to wait an hour and a half for the call, and it seemed much longer. "Ms. Holloway, I'd appreciate having a little time this afternoon to talk to you," Mrs. Cortezar said without bothering with any amenities. She had a slight accent and sounded self-assured and, while not exactly demanding, as if she fully expected her wishes to be accommodated. "Fine," Barbara said. "When would it be convenient?"

"It is now eleven-thirty. I can arrive at twelve-thirty."

She arrived promptly, and was likely the most elegant woman ever to walk into Barbara's office. Dressed in a dove-gray hooded cape with an iridescent sheen, dove-gray gloves, hat and matching boots, she looked to be anywhere from forty years old to over sixty. Wearing little makeup, and needing little with unblemished ivory-toned skin, her black hair un-streaked with pray in a bun held by a tortoiseshell comb, she was a timeless woman. But she had dark hollows beneath her eyes.

Barbara offered to take her cape, but the woman simply tossed it over a chair back. "That will do, thank you," she said, then sat in the other client chair.

"Thank you for this impromptu meeting," she said. "I feared that you might be unavailable today, and tomorrow I leave. I am grateful."

"Mrs. Cortezar, I am very sorry about your loss. You have my deepest sympathy."

She bowed her head and took in a long breath. Her lashes against her pale cheeks were the same long, sweeping black eyelashes that Barbara had seen on the photographs of Elizabeth and Jason.

"Thank you," she said, and drew off her gloves and laid them along with her purse on the other chair. "I read that piece in the newspaper this morning. That made me seek a meeting with you. We have told the authorities — and you should know also — that Jason is safe. Elizabeth told Leonora that he is safe and cared for."

Barbara regarded her for a moment, then said, "Mrs. Cortezar, please tell me what you know about this. When did Elizabeth tell Leonora anything? What did she tell her?"

"Yes, of course. She called the day she rented the apartment and asked Leonora to come, to bring their passports and asked if she wanted to go to Spain. Leonora said yes. Elizabeth said she would explain everything after Leonora got here."

"When did she say Jason was safe and cared for?"

"That call. Leonora asked about him, and that's what she said. And that she would explain, that it was a long story, not one to relate on a telephone."

"Leonora called you Mother," Barbara said slowly. "Her first thought was to call you. It must have been the middle of the night in Spain when she called."

"She was like a second daughter from the time she was twelve," Mrs. Cortezar said. "Her mother was ill, homesick, abused and she fled and returned to Puerto Rico. Leonora came to live with us and became my daughter, Elizabeth's sister, in all ways. I was mother to both girls, just as both of them were mother to Jason from the time of his birth."

"Who will gain custody of the child if the police locate him?" Barbara asked. "You saw that article. Mrs. Kurtz and Terry Kurtz are anxious to find him."

"They can't claim him," she said firmly. "I'll fight them for custody. Ms. Holloway, Terry abandoned my daughter during her pregnancy and did not return until Jason was months old. I don't believe his mother has ever seen Jason, and the family cut off Elizabeth totally when she filed for divorce, charging desertion. They couldn't contest it, there was too much proof, but they have never shown any interest in Jason. He knows nothing of that side of the family. His father is a stranger to him. I don't know why they are making a public display at this time, but it is not out of affection or duty. He spends most of the summer months with me, and we visit back and forth several times a year. He is my grandchild, and they cannot have him."

"Do you know where he is?" Barbara asked.

"Elizabeth said he is safe and cared for," she answered steadily.

For a moment they regarded each other, Mrs. Cortezar turned away first. "I had a purpose in asking for this meeting," she said, "as you may have surmised. I fear for Leonora. I wanted to take her home with me, but the police say she can't leave until their investigation is complete. They have returned several times to question her. They apparently are convinced that she knows more than she has told them, but she has nothing more to relate." She was gazing at the cloisonné urn with a distant expression. "I must leave tomorrow, but I am concerned. From all accounts you saved Elizabeth's life, and Jason's, as well, when she was attacked the first time. I want to retain you to watch out for her interests, Leonora's interests, if the authorities persist in harassing her. At the first opportunity, she will come to me in Spain, of course."

"Why isn't she here instead of you?" Barbara demanded. "Hasn't she been informed that she has the right to consult an attorney?"

"She hasn't been accused of anything," Mrs. Cortezar said. "There seems little need for an attorney at this time, unless they persist in questioning her relentlessly. She doesn't believe she needs an attorney. It should not be difficult to determine that she was in New York when the first attack occurred. We believe they will find the murderer and release her passport, tell her she is free to leave."

Barbara shook her head. "Mrs. Cortezar, that is not going to happen. From what little I know, it's clear that the police are focusing on Leonora as the only possible suspect they have for the murder of your daughter. The time element makes it impossible for her not to have been inside that apartment when your daughter was shot. The conclusion is that either she is the one who killed your daughter, or she knows who did, and in neither event are they going to release her. As for the first attack, no one knows what happened that day. No one besides me even saw her, and the local authorities dismissed the incident as a case of domestic violence, a man and woman traveling together, fighting, then leaving together. Or, they suggested that the attacker could have been a vagrant. There is no direct connection between the two events."

Mrs. Cortezar had grown pale down to her lips as Barbara spoke. "What do you mean about the time element?" she said in a near whisper. "What you are suggesting is madness!"