Damage Control (19 page)

38

H
E WANTED A
gift for his young wife,” Dana said. Logan sat on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently for her to tell him what she knew. She had trouble finding the words. She finally said, “He was a wealthy businessman from a prominent Seattle family.” Then she looked back out the window and recalled Welles calmly seated with his head down, like an old man asleep in a chair.

She had walked back toward him. “You remember her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he’d said. “I remember her.”

Dana sat, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. “Will you tell me her name?”

Welles had raised his eyes. “Elizabeth Meyers.”

Disbelieving, she’d asked, “Robert Meyers’s wife? Senator Meyers’s wife?”

Welles had shrugged, his face a blank mask. “I wouldn’t know.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. Who he is now is of no concern to me.” He had rocked rhythmically in his wooden chair, stroking Leonardo’s back. “He wanted an anniversary gift. He wanted to surprise her. But as I said, I do not create anything without meeting the person who is to wear it. He did not understand at first, and I did not expect him to. But he relented. I spent an afternoon with her. A charming woman, like yourself, but one filled with great sadness. Ultimately, he was quite pleased by the design. He believed the tanzanite brought out the blue of his wife’s eyes.”

Dana looked again at Logan. “Six years ago, the man who paid for those earrings became a United States senator. A week ago, he announced his candidacy for president of the United States.” She said the words without emotion. When Logan did not immediately respond, she said the name for him. “William Welles made the earring for Robert Meyers’s wife, Elizabeth.”

“Dana …”

She raised her hand to stop him. “I had the entire flight home to consider it. It explains why Laurence King is dead. It explains why he chose to rob a man who had given away almost everything he had of value. It explains why Daniel Holmes—or whoever the man is—came to my brother’s house and why he went to the cabin. He’s looking for the earring. They know that she misplaced it and that it can be traced to her and her only. They must have been watching her closely.”

“Is it possible that there is more than one pair? That this is a copy?”

She shook her head. “Not with that engraving on back. It’s one of a kind.”

“And you think Robert Meyers sent King and Cole to get the earnings?”

“I think he’s ultimately behind it, yes.”

“Maybe she sent them.”

She shook her head. “It was Meyers.”

“That remains an awfully big leap, Dana.”

“Find Marshall Cole and ask him.”

Logan hesitated. “Marshall Cole is dead. We found him in a gas station bathroom in Yakima. He was apparently driving back to Idaho, where he had relatives.”

She shook her head in frustration. “It fits. We both know it fits.”

Logan ran a hand across his chin. “It might explain some things, but to allege that Robert Meyers had your brother killed because he was having an affair with his wife will require a lot more evidence than an earring.”

“I know that.…” Her voice trailed away.

Logan ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s start over. Tell me what happened in Maui.”

Dana agreed, because she knew how Logan felt—the only thing that would convince him would be the reality of what had happened, the facts that neither could discount. She recounted her trip to the island, her efforts to find William Welles, and the substance of their conversation. It wasn’t hard to do. She kept replaying their meeting and conversation over and over again in her head.

“He said the blue stone reflected the color of her eyes and her beauty, the diamond below it, a teardrop. He said it was one of many she had and will continue to shed.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know for sure,” she said. Then, “But Welles said to look within myself to understand the earring.” She turned and looked out the window, not wanting to see Logan’s face when she continued, embarrassed. “I have a bad marriage. It’s been bad for some time. I’ve just refused to accept it. Now I don’t have a choice.” She looked at him. “My husband is cheating on me. He probably has before. I’ve shed more than a few tears over my marriage. I imagine I’ll shed more.”

Logan waited a moment, and she let him process the information. “And you think that Elizabeth Meyers also has a bad marriage, that it’s the reason Welles designed the earring as he did?”

“I suspect it is.”

Logan rubbed the stubble on his chin, thinking it through, not dismissing her but still puzzled. “How would this guy Welles know that about you?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “You had to be there. You had to have met him. He knew. Somehow he knew.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Assuming you’re correct, why wouldn’t Meyers confront his wife—tell her that she had to stop seeing your brother? Why wouldn’t he just keep her under lock and key? With the security entourage he employs, it certainly would be possible. Why kill your brother and put everything at risk, everything he’s worked to achieve?”

“Why?” Dana had also considered this on the flight home. “Why did Jack Kennedy sleep with Marilyn Monroe in the White House? Why would Bill Clinton sneak out of the Arkansas governor’s mansion with his wife asleep in bed beside him? Why would he risk getting caught having sex in the Oval Office? Why would Richard Nixon, a landslide winner in every poll, order the break-in to the Democratic headquarters?” There were other questions she could ask, like why would men at Enron and Arthur Andersen and dozens of other companies around the world do the things they did. “Men in power think they’re omnipotent. They think they’re beyond reach, that the rules governing the rest of society don’t apply to them, because normally, they don’t. They do what they want because no one has ever told them they can’t. Maybe that’s what my brother was going to tell me. Maybe Elizabeth Meyers was the problem he wanted to talk to me about.”

“But to have your brother killed. To risk—”

“If word got out that his wife was having an affair, it wouldn’t rock just Meyers’s marriage, it would rock his entire world. It would shatter the image that he and his political advisers have so carefully cultivated to get him where he wants to go. The return to Camelot is a sham. It’s a house of cards, and if you pull this card, the house crumbles. He knows that.”

Logan paced, mentally switching gears to homicide cop. “Will this guy in Maui give a statement? Will he identify the earring and say who he designed it for?”

Dana shook her head. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. Several others followed. “I used a credit card to buy my ticket. You were right. I was the next logical choice. Someone followed me to the island and killed him.” It pained her to imagine someone taking William Welles’s life. He was a gentle man. Too good for this world, he had created his own.

Logan took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his head. “That’s a problem,” he said, leaving unspoken what they were both thinking. If Dana was correct, there were only two people in the world who could identify the earring’s owner. One was dead, and the other likely wouldn’t dare.

39

B
RIAN
G
RIFFIN STOOD
from his desk with a look of alarm when Dana walked into his office on the fourth floor of the Seattle University School of Law. His expression and first question told her that a warm shower and change of clothes had not concealed how she looked.

“Dana. What happened?”

Griffin’s concern also didn’t begin to describe how awful she felt. She didn’t know what it felt like to be run over by a truck, but she couldn’t imagine it was much worse than how she felt at the moment. The burning sensation from the cut in her forehead had become a dull, pounding headache that two aspirin didn’t dent. She felt dizzy. Her forearms and shins stung from the cuts and burns, and she was having difficulty taking anything more than shallow breaths; the pain in her side was at times excruciating.

Logan stepped into the office from the hallway, and Dana introduced him. “This is my colleague Michael Logan. I asked him to give me a ride.”

“Let me get you a place to sit,” Griffin said, turning his attention to Logan and starting to remove a stack of papers from the second of two chairs near the door.

Logan waved it off. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’d prefer to stand.”

Griffin closed the door behind them, making the cramped office feel even smaller. It was half the size of an associate’s office at Strong & Thurmond. Dana had never been to her brother’s office. She had been expecting the halls of academia, with rich dark wood and Tiffany lamps, but the law school was a newly constructed redbrick-and-steel-beam building with a lot of glass to allow for natural light. The interior was a modern design, with light wood and carpeted hallways well lit by overhead skylights. Griffin’s desk was a horseshoe shape; the office had wall-to-ceiling built-in shelves stuffed with law books and knickknacks. The wall where diplomas and professional certificates traditionally hung in law offices held framed photographs of Griffin and an attractive redhead who Dana assumed was his former wife.

“What happened?” Griffin stepped back to allow Dana to sit in one of the two chairs.

“I was in a car accident.”

Griffin moved to the inside of the horseshoe to make room for Logan. The office windows, which overlooked a courtyard, were at his back. “Are you all right?”

“My car was totaled, but I’m okay.” She looked to Logan, hoping to further explain his presence. “The doctors have advised me against driving for a few days. The medication can make me drowsy. But you know me, Brian. I’m a workaholic. Have to keep up the billable hours.”

Griffin shook his head, disbelieving. “My God, when did this happen?”

“Just yesterday,” she said, wanting to avoid details. “Really, I look worse than I feel. The entire thing was my fault.”

“Molly wasn’t in the car with you, was she?”

“No, thank God; it was just me.”

Griffin shook his head. “You really didn’t need this now. Is there anything I can do for you?”

The only person Dana suspected would know more about her brother was Brian Griffin. She knew what it was like to spend ten to twelve hours a day with colleagues. After a while, you got to know some as well as a spouse. She suspected Griffin and her brother had spent a lot of time together. Her brother’s office was just three doors down.

The reason for her visit was a story that had run on the front page of the metro section of the
Seattle Times
perhaps six months earlier. Dana remembered the article only because she’d seen the name of the law school, and she paid closer attention to things connected to James. The article itself had been bland. She hadn’t given it a second thought until she sat for six hours on the plane back from Hawaii, mulling over how James could have come in contact with the senator’s wife. She was able to find the story on the Internet and print a copy for Logan.

Griffin reached into his pocket and pulled out a red bandana, cleaning the lenses of his glasses as he spoke. “Did you want to discuss James’s estate now?”

“Actually, I’m hoping you can help me with something else. I was going to call. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

“Not at all. What is it?”

“Well, the law firm is sponsoring a seminar on women in the law here in Seattle, and I’m on the committee,” she said, trying to sound convincing. “And I recalled an article in the
Seattle Times
a while back that Elizabeth Meyers spoke here at the law school.”

Griffin nodded. “It was a bit of a coup for the school. She doesn’t make public appearances very often.”

“That’s what I understood. So I was hoping to find out how the law school got her to come.”

The cell phone clipped to Logan’s belt rang. He removed it and stood. “I’ll take this outside.” He answered as he stepped into the hallway, closing the door.

Dana turned back to Griffin. He had a smile on his face, and for an instant she thought he was about to ask her what she really wanted to know. She tried to cover it with another question. “Am I missing something?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …” Griffin chuckled, finished polishing his glasses, and put the wire frames back around his ears. “When I think of James, I just naturally think of you being there. Sometimes I forget you weren’t a part of everything we did. You don’t remember her, do you?”

“Remember who?”

“Elizabeth Meyers. Elizabeth
Adams
.”

Dana shook her head. The name rang no bells.

“She was in James’s and my freshman dorm.”

Dana and James had chosen different dorms, believing that going to the same school was close enough for twins.

“You remember? James brought her home to your house for Thanksgiving, freshman year. Actually, he invited her and her roommate. Don’t you remember that?”

As Griffin spoke, Dana’s mind peeled back the years until she saw the auburn-haired girl with the bright blue eyes and perfect smile in the family kitchen. With finals a week after the holiday, some students who lived out of the area didn’t have time to get home and instead spent the holiday with friends. “She looks a bit different now, with her hair darkened and the nose job,” Griffin said, adding, “I don’t know why she would do that, or why she always wears sunglasses. I guess it’s the Jackie O thing.”

Elizabeth Adams was tall, with long legs and a thin waist. She had walked into the kitchen, confident and sure of herself, and asked to help with the dinner, immediately ingratiating herself to Kathy Hill. The two of them had spent hours talking while James sat on a stool at the counter, slobbering like a big dog waiting for a bone. When it came time for dinner, Dana intentionally sat between them. Her mother had made her move.

Griffin leaned back, twirling an unfolded paper clip between his thumb and index finger. “She lived right across the hallway from us freshman year. I kept pushing your brother to ask her out, but he said he didn’t want to spoil their friendship. He said he was afraid that if it didn’t work out, he’d have to live next door to her the rest of the year. Truth was, she intimidated him. Hell, she intimidated all of us. I think he convinced himself that being friends with her was better than being her ex-boyfriend.” He stopped twirling the paper clip and looked up at the photographs on the wall. “I married my college sweetheart, and hindsight tells me there is some truth to that. By the time James mustered the courage to ask her out, Elizabeth was no longer a well-kept secret within the freshman class. Every guy on campus either knew her or wanted to know her, including Robert Meyers.” Griffin put down the paper clip. “At least your brother didn’t lose out to a beer-swilling fraternity slob. Not too many people can claim they lost the love of their life to a future president.”

Dana felt tongue-tied. Obligated to say something, she said, “No, not too many people can claim that.”

“After Meyers and Elizabeth got involved, she was never around. Then we heard she dropped out and went with him to Harvard and got married the following year.”

“How did you get her to speak here?”

“It was a program for female law students. James and I were part of the committee. At one of the meetings, he looked across the table at me and said, ‘What about Elizabeth Adams?’ I thought he was kidding, but everyone else thought it was a great idea. They got him to do what took me twenty years of trying.”

“So James called her?”

Griffin shook his head. “He was still a chicken; he called her secretary. But Elizabeth called back and personally accepted.” He sat forward, elbows on his desk. “I’ve read the criticism of her in the newspapers—that she can be aloof—but that’s not how she was here.” It wasn’t how Dana remembered her, either. “To us, she was the same old Elizabeth,” Griffin continued. “Her speech was pointed and crisp. She was very poised and friendly. I got the impression she really enjoyed herself that day.”

Dana looked past Griffin to a picture on the wall. She recognized her brother amid a pack of graduation-gown-clad men and women, the redbrick steeple buildings of the University of Washington in the background. When she looked back at Griffin, his eyes had narrowed. She knew he was seeing through her thinly veiled excuse for coming to his office. He was likely recalling their conversation by the pool at the reception following James’s funeral.

“Why are you asking me this, Dana?”

The office door opened. Logan stuck his head in. “I need to get going. All set?”

Thankful for the intrusion, Dana stood. She shook Griffin’s hand. “Thank you for your help.”

“If there’s anything that I can do…”

She shook her head. “I’m going to handle this. It’s better this way,” she said, hoping her tone would appease him. “I’ll call you about the estate.”

Logan waited in the hall. When she stepped out, Griffin followed her. “Dana?”

She turned.

“Is everything going to be all right?”

She nodded. “Yes, Brian. I’m going to see that it is.”

L
OGAN WALKED HER
down three flights of stairs, holding her by the elbow as if to ease the pain he knew he’d cause by rushing her. When they stepped out the glass door, the pain stabbed at her side, making it difficult to catch her breath. She finally had to stop in the courtyard. “Why are we rushing?”

Logan let go of her elbow. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Someone called the precinct with information on Laurence King’s death. He wants to talk to me in confidence.”

A light mist fell, and the wind blew her hair in her face. “Who is he?”

“He wouldn’t leave a name.”

“Did he say what it was about? Did he say what he knew?”

“No.” Logan took her by the elbow again and helped her across Twelfth Street, where he had parked in front of a Starbucks. “He said he read about the killing in the newspaper and had information for the detective in charge of the investigation.”

She stopped as he opened her car door. “Be careful, Mike.”

He nodded, then gestured that he’d help her into the car. “He wants to meet at a restaurant downtown—a public place. I don’t want to keep him waiting; he sounded squirrelly on the phone.”

“It was her,” she said, looking up at him. “It
was
Elizabeth Meyers.”

“I heard your conversation from the hallway,” he said, nodding. “But I also know we don’t have a single witness who can verify that, and without one, we won’t get very far, which is why this guy could be important.” He closed her door and hurried to the driver’s side, getting in.

“Where are you meeting him?”

“McCormick’s Fish House on Fourth Avenue. He said he’d be there at noon.” He looked at his watch. “And I still need to get you back to your mother’s.”

That meant driving her across the bridge to the east side of the lake, then driving back to Seattle. It was at least a half-an-hour detour. “I’ll go with you,” Dana said.

Logan shook his head. “This guy wants to talk to me alone.”

“Then I’ll wait in the car. I don’t want my mother to see me like this just yet.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how long this is going to take, and you need to rest. I think you feel worse than you’re letting on.” He looked to be considering their options, then said, “Hang on. I need to make some time here.” He punched the accelerator. The Austin Healey shot down Twelfth Street and merged onto I-90, heading east, toward the bridge. The engine settled into a sweet hum.

“You’re going the wrong way,” she said, confused. “Downtown is the other way.”

“We’re not going downtown,” he said. “I’m taking you some-place where you can rest.”