Dark Witness (38 page)

"You're a pain in the ass."

"Even if I am, you need me." She never took her eyes off the television set.

"Yeah? What do I need you for?" His voice was clear as a young boy's still thrilled by the possibility of seduction rather than the inevitability of sex.

Edie was glad her back was to him so he wouldn't see how much she adored the sound of his laugh. She swiveled her head when he stopped, her jaw slicing dark hair swinging over one eye. The other one was black as coal; the look she gave him cold as ice. She'd practiced it because he liked it. Allan grinned at her, proving her point. Edie, he believed, was an equal-opportunity woman. Equal satisfaction, equal cravings, equally decisive and independent. That was his Edie. Edie, on the other hand, knew the truth.

While Allan Lassiter would never love her, he often wanted her and that meant something to Edie Williams. She pushed the left side of her hair behind her ear, holding her cigarette away so that it wouldn't singe, but close enough so that her squint looked almost nasty. He unwound one arm from behind his head and touched her breast: small for a tall woman, naked, excellent.

"Oh, you need me to fill in when the darling of the day bores you." She took another drag and shook back her hair. She exhaled leisurely, thinking of all the nubile young things that had probably been in this bed before her. None had lasted as long as she. "You need me to convince you it isn’t your fault when you can’t get the one you want.”

“Never happens.” He laughed again and this time she was looking right at him.

Generous to a fault, Lassiter reserved his affection for himself—and maybe the old man. There had never been another man made like him: one who physically lacked for nothing yet needed so much. It was a need she understood.

"Lauren hasn't got the time of day for you," Edie reminded him flatly. He colored. Edie lowered her eyes. She hadn't meant to hit so hard, but sometimes hitting below the belt was the only way she knew how to get his attention. She covered her discomfort with something typical, a comment he would expect from her. "Lassiter, your lust is as transparent as your ambition."

"And your ambition is as unfulfilled as your libido," he shot back. That was the kind of relationship they had. That wasn't the kind Edie wanted, but there was the rub.

"I'd rather you help me take care of the ambition, Allan." She took another drag of her cigarette. This time her eyes teared up. It was probably from the smoke. "I can always handle the libido on my own. Most women can, you know."

The bantering was tiring, so Edie turned away. The flickering images on television held more allure for her at the moment than even Allan. Channel Two had their cameras trained on an IRS annex that was burning downtown. It was a wonderful fire that threatened the entire shabby block. But there was even something more intriguing. Edie recognized Mark Jackson and two of his FBI cohorts, before the cameras closed in on a beautiful Asian newsreader obliterating the rest of the scene.

"...Just eight-thirty when the explosion occurred. One woman is confirmed dead, a man is severely injured and in critical condition at USC Medical Center. Fire units were on the scene within minutes and it appears that they have the fire under control; A fire department spokesperson refused to comment on how long it will take to determine the cause of the explosion, but speculation is running high that this might, indeed, be linked to the rash of bombings that have plagued government offices across the country in the last eighteen months. Witnesses say…”

The set went black. Edie’s prayers had been answered. Here was the key to her quite modest ambition. She tried not to think that this opportunity would lead to any spectacular change in her position, for to do so would be to tempt fate. She'd learned a long time ago you only fooled with Fate when it was a sure thing she would take the bait.

Edie tossed the remote on the bedside table and leaned after it. Her cigarette was stubbed in a crystal ashtray she liked to think Allan kept there for her. The brass lamp was switched off. She climbed atop Allan Lassiter. The room was warm and her imagination on fire. He was ready and she lowered herself carefully before angling her body over his.

In the dark of Allan Lassiter's immense condominium high above Century City, Edie Williams, Chief of Special Prosecutions for the U.S. Attorney's Office of Los Angeles, whispered.

"You know what I want?" She lowered her head toward his chest, lips parted. Allan sighed beneath her, his hands roaming over her back. He didn't bother to ask what it was she wanted. Edie answered anyway.

"I want just a little more than I've got."

Lauren Kingsley was foaming at the mouth. She brushed her teeth the same way she talked: with vitality, style and a great sense that she knew exactly what she was doing. Tonight she walked and talked while she brushed her teeth so that the words were garbled and the toothpaste foamed into big, blue gel bubbles. She went back and forth between her bedroom and bathroom practicing her closing arguments.

"Forgery is the altering..." a quick up-and-down on those two front teeth, "... legally significant instrument..." to the back teeth, "... intent to defraud ... no one disputes ... the defendant must ..." a final flourish along the gums, “Your Honor!"

She paused in the bathroom doorway, her toothbrush resting on a molar as she considered the intent, content and inflection of the argument. All of it was passable, but passable wasn’t good enough. Her argument needed to be perfect. Perfect. Up and down that brush went as she envisioned the word perfection in her mind. And while Lauren was considering just how to reach such a goal she couldn't help but notice the news on the television. In the dark bedroom it flickered like a nickelodeon. Fire, cops and more fire. The sound was down but she knew there weren't many script choices. The anchor was trying to make up details or was speculating that a downtown fire was just a prelude to a riot that would tear the city apart. Of course, everyone would find out in the morning that the fire was nothing more than a faulty electrical connection. A drop of blue foamy gel falling at her feet reminded Lauren that she had bigger things to worry about.

She rushed to the bathroom and turned on the water. Bending over the sink, she rinsed her mouth. Lauren had a cup but couldn't quite remember where she'd put it— probably in the dishwasher waiting until there were enough dishes to actually run a load. She was too busy to find it, too busy to cook, too busy doing what she'd been called to do. It didn't matter that she hadn't named this wondrous goal. It was personal, it was out there, it was waiting for her and she'd know what to do when the time came.

Raising her head, Lauren looked at herself just long enough to see that everything that needed to be done was done. She turned off the bathroom light, cleaned the toothpaste off the carpet, slipped off her watch and put it on the bedside table as she climbed under the down comforter and turned on her side. The television still flickered, so one of Lauren's arms snaked out, grabbed the remote and shut it off. She missed the shot that Edie had seen. Lauren didn't know that the FBI was on the scene or that the destroyed building was an IRS annex. That would have given her pause. But now it was dark, and the apartment was silent save for the sound of Lauren Kingsley's voice. She practiced her closing arguments over again not knowing that what she was really doing was talking herself to sleep, finding elusive comfort in the sound of her own voice.

Chapter One

They had descended like locusts on the places George and Henry Stewart were taken after their arrest. They went to the police station where the duo were booked and to the Federal Detention Center where the authorities held them. During the long months of investigation, the tedious weeks of jury selection, they had disappeared, losing interest in equal proportion to the attention of the press. Now the Stewarts' trial was about to begin in the courtroom of Judge Jonathan Lee, and they were back at the foot of the steps of the Federal Courthouse.

They were guys the likes of which Los Angeles had never seen. Guys with guts. Guys with beards. Gaunt guys made up of sinewy muscle. Guys in jeans and T-shirts with slogans about guns and liquor screen-printed back and front. They were guys who looked as if they came from a gene pool nobody should swim in. They wanted meat on their women and had disgusting pet names for the female anatomy. They condemned the government, blacks, Hispanics. They were guys who didn't play by the rules because they couldn't read them.

But these were definitely not members of the militia, Independent or otherwise. They were pretenders with nothing better to do than cause a ruckus and they were having the time of their life.

“Are the mountain men still out there?" Abram Schuster talked to Edie from the doorway. She glanced at him. Abram was top dog, Edie second in command. He had rewarded her with position for her service, she responded in kind with her loyalty. It was a fine line they had been walking for years. They weren't friends; they were excellent colleagues.

"Yes, they're out there. I just love the media; they'll buy into anything. Those guys are no more militia than I am." Edie cocked her head. "It's sort of the difference between reading a Stephen King novel and finding the Night Stalker in your bedroom. Half those reporters would pee in their pants if they spent ten minutes alone with George Stewart. He's the real thing. He's worth writing about, not those people down there."

“And what about you, Edie? I'd venture to guess George Stewart doesn't scare you at all." Abram chuckled as he came into her office. She made room by the window.

"No, he doesn't scare me. He's my brass ring. Besides, men are predictable, Abram. It's women who aren't." She tapped her finger against the windowpane, focusing on the woman who walked past the cameras without notice. "She's the one who's frightening. Have you seen her up close?" Edie raised her chin, indicating the woman in yellow.

Abram was by her side now, having stepped over boxes of files that comprised the investigation which would build Edie's case against George and Henry Stewart, the men accused of killing two people in the course of a domestic act of terrorism. They were charged with blowing up an IRS outpost with 500 pounds of high explosives. Conspiracy charges made the whole package heavy with possibilities and so damn politically correct. Abram focused on the woman below.

“Yes, I have. I assumed you'd already seen her, too. Perhaps even talked to her. Falling down a bit aren't we?"

"I've been busy. Or maybe you haven't noticed?" She leaned against the sill, arms crossed.

"Oh, I have noticed. I've noticed many things. Lauren Kingsley, for example. Your second seat has been putting in long and tedious hours while you've been showing up more regularly on the news, Edie. I thought, given the task of prosecuting two members of the elusive Independent Militia, you would have been burying yourself in strategy rather than tying yourself up with television cable."

Edie's smile was now small and tight. He was testing her. She was up to it.

"Lauren's been with this office for three years. She needs to burn the midnight oil. When I'm the U.S. Attorney, and she's been here fifteen like I have, then you can worry about her."

"I do hope you won't have to wait that long to take my place, Edie," Abram laughed outright.

"So do I." She gave him a lazy, honest look that hid her sudden attentiveness. "Any chance the job will be opening up soon?"

"I'm ready, Edie." Interrupted suddenly, they looked toward the doorway before Abram could answer.

Lauren was there, wound tight and ready to spring into action the minute Jonathan Lee gave the go ahead. Edie eyed Lauren's charcoal pantsuit, the silk blouse, the flawlessness of the younger woman's personal presentation, and then she disregarded it. Style was not a level playing field. You either had it, or you didn't.

"Fine, I'll meet you downstairs," Edie answered.

"Abram, it's going to be a great trial." Lauren reassured him with a nod and then she was gone. Edie half expected to find the space filled with flashbulb pops of light, residuals of Lauren's momentary, and blazing, appearance.

"I would say she looks none the worse for wear, Edie," Abram chuckled.

“I would say you’re right.” Edie reached for her briefcase and whipped it up atop the desk. Obviously he hadn’t come in to announce that his position was about to be vacated. She fiddled with the latches and asked woodenly, "Has Lauren complained about the way I'm handling things? Is that why you're worried about her hours?"

"Our Lauren? She doesn't complain. She states facts and spouts her opinion, which she somehow manages to make sound like fact." Abram dismissed Edie's concerns with a cursory wave. “Just don't make her a lackey because she threatens you. Use her because she knows what she's doing. Remember, Lauren clerked with Wilson Caufeld. That's about as good as the federal bench gets."

"That's probably where she learned that every call is black and white," Edie smirked as the gold locks clicked on her briefcase. She turned back to look out the window and then at him. "But, Abram, let's be honest. Threatening is the last thing I find Lauren. I'm just practical. She's won six cases to my fifty. If you're worried about the hours she's putting in, take her off the case, otherwise we'll do what needs to be done."

Abram smiled and peered at the crowd of cretins below. He was pleased with Edie's sovereignty. Lauren Kingsley should count herself lucky to work under such a woman. Still, there was a danger in not recognizing the more human aspect of the work they did. Emotions and desires, rather than the simple intellect, needed to be considered, if outcomes were to be more easily predicted and objectives achieved. Edie, he feared, would never learn that

"It was only an observation, Edie. I'm a voyeur at heart. I never like to get involved in the fray if I don't have to." They were face to face now.

"Why don't you observe how I work instead of how often you see Lauren hunched over her desk," Edie said, companionably cool.

Abram's nod was the only sign that he'd heard her. She raised her hand self-consciously to her head. Her dark hair was parted on one side as always and it lay against her head like a helmet. When she spoke, the slight curl of hair near her lips moved like a punctuation mark, calling attention to the fact that she meant every word she said. “I’ll make you proud, Abram. I promised you that when you hired me and when you promoted me. I'm not going to let you down now."