For the Defense (14 page)

“A fine fellow indeed,” Jack said, happy to play along. He gave the cat’s head a cautious pat and was rewarded with eager fur thrusting itself into his palm.

“Once owned by the Baskervilles?” Jack ventured as he indulged the cat’s demand to be petted.

“Quite right!” Shirley said, clearly pleased to have found a kindred soul both able and willing to speak her language. “Man’s best friend, once misled by human miscreants. I have taken him under my wing.”

The cat was purring like a buzz saw when Jack became aware of Diana’s presence. He couldn’t have said exactly how, except that there was a sweetening of the air. He turned to find her a few steps away.

“I see you’ve met my aunt,” Diana said as she stepped
closer. “Mel, would you like to accompany Shirley to the buffet?”

Mel obediently slipped her hand through her aunt’s arm, but Shirley was not to be dismissed so easily.

“Diana, I’m not a fool. This feeble attempt to get me out of the way so that you can tell your detective who I really am is unnecessary. Jack and I have already exchanged professional courtesies. I may be retired, but my powers of observation are still keen. I knew immediately who he was.”

Mel shook her head in exasperation, but Diana smiled indulgently at her aunt.

“I very much doubt anyone could fool you. Would you do me a favor and accompany Mel to the buffet? She didn’t get a proper breakfast this morning, and I’m counting on you to see she eats a good lunch.”

Shirley replaced the pipe in her mouth. “Well, of course. Delighted to be of service. Come, Watson.”

Sighing audibly, Mel went along.

As soon as Mel and Shirley were out of hearing distance, Jack turned to Diana. “Your aunt’s a charming character.”

“Thanks for…indulging her.”

“When did she decide she was Sherlock Holmes?”

Diana watched her aunt and daughter at the buffet table. Her voice was soft. “After a car accident that killed her husband and two children. They were her world, Jack. The only way she could survive losing them was to become someone else.”

“How long ago was this?” Jack asked.

“Twenty years. Psychiatrists wanted to lock her up in an institution, shoot her full of drugs, but my mom wouldn’t let them. The psychologists who tried to talk her back into reality all gave up. Last one told my mom that
as long as Shirley is happy being Sherlock Holmes, she’ll hold on to her delusion.”

“What do you think?”

“I think Shirley has a wonderful heart. I don’t care what name she goes by. She always told me that if I ever needed her, all I had to do was call. I called. And here she is.”

A deep warmth radiated from Diana as her eyes remained on her aunt’s oddly clad form. Jack found himself wondering what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of one of those looks.

“So, that’s the stupid old broad who thinks she’s Sherlock Holmes,” a nasty voice said, making her visibly flinch.

Jack had seen Ray’s stepson approach out of the corner of his eye. Up close the guy was a couple of inches taller than him and at least thirty pounds heavier. He gave Jack a dismissive once-over as he set down his champagne glass on a nearby table.

Diana turned slowly toward the guy, stiff-limbed. “She is my very sweet aunt. I suggest you watch your language, Arnie.”

The noise that came out of Arnie’s throat was probably meant to be a laugh. “And you’re still acting like you’re too good for me with that crazy bitch in the family,” he said as he grabbed a chip off the snack table and angled it toward the dip.

Jack decided right then that if the guy wanted some dip, he’d give it to him. Hand on the nape of Arnie’s neck, he pushed his sneering face into the large bowl. Arnie made a noise that sounded like a squealing pig at a trough as he swung blindly at Jack. Jack quickly released his hold and stepped out of reach. Arnie tumbled backward, the bowl of bean dip following him to the floor.

He was sputtering and cursing when Ray rushed over and went down on his knee beside his stepson.

“What happened?” he asked.

Before Jack could tell him, Diana stepped forward. “I think Arnie may have had too much to drink, Ray. Jack and I will put him in a cab and send him home if you’d like.”

Ray looked from Diana to Jack. From the expression of defeat on the man’s face, it was apparent to Jack that Ray had no trouble guessing what had happened. Jack leaned toward him and held out his hand. “I’m the Jack Diana mentioned.”

Ray grasped Jack’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. He looked down at his stepson, who was wiping the bean dip from his face and cursing. “I’m sorry about this, Diana. If you’ll call the cab, I’ll get him into it. He’s my responsibility.”

And not a pleasant one. Arnie was in his mid-thirties and still a major pain for his stepfather. Jack shook his head. Becoming a parent—even a stepparent—was a life sentence, served without parole.

Diana left to call the cab. As Jack watched Ray walk his stepson out, he promised himself a man-to-man talk with Margaret’s new husband later. He’d better know that if Jack ever caught Arnie around Diana again—

“Thank you, Jack,” Margaret said as she approached.

He gave her a little bow. “At your service. Diana told you, I presume?”

“When I pressed her for the truth. My daughter’s a tough customer. But she also has the tenderest heart. She’s in the library. You’ll be careful?”

Not sure if Margaret was warning him because Diana was tough or because she was tender, Jack had no chance to ask because Ray reentered the house then to whisk his bride away for a dance.

Jack went in search of the library. He found Diana inside, standing in front of a bookcase, holding a glass of
champagne in one hand and a picture of a man in the other. As he went closer, Jack saw the unmistakable resemblance between her and the man.

“Your father.”

She nodded.

He gently lifted the framed picture out of her hand. “What happened to him?”

“Heart attack eight years ago. He was fifty-three.”

“Young.”

Diana sipped some of her champagne. “Filling his lungs with cigarette smoke every day since he was seventeen made him an old man.”

He handed her back the photo. “Was he a good father?”

“He always had a smile and a hug for me. Told me I could do anything, be anything I wanted to be. What I wanted to be was exactly like him.”

Despite the accolades in her words, her tone was sad. The combination perplexed Jack.

“You never wanted to be like your mother when you were growing up?”

“My dad earned a salary. She was given an allowance.”

Ah.

Diana returned the photo to the shelf. “He had no smiles or hugs for her. He treated her like she was his paid employee because her job was in the home. Since he devalued her contribution, so did I. Took me a while to finally wise up.”

Jack understood her sadness now. She loved her father, but the respect she’d once held for him was gone. That was what she mourned.

She finished her champagne, set the glass on the shelf as she continued to look at the picture.

“My dad was a big man, six-four,” she said. “Ray is barely five-eight. Yet he stands tall over my dad when it
comes to loving my mom for who she is and making her happy.”

“Shame a nice guy like him got struck with such a jackass of a stepson.”

Diana turned toward Jack. “Nice move with that bean dip. Arnie never saw it coming.”

“Thinking on your feet is mandatory when you grow up with three brothers. Of course with two of those brothers a whole lot bigger and all of them tougher, I learned early on that my funny bone was the only one in my body not likely to get broken in a sparring match. I’m still relying on it.”

She chuckled. “So
all
of your brothers are tougher than you?”

“I used to think I had the edge on David. But a couple of months ago, that sort of got blown out of the water.”

“What happened?”

Jack sent her an enigmatic smile. “A lot of things, not the least of which was he decided to get married and raise a family. That’s way too brave for me.”

“Now you’re the certified wimp in the family?”

“And damn proud of it.”

She laughed with a rumbling huskiness that he felt down in his insoles. He moved closer.

Her voice and smile were full of warmth. “Thank you for what you did for my Aunt Shirley.”

He’d wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that kind of look. Now he knew.

“Diana, I did it for you.”

His eyes held hers for a moment before he bent his head. A soft gasp escaped her lips as their breaths mingled.

“Jack, I can’t do this.”

He watched the pulse in her neck throbbing.

“Tell me why, Diana.”

For the space of several interminable seconds he waited for her to give him that reason or move away.

She did neither.

He brushed his mouth against hers, tasting cool champagne and something even sweeter that was her.

An eager little sigh escaped her lips. The next thing he knew his arms were tight around her and he was kissing her with a hunger that was deeper than any he’d ever known.

“Mom?”

Oh, God, kid. Not now.

Diana stiffened in his arms, then pushed away. Jack knew she would. A mother’s number one priority was always going to be her kid. Best a man could ever do was come in a distant second.

He turned toward the doorway to see Mel frowning at him.

“Everything okay?” Diana asked her daughter in such a calm tone that Jack couldn’t believe she was the same woman who had just kissed him with enough heat to burn the hair off his chest.

“Grandmother and Ray are getting ready to pose for pictures,” Mel said. “They want us to be in them.”

“Okay. Coming, Jack?”

Diana was already halfway to the door.

Jack put his back against the bookcase and concentrated on trying to get his heart to stop punching his rib cage. “In a minute.”

Mel stayed when her mother left. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him squarely. “We don’t want this, Jack.”

Great. Exactly what he needed right now. A kid with attitude. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Don’t want what?”

“A man messing up our lives.”

“You think I’m going to mess up your life because I kissed your mother?”

“You like my mom. And she likes you. I knew it the other night when you kept looking at each other. It’ll only get worse from here.”

“You really
do
lack tact when you lose your temper.”

“I don’t care.”

“Mel, whatever your mother and I do is between us. You are not involved.”

“I
am
involved. Hormones make a woman lose her logic. It happened to Mom before when she fell in love with my dad. She was trying to finish law school. But he wanted a family right away so he got her pregnant, which meant she had to drop out of school. I was two years old when he changed his mind and decided he didn’t want us anymore.”

So that’s how Diana’s marriage had ended. He wished she’d told him. “I can understand why that would make her angry.”

“She’s not angry. I am. She doesn’t even know I know.”

“How did you find out?”

“He always calls me on my birthday and Christmas, like he’s nobly fulfilling some fatherly duty. On my last birthday he confessed what he’d done. Said he was sorry, but he’d screwed up. Thought the family and kid scene were what he wanted. Like that was supposed to make everything all right. I’ve never had a dad.”

“And you want one.”

“No, I don’t. My mom and I are doing fine the way we are. A man would only come between us.”

“I have no intention of coming between you and your mom.”

“Ray had no intention of coming between me and my grandmother, either. But he did.”

“Not all relationships between men and women have to end in marriage, Mel.”

“So you’re only fooling around with my mom? You don’t really care for her when you kiss her? Does she know that?”

Now what could possibly be the right answer to those questions? Jack suddenly felt like he was facing an irate father who was demanding to know his intentions.

“This can’t be a new situation for you,” he said. “Your mother must have dated other guys.”

“Mom only has serious relationships. She told me any other kind is meaningless. When I didn’t like either of the men she brought home for me to meet, she stopped dating them.”

“Mel, I think I know your mother well enough by now to appreciate that no one can persuade her to do something she doesn’t want to. Not even you.”

“But you became her private investigator just recently. I’ve been with my mom all my life. And I really care about her.”

“I care for your mom as well.”

“For how long? Until the case is over and you leave her like my dad did?”

Another one of those damn questions for which he had no answer.

“If you really care about my mom, you’ll leave her alone. She says you’re nice and a good private investigator, and she wouldn’t say those things if they weren’t true. She needs your help to free Connie. What she doesn’t need is for you to mess up our lives. Now, I have to get back to my grandmother.”

She stalked out of the room.

Jack should be amused at the audacity of the kid. Or angry. But he was finding that he admired her a little too
much to be either. She’d faced him with the same no-holds-barred kind of honesty that her mother possessed.

And she’d asked some questions he should have asked before his brain flatlined and he kissed Diana.

D
IANA WATCHED
the local news as she sipped her morning coffee. Her interview had been run four times since Friday. But this was the first time that reporter Bob Zucker had Judge Barbara Weaton in front of the camera, answering the charge of lack of cooperation from the Weaton family. The blazing lights in the background told Diana that Bob had cornered the woman the night before at a much-publicized political fund-raiser for Staker.

“It would be inappropriate of me to comment on the upcoming trial of Ms. Pearce, as you well know,” Judge Weaton said in a voice that was very annoyed.

“Is it true that you, your son and daughter-in-law have all ignored Ms. Mason’s letters and refused to return her calls?” Bob asked before he thrust the mike back in her face.

“We gave our statements to the police,” Judge Weaton said. “The law does not require us to talk to the attorney for the accused.”

“So you’re refusing to tell her what happened?”

Diana had argued cases before Judge Weaton. The lady was tough. But she was up against a very smart reporter who knew the voting public understood very little about the law, and a whole lot about evasion.

A solid fixture in the local news scene, Bob was somewhere past fifty and long past worrying about offending people in power, particularly the ones who rubbed him the wrong way. Matter of fact, he seemed to thrive on it.

Barbara Weaton’s erect shoulders and uncompromising tone radiated an air of no-nonsense authority. “I, and the members of my family, will answer Ms. Mason’s questions. In court.”

“Where your good friend, Judge Gimbrere, will be able to restrict what she can ask?”

“How dare you imply—”

“Ms. Mason’s made a simple request, Judge Weaton,” Bob smoothly interrupted. “All she’s asked is that you sit down with her and tell the truth. Is that really so hard for you and your family to do?”

“It’s not a question of—” she began.

“Are you hiding something, Judge Weaton? Is that why you won’t cooperate?”

The woman glared at Bob, fully aware that was one of those loaded accusations for which the wrong response could haunt her the rest of her career. To her credit, she reined in her anger instantly. Her next words were delivered with the kind of even tone that reflected the control Diana had seen Barbara Weaton display on the bench.

“My family and I will be happy to talk to Ms. Mason. All she has to do is contact us.” The judge had delivered that message as though Diana had been the one remiss in calling. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am expected inside.”

Diana flipped off the TV with a satisfied smile. She had the home number of Lyle and Audrey Weaton. Right after breakfast she’d call them and set up their depositions. Her first call Monday morning would be to the judge.

Of course, she was going to be in serious trouble when next she appeared in Barbara Weaton’s court. But that had been inevitable the moment Connie became her client.

Exposing Bruce Weaton as a criminal wasn’t going to ingratiate Diana to the judge. Nor was she making points with Ronald Kozen every time she sidestepped his questions about her defense strategy.

Gail had warned her from the start that this was a case no defense attorney could come out of looking good. Her friend had been right. Even if Diana won the case her career could be over.

Rubbing tired eyes, she tried to look on the bright side of the insomnia that had been plaguing her for days. The extra hours awake were helping her to get the painting and packing done for the move into the new place.

The real problem was the reason she wasn’t sleeping well.

She shouldn’t have kissed Jack. He’d given her time to back off. But she’d wanted that kiss. And it had been everything she wanted—and more. She hadn’t felt so excited by a man since…hell, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so excited by a man.

But Jack had disappeared afterward.

Diana figured he’d finally remembered all those very good reasons why they shouldn’t be pursuing a personal relationship. Time she remembered them, too.

A
S
J
ACK WAITED
in the hospital emergency room for Dr. Cummings to come on duty, his thoughts kept turning to Diana. He’d left the wedding reception the day before because he hadn’t known what to say to her after that kiss.

The women he dated were simply out for a good time. Showing Diana the very best time she’d ever had was something he most definitely wanted to do. But he understood what she’d meant when she said she wasn’t going to become one of his women.

She didn’t take relationships lightly. And he wasn’t a man who would take them any other way. Nor was he going to pretend to be.

Pretense was fine in front of a camera or in the performance of his private investigation duties. But he didn’t indulge in it in his personal life. People got hurt that way.

Mel was right. If he cared for Diana, he’d leave her alone.

Jack was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he almost missed seeing the doctor rushing out of the physicians’ lounge. The man charged up to the closed elevator, stabbed the down button repeatedly. Jack caught up with him there, gave the man his name and a picture to identify.

“Bruce Weaton,” the doctor said, handing the photo back to Jack. “Yeah, I remember him. A schoolteacher killed him last year. Who did you say you were?”

Jack produced a business card.

“A private investigator.” The doctor returned the card and stabbed the elevator button once again. “Medical records are confidential, Mr. Knight. I can’t talk to you.”

“The man’s dead. What are you afraid of, Dr. Cummings?”

The elevator bell binged. “My shift has started. You’ll excuse me.”

As soon as the doors opened, the doctor stepped inside.

“Been paid off?” Jack called after him.

Cummings sent Jack a look as sharp as a scalpel. “Do I have to call security and have you thrown out?”

Jack gave Cummings the same kind of ruthless stare that had made his TV character one of the most effective villains. “Withholding medical information that relates to a crime is a punishable offense, Doctor. You willing to lose your license?”

The man charged out of the elevator, red blotches staining his hollow cheeks. “I wasn’t even on duty the day he was killed. Check the record.”

“I have. You treated Bruce Weaton on a Fourth of July weekend nearly five years ago when he was brought in with a head wound sustained in a motor vehicle accident. His blood alcohol level came back from the lab at point
two five. That’s way over the legal limit. Yet you made no report to the sheriff’s office.”

“I did report it, and the time before. Just because he—”

The doctor stopped, appalled at his outburst.

“Just because he what?” Jack prodded.

The man’s lips tightened into a thin white line.

“Look, Doctor. Either you violated the law or the deputy who you gave your report to violated it. Do you want to tell me the truth, or would you rather wait until you and your records are subpoenaed?”

D
IANA HURRIED
to the courthouse annex early Monday morning for Lyle Weaton’s deposition. Lyle was already seated in the interview room when she pushed open the door five minutes after the hour. He looked pointedly at his watch. She apologized.

Although Diana had only seen a picture of Bruce, she recognized the family resemblance in his younger brother’s large physique and dark coloring. As the court reporter went about swearing Lyle in, he barely paid attention, instead gazing out the window at the gray day. He agreed to tell the truth in a monotone of indifference.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Weaton,” Diana began.

He reacted to the pleasant smile she sent him by studying her like she’d offered him something he’d consider. She stopped smiling.

“Please tell me what happened on July 27 of last year.”

He wrapped his arm over the back of the chair, spread his legs, looked at her with an arrogance she found annoying. “Why don’t you read the sheriff’s report?”

“The court reporter and I are ready whenever you are,” she said pleasantly, ignoring his question and smug tone.

Lyle eyed her for a moment. She lifted her chin and stared right back. His mother had made a promise that her family would cooperate. Lyle had tried to get out of hon
oring that promise by insisting his schedule for the next three weeks was so tight that he could only meet with Diana at six this morning. When she’d agreed, he hadn’t been pleased. This glare game wasn’t going to work either.

He finally gave up, his gaze wandering out the window again as he began to describe the family barbecue at his brother’s. His wife was in the kitchen with their youngest boy preparing salads and drinks. He and Bruce were with their father outside on the patio getting the steaks on the grill. Lyle’s seven-year-old son was playing catch with Connie.

“What time was this?” Diana asked.

“Little after noon.”

Lyle was at the grill when he heard his son tell Connie that he wanted to show her the new bike Bruce had bought him. She took the boy’s hand and they went into the garage.

“Next thing I know she comes running out of the garage, jumps into her car and hauls out of there.”

“Did she say anything?” Diana asked.

“No. Bruce kept shouting at her to tell him what was wrong, but she ignored him. She backed her car into the street, and Bruce ran in front of the car, waving his hands. She gunned the engine and hit him dead-on.”

Lyle’s description of what happened differed in substantial ways from Mrs. Lewandowski’s version. For one, Mrs. Lewandowski said the car was already moving when Bruce ran in front of it. She also said that the car had swerved.

Diana knew now was not the time to cross-examine Lyle on the differences. That would come when Diana got him on the witness stand and pointed the discrepancies out in front of a jury.

“What happened next?” Diana asked.

“My father hightailed it into the house yelling that he’d
call 911. I ran across the street to Bruce. He wasn’t moving. I felt for a pulse in his neck, couldn’t find one.”

“What about the car that hit him?”

“What about it?”

“Where was the car while you were with Bruce?”

“Couple feet away.”

“Was the engine still running?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t hear it?”

Annoyance peppered his tone. “I was concentrating on my dying brother.”

Even so, Lyle had witnessed Connie hit his brother with her car and he went in front of that car without first checking to be sure the engine was off and the keys were out of the driver’s hands.

That told Diana one thing very clearly. Lyle hadn’t feared that Connie was going to hit him.

“Please describe what happened next,” she said.

“My mother arrived, ran over to Bruce and me. I told her how he’d been hit and that my father was calling 911. She knelt down, talked to him, tried to get him to respond. He didn’t.”

“And then?” Diana prompted when he stopped.

“My wife came out the front door and yelled that my father had collapsed and she needed help. My mother told me to go, said she would stay with Bruce. I grabbed my son and followed my wife back into the house.”

“Mr. Weaton, where was your son when you grabbed him?”

Lyle leaned toward her. “He’d come out of the garage to see what was going on, and I had to tell him. For a week afterward, he woke up with nightmares. You leave him out of this. Do you hear me?”

“Mr. Weaton, I’m a parent as well, with an appreciation for the trauma an incident like this can cause a child. I’ve
read the statement your son gave to the sheriff’s office. Since he was in the garage at the time Bruce was struck by the car, I have no intention of questioning him. Now, could we please continue?”

Lyle squirmed about in his chair for the next minute, as though he couldn’t quite get comfortable. Diana waited patiently for him to get himself back under control.

“What happened when you went inside Bruce’s house?” Diana asked after what she deemed to be an appropriate interval.

“When I entered the kitchen with my son, I found my father on the floor, barely breathing. I did what I could, but he died on the way to the hospital.”

“From what, Mr. Weaton?”

Anger scored deep lines around Lyle’s mouth. “From the shock of seeing my brother murdered right before his eyes.”

Diana knew she was going to have to get a copy of Philip Weaton’s medical records. If Lyle repeated those words while on the stand—and she was sure Staker would see he did—the jury would be trying Connie for two deaths.

“Mr. Weaton, are you acquainted with the woman who lives in the home across from the one your brother owned?”

“I’ve seen her a few times.”

“Have you had occasion to speak with her?”

Lyle shook his head. “Bruce talked my older boy into weeding her front yard. Place was getting to look like a trailer park. Embarrassed the hell out of Bruce to have to live across the street from that old woman’s mess.”

Apparently Bruce wasn’t the kind neighbor Mrs. Lewandowski had taken him to be. His motives had been selfish. Diana was going to make sure that Lyle repeated his last comments in front of the jury.

“Mr. Weaton, did it surprise you when the red lace panties belonging to Tina Uttley were found on the dashboard of your brother’s car?”

He shrugged. “My brother was a player.”

“Meaning?”

“He slept around.”

“What was his relationship with Connie?”

“She was nothing but one of his broads.”

Either Lyle didn’t know about Bruce’s true relationship with Connie or he was lying.

“Did your brother generally invite his female partners to family barbecues?” she asked, careful to keep her tone even.

“Sometimes.”

Diana felt certain he was lying now. “What are the names of some of the other female partners who attended a family gathering where you were present?”

“He went through them so fast I never bothered keeping track of their names.”

“How fast was that?”

“None of them lasted more than a few weeks.”