Motion to Dismiss (28 page)

A glimmer of excitement crept into Grady's expression. "Like what?"

"At this point I don't know any more than I've told you. If I raise the issue at the hearing, though, and it's not enough to sway the judge, then we've lost it. By the time we go to trial, the prosecution will have found a way to defuse the impact. It's much better to catch them off guard when the jury's present."

"The investigator didn't give you any idea at all?" Grady's tone was impatient.

I snapped at him. "He wasn't planning on getting killed before we had a chance to talk."

Grady held up a hand in surrender. "Sorry."

I swallowed hard. It was still difficult for me to talk about Hal without feeling a sweeping grief. "I was hoping Deirdre might have mentioned him to you. His name is Tony Rodale. He runs some sort of investment fund."

Grady shook his head.

"Think hard, Grady."

"I am, dammit. I'd tell you if I knew."

I leaned back, took a breath, and dipped my toe into waters of a different sort. "The investigator also told me he saw Marc with this fellow Rodale. I'm thinking Rodale's in investments, Marc's handling your stock offering, the company needs an infusion of capital ... I'm wondering if it isn't all tied together." Although I was damned if I could figure out how.

Grady appeared honestly perplexed. "Marc? He's a straight arrow when it comes to accounting and securities matters. And I've never heard of Tony Rodale. I wouldn't worry about that being an issue."

It was the answer I wanted to hear, although it didn't completely dispel the doubts lingering at the back of my mind. Not about Marc. And not about Grady either. Or my complicity in Hal's death.

"The press will be at the hearing tomorrow," I told him. "It's important you look confident but not cocky. You want to show concern -- there's been a tragic death after all -- but you want to come across like a man in command. Think you can manage that?"

He nodded. "Of course I can."

I wasn't really worried about Grady's demeanor in court. It was the kind of role he played naturally. "If you think of something during the hearing, write it down on a slip of paper and pass it to me. Without any theatrics. If the press asks for a comment, keep your mouth shut. We'll hold a brief press conference at the conclusion of the hearing. You got all that?"

"Just promise me you'll try to get the case thrown out."

"I'll try, Grady. Honestly, I will. I understand how you feel. But I'm not going to commit malpractice by jeopardizing the case for a one-in-a-million chance of seeing charges dropped at the prelim."

Grady fingered the ultrasound image of his unborn son. "Who is going to care for him while Nina goes through chemo if I'm still in jail? Who's going to be there for Emily? This is my family we're talking about, goddammit. I need to get the charges dropped."

On my way back to the office, I stopped off downtown to see if I could learn anything new about Hal's death. Fogerty was on his way out as I entered, but he recognized me and stopped short of the doorway.

"You coming to see me?" he asked.

"I was hoping there'd been some progress."

He shook his head. "Sorry to say, there hasn't been. Not for lack of effort, you understand. We've had officers combing the area for witnesses. Had the car towed and let the forensic guys go through it close up. The brother is flying out today or tomorrow. If you don't mind, he'd probably like the chance to talk with you."

"Feel free to give him my number. I'd like to meet him."

Fogerty checked his watch and again started for the door.

I turned to follow. "I take it nothing's turned up with Tony Rodale either."

Fogerty looked at me blankly.

"The phone message. Remember? I told you yesterday that Hal had been working on a case for me, that he'd left a message on my machine saying he'd discovered something that might implicate Rodale."

"Oh, that. Right. I passed along the information, like I said I would. But the boss calls the shots. He didn't think it was worth pursuing."

That was a shock. "What do you mean? You had a man there last night."

"There?"

"Outside Rodale's house."

Fogerty shrugged. "News to me. But, hey, I only work here."

"The man you called 'the boss,' what's his name?"

"Gibson. Cedric Gibson."

"Thanks."

I pushed through the double door and headed for the elevator. Gibson was tied up in a meeting, so I tried the front desk instead. Chances were, I'd get more out of a detective working the investigation anyway.

"I'm looking for a detective who works homicide. He's tall, blond, mid-thirties. Has a slight scar on his chin."

"You know his name?"

Sure, but I'm playing twenty questions for the fun of it. "I've forgotten it," I explained.

The desk sergeant scratched his cheek. "Blond, with a scar on his chin. Only guy I know of who fits that's description is Steve Henshaw."

Bingo. I recognized the name. "That's him, thanks. Is he around?"

The desk sergeant changed sides and scratched the other cheek. "Only thing is, Henshaw doesn't work homicide. Never has. In any event, he's off today."

"What do you mean he doesn't work homicide?" I asked the desk sergeant.

He'd turned away to talk to a fellow police officer, and now looked back, surprised to find me still standing there. "Sorry, were you talking to me?"

"What division is Henshaw with?"

"He's on special assignment."

"What kind of special assignment?"

The sergeant pulled on his lower lip, scowling. "If you've got questions, you should talk to Henshaw himself."

Only thing was, Henshaw wasn't in.

I returned to Gibson's office and waited forty minutes until he was free. Although he agreed to see me, it was clear he considered my visit an intrusion, even before he knew why I was there.

Cedric Gibson was a jowly man with deep-set eyes and a stern expression. When I mentioned Steve Henshaw's name, the fixed glower became almost reproachful.

"You must be mistaken," Gibson said when I'd finished explaining my interest in the matter. He folded his hands on his desk, thumbs pressed together.

"No, I saw him parked off Broadway Terrace, near Tony Rodale's house."

Gibson's shoulders twitched in a half-shrug. "Must have been someone who looked like him."

I shook my head and feigned certainty. "I'm sure that it was Henshaw I saw."

"Maybe he was simply in the neighborhood. I know for a fact that Detective Henshaw isn't involved in any homicide investigations."

"What
is
he involved in?"

"Sorry, that's information we like to keep within the department." Gibson drew his hands back into his lap. "I can assure you, however, that his investigation has no bearing on the charges against your client."

"What about the murder of Hal Fisher. Does it have bearing on that?"

Gibson shrugged, like
who-knows
. "The investigation is moving forward, but we've still got a long way to go."

"Any progress?"

"We're working a number of things."

Things that he clearly had no intention of sharing with me. I tried an end run. "You're telling me no one from the department is keeping an eye on Tony Rodale?"

Gibson's eyes narrowed. "Why should we be?"

"Because there's a good chance he's implicated in Deirdre Nichols' death. And maybe Hal Fisher's as well."

Although I'd been assured that Hal's last message to me had been relayed to Gibson, maybe it hadn't been. Not fully anyway. Or maybe it hadn't been presented in the right context. I laid it out for him again, explaining that Hal had discovered something about Rodale and Deirdre Nichols that pointed to a killer other than Grady.

Gibson leaned back in his chair and frowned. "We'd hardly authorize a stakeout on something that flimsy."

"Are you telling me you're not going to pursue this?" I could hear my voice rising in volume. "Hal Fisher left word for me that he'd discovered something tying Rodale to Deirdre Nichols' murder. That same day Hal himself was murdered. You think that's flimsy?"

"What I think," he said not unkindly, "is that you're emotionally involved in your friend's death. And understandably upset."

A smile flickered on his lips. A gesture no doubt meant to establish rapport, but the effect was quite the opposite. I was growing increasingly irritated.

"If Henshaw's not involved in any homicide investigations," I prodded, "what was he doing at the crime scene the morning Deirdre Nichols' body was discovered?"

The smile faded. "What makes you think he was?"

"I saw him. Or, rather, I saw photos of him. They were part of the discovery materials I received from the D.A.'s office."

"He must have been in the area," Gibson said with an offhanded shrug. "Probably needed to get a message to a fellow officer."

"One who just happened to be at a crime scene?"

Gibson glared at me. "As I'm sure you realize, detectives cover a lot of territory in the course of a given day."

It wasn't, I thought, all that different from the explanation he'd given me for Henshaw's presence outside Rodale's house.

"None of this feels right to me," I said after a moment.

"With all due respect, Ms. O'Brien, it's not your problem."

"It is if it impacts my client's case."

"But I just told you, it doesn't."

I stood. "It will be interesting to see what Officer Henshaw has to say. Under oath."

Gibson stood as well. "You'll have a hard time getting a subpoena to go on a fishing expedition."

Probably true, but I wasn't about to admit it. "We'll see about that."

Gibson's mouth was tight. "Take my advice, and drop this line of inquiry. It's not going to help your client in the least."

I didn't slam the door on my way out, but I wanted to. I gave myself a mental pat on the back for exercising restraint in the face of such overwhelming temptation.

On the drive to the office, however, my anger subsided, diluted by doubt and suspicion. Was I mistaken? Had I seen a police officer on a stakeout because that's what I
wanted
to see?

But if I was right, and the police weren't keeping an eye on Rodale because of Hal's message, why
were
they watching him?

I was at my desk later that afternoon, fine-tuning my opening statement, when Marc returned from a meeting. He knocked on my office door.

"How's it going?" he asked, draping himself against the door frame. He'd removed his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

"So-so."

"Anything new on Hal's death?"

"They're looking at a number of things," I told him, mimicking Gibson.

"They know Hal was working for us?"

"I told them, but I don't think they were much interested."

"Figures." Marc moved behind me and started massaging my neck and shoulders. "The chances are, you know, they're right."

"What do you mean?"

"That Hal's death had nothing to do with this case. He had to have been working other cases as well."

I lowered my chin and leaned forward, giving Marc more room to work my back. "I just want them to find whoever did it," I said, although I knew the chances of that were slim.

I also wanted to know what Hal had discovered about Tony Rodale that might help Grady -- and whether Marc was implicated. The chances of that, I thought, might be equally slim.

"Try taking a few deep breaths," Marc said, running a thumb along my shoulder blades. "You're tight as a wire."

As Marc worked tiny circles along the vertebrae of my spine, I tried breathing deeply, in and out. I could feel my body begging to relax, but the knot inside me wouldn't let go. The confusion and doubt were too deeply rooted.

"I know you're upset, Kali. But you've got to put Hal's death aside for the moment and focus on tomorrow's hearing." Marc's fingers moved to the muscles at the back of my neck, kneading them softly.

Finally, in spite of myself, I began to relax. For a short while we were quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

"How's it look for the hearing?" Marc asked, breaking the silence.

"Aside from the fact that Grady wants me to present a full-blown defense, not too bad. I'm looking forward to finally being able to question some of the prosecution's witnesses."

Marc's hands stopped their kneading. "I'm afraid I've got some bad news on the other-suspect front."

I turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

He leaned against the desk, facing me. "Remember Eric Simpson?"

I nodded. "The guy hassling the Carsons." I'd been hoping we could find him before the hearing, and maybe find some way to connect him to Deirdre Nichols's murder.

"He's not going to work into your alternate-scenario plan."

"Why not?"

Marc looked glum. "He's in jail. He's been there since the end of last month. No way he could have killed Deirdre Nichols."

My heart sank. "You sure?"

He nodded. "I just found out this morning. It's definitely the same guy."

"Damn."

"Better to find out now than get shot down after you've raised the idea in court."

Better not to get shot down at all.

"That doesn't leave us with much," Marc said slowly.

"Except Tony Rodale. But he comes into play only if we get into a finger-pointing mode, and only if we need to point to a specific face."

"That's kind of the name of the game, isn't it?"

"Depends on how desperate we are."

Marc picked up the pen on my desk and rolled it between his fingers. "Still no idea what Hal was hinting at in his message?"

I shook my head, wondering if I dared to be completely frank with him. I turned to look Marc in the eye. "How do you know Rodale?" I asked casually.

Something flashed in Marc's eyes, but his face was largely unreadable. "What do you mean?"

"You
do
know him, right?"

"Of course. He's the guy Deirdre Nichols was dating."

"I mean outside of this case." I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Hear the rush of blood in my ears. "You have some other connection with him, am I right?"