Motion to Dismiss (34 page)

"You have a specific somebody in mind?"

"I might."

Judge Atwood rubbed her nose. "This is highly irregular."

"An innocent man has been arrested for murder, Your Honor. He's been deprived of his liberty, of the comfort of his family."

She held up a hand. "Let's see where it goes, Counselor. But I'm warning you, I don't want to be led off on some wild-goose chase."

I nodded, and repeated the question for the witness. "Was your sister ever arrested?"

Sheila hesitated. "Yes," she whispered, clearly uncomfortable with the question. "Twice."

"When was the first time?"

"Several years ago. I can't remember exactly. It was after Frank died."

"And what was she arrested for?"

"Hit and run, driving under the influence. She was having trouble coping with the loss of her husband."

"And the second arrest?"

"About eighteen months ago. She was found in possession of cocaine."

"These were her only two brushes with the law?"

"The only two I'm aware of." Sheila sighed. "Deirdre wasn't the most responsible person in the world. I'd be the first to admit that. But she was a good person. Someone with a kind heart. She just never thought through the consequences of her actions."

Either Sheila hadn't known about the most recent arrest, or she was covering for her sister. I wished I knew more of the details myself. But her answer had at least jibed with what Byron Spencer had told me. So far his information was accurate.

I tried coming at it from a different angle. "Was your sister romantically involved with anyone?"

"She always had a man."

"Was her most recent relationship a serious one?"

"That was something we didn't talk about much."

I pressed my fingertips together, eyeing her skeptically. "Even though you were close."

"We were close like sisters," she said tightly, "not like girlfriends."

"Does the name Tony Rodale mean anything to you?"

While I asked the question, I kept one eye on Madelaine, who showed no reaction to the name. Did that mean she wasn't aware of the drug connection and Deirdre's role as informant?

Sheila cleared her throat. "I believe he was a man Deirdre had been seeing."

"Thank you. No further questions."

Judge Atwood peered at me over the tops of her glasses. "That's it?"

"For now, Your Honor."

It was almost five o'clock by the time court adjourned for the day. I'd been hoping to catch Cedric Gibson, but I'd missed my chance. Not that I expected anything other than the stonewalling I'd encountered the other day. At least now I thought I understood why.

A drug sting. One that was probably close to going down. Months of undercover work setting things up, and now their informant was dead. The last thing the police wanted was to have the setup blown before they'd netted their prey.

I caught up with Madelaine outside the courthouse. "Good work today," I said by way of greeting.

"You too." She turned with a smile. "I really did try to reach you last night to tell you about Charles Berger. It was an honest-to-God instance of a witness turning up out of the blue."

"It happens." We stopped at the corner and waited for the light to change. "You still seeing Steve Henshaw?" I asked casually.

Madelaine laughed. "Don't tell me you're looking to see if he's available?"

"Just curious."

"We've gone out a couple of times. I don't think he's exactly swooning at my feet."

"I understand he's on special assignment."

She nodded.

"Undercover narcotics," I said.

She looked surprised. "Word gets around, doesn't it? That's what scares me about these undercover things. Seems to me that everybody and his brother knows what's going on."

Two for two. Sheila Barlow had confirmed Deirdre's arrest on drug-related charges, and now Madelaine had, by implication, verified that Rodale was under investigation. It was looking, increasingly, as though Spencer's information was accurate.

A lot of pieces were beginning to fall into place. I was willing to bet that Henshaw had been at Deirdre's house after the murder, checking to make sure there was nothing there that might give away her role as informant. He might have taken her date book and then slipped it, unnoticed, into the evidence room. That would explain why it had turned up but not been logged in.

The light changed and we crossed the street. "Must be hard," I said, "dating a man who can't talk about his work."

"I get the feeling he wants to keep that part of his life separate anyway." She turned at the garage entrance and grinned. "Besides, we're heavy into
nonverbal
communication."

By the time I reached home I was feeling wrung out. I poured myself a glass of wine and called Marc. No answer. Not at his place or the office. I felt a thread of alarm work its way down my spine.

I reached Rose at home. "Did Marc ever call in again?" I asked.

"No, but I didn't expect him to. Why? You sound worried?"

"I am, a little. When I tried to reach him just now, there was no answer."

"Guess he's feeling better," she said with a laugh.

Easy for her to shrug it off; she didn't know about the beating he'd taken last night. On the other hand, she was probably right. I was wasting my energy worrying about him, when he'd no doubt slept the day away and then taken in an early movie or gone out for a bite to eat.

I thought about checking on him in person, just to be sure, but I was tired. And angry too. I'd gone out of my way to help, not to mention giving up a good night's sleep to keep an eye on him. I was irked that he hadn't had the common decency to call.

Bea and Dotty were out for the evening at their Italian cooking class. I put a pot of water on to boil for my own, much simpler Italian feast. While I chopped fresh tomato for the pasta and made a salad, I tried to systematically review the day in court. What kept popping to the fore of my mind, however, was Tony Rodale, and Deirdre's role as informant. It was interesting information -- if only I could decide how to use it to our best advantage.

Nina phoned just as the water was starting to boil. "I thought you were going to call."

"You beat me to it." I turned the heat down to simmer and topped off my glass of wine.

"How did it go today?"

"Some good, some bad."

"I want the truth, Kali. None of this sugar-coated stuff." She paused. "The news report mentioned something about a witness who saw Grady in Montclair around the time Deirdre was killed."

I drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "That was the bad." I recapped Berger's testimony for her.

A long stretch of silence. "Do you think there's a chance the witness is confused?"

"He sounded certain." Reluctantly, I skipped the sugar coating. "And he comes across as credible."

"Jesus." Nina's voice wavered. "That places Grady within spitting distance of the crime rather than at work."

I tried to put a positive spin on it. "He was still five or ten minutes away. It's not the same as having a witness place him directly at the scene."

"What does Grady say?"

"That he was buying gum." I worked to keep my tone neutral.

Nina didn't respond immediately. Finally, she sighed, a broken whimper of a sound that I felt in my own belly.

"Lots of people were at the Safeway that evening," I told her, wanting to make things better. "It's hardly incontrovertible evidence against him."

"But it looks bad. You know that, don't pretend it doesn't."

"The prosecution's case always looks bad for the defendant."

"So what's the good news?" she asked bleakly.

I related the day's testimony, underscoring the positive. "But the most interesting development," I told her, "was what I learned outside of court." I went on to explain what Byron Spencer had told me.

"You think there's any truth to it?"

"Actually, I do."

"That's got to be the solution, then." Nina's voice rose as she strived for optimism. "Rodale must have found out Deirdre was working with the police, and killed her. You even said before that there'd been domestic violence charges filed against him."

"Filed and dropped."

Nina wasn't about to be dissuaded. "We both know how that works. Do you know what kind of car Rodale drives?"

"Unfortunately, not a silver convertible."

"He could have borrowed a car -- assuming that Adrianna actually knows what she saw."

I sipped my wine. "I'm questioning her tomorrow. That's one of the things I intend to find out."

"Do you know if Rodale has an alibi for the night of the murder?" Nina asked.

"He says he was home, but to my knowledge there's no one who can verify that. And he does wear a size ten shoe."

"Kali, I think you're onto something." Nina's voice was tinged with excitement. She may not have wanted a watered-down version of the truth, but she was eager to grasp at anything that gave her hope.

"It also explains why Deirdre let her killer into the house," she continued. "That's always bothered me about the police scenario. It never seemed right to me that she'd open her door to a man she'd accused of rape. Especially if she thought he'd threatened her."

"I know. It's bothered me too." I wrapped the telephone cord around my finger. "If the killer was Rodale, though, how do we explain the message tape?"

"It must have been someone besides Grady. He wasn't the only one who wanted the rape charge dropped, you know. We're not the only people who will lose big time if this offering doesn't go through."

I hesitated before asking, "Is your financial situation really as bad as Grady claims?"

"Probably worse. Grady is one of those people who tend to see the glass as half full."

"Oh, Nina, I'm sorry." Her troubles seemed endless. "You've got so much to contend with. It's not fair."

"I've given up thinking about what's fair," she said curtly. And then added, "But there is some good news. The doctor says I can go home tomorrow."

"That's wonderful news!"

"Still confined to bed. Still harboring cancer cells. Still married to a man charged with murder. But all this at home again rather than in the hospital." She gave a thin laugh. "And we call that good news. It's funny how fast your perspective changes."

Even with the limited number of us present for Adrianna's testimony the next morning, the group was too large for the session to be held in chambers, as Judge Atwood had originally hoped. She'd ordered the courtroom closed to the press and public, however, and we'd forsaken tables and witness stand to gather informally, sitting in chairs grouped as though for classroom show-and-tell.

Adrianna was allowed a stuffed, floppy-eared bunny, but not her aunt. I'd seen to the latter. It wasn't that I thought Sheila Barlow would intentionally try to influence the child, but I knew that she was eager to shield Adrianna from the trauma of testifying. While I shared her concern, I wanted to hear Adrianna's story from her own lips.

Judge Atwood, dressed today in a skirt and blouse rather than her judicial robe, sat to Adrianna's left. A child psychologist appointed by the state of California sat to her right. Madelaine, Grady, and I completed the other half of the circle.

Judge Atwood began by addressing Adrianna. "Do you know why you're here today?" When she didn't get an answer, she continued. "We need you to tell us about the night your mommy was hurt. We will ask you questions and all you have to do is answer them. If you don't know or can't remember, that's okay."

Adrianna looked at the judge without acknowledgment. She was wearing a blue corduroy jumper with a white blouse, and a satin ribbon in her hair. Birthday party clothes, I was willing to bet.

"You think you can do that?" the judge asked.

Adrianna blinked several times in rapid succession and hugged the velour bunny against her chest.

Judge Atwood glanced at the psychologist, who shrugged noncommittally, then turned back to address Adrianna. "You ready to begin?" she asked.

This time the girl nodded, and Judge Atwood seemed relieved. She motioned for Madelaine to start.

It was clear that Madelaine was as uneasy with the situation as the rest of us. She spoke in a slow, sugary manner, with added inflection and an abundance of facial expression.

"Do you remember the night your mommy got hurt?" she asked.

Adrianna nodded.

"Tell us what you remember."

Adrianna hugged her bunny. "I had a dream."

Madelaine looked taken aback. That clearly wasn't what she wanted to hear. "A dream? That's nice, but why don't you tell us about the part when you woke up."

Adrianna looked at Grady with a flicker of a smile and then dropped her gaze. I felt my stomach turn over. Was she going to identify Grady as the man she'd seen?

"What made you wake up?" Madelaine asked after a moment's hesitation. I could tell she was uncomfortable in uncharted territory.

"A noise."

"What kind of noise?"

"I can't remember."

"But you remember hearing a noise?"

Adrianna patted the head of her rabbit. "At first I thought it was another dream, like with the chocolate. But it wasn't."

Madelaine pressed forward. It was clear she wasn't going to let herself be sidetracked by childhood banter. "Do you know what time it was when you woke up?"

Adrianna nodded intently, trying very hard to do what was expected of her.

"What time was it?"

She sat up straight. "Ten-o-one."

"That's very precise," Madelaine said, obviously surprised.

"It's a palindrome."

I remembered Emily making a similar remark. The second-grade teacher had done her job well.

But Madelaine appeared confused. "A palindrome?" she asked.

Adrianna nodded. "It's the same forwards and backwards."

"Ah." Madelaine leaned forward in her chair, elbows on her knees. "You woke up around ten o'clock when you heard a noise. Did you hear anything else?"

"I heard a man." She looked again, briefly, in Grady's direction.

His head dropped forward. He sat stone still, not looking at Adrianna.