Mystery Writers of America Presents the Prosecution Rests (10 page)

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B
EFORE
H
ALL BEGINS
the interrogation, I look at the one-way mirror built into the wall. “I want to talk to whoever’s back there.”

Hall shakes his head. “You aren’t in any position to make demands.”

“Then we’re finished here.”

Hall gives me his best tough-cop stare. When I yawn, he glances at the mirror. After a moment, the door opens. Assistant DA
Lois Stone strolls in and deposits her briefcase on the table.

“I’ll take it from here, Detective,” she says. After Hall vacates his chair, she sits down. “Hello, Jack. Fancy meeting you
here.”

Lois Stone is the best prosecutor in the DA’s office. Defense attorneys call her “Stone Cold” because she shows no mercy in
court. But she’s no ice queen. Cinnamon-colored, shoulder-length hair frames a face that is more striking than beautiful,
and the bookish, tortoiseshell frames she wears complement a pair of jade-green eyes a Mayan would covet. We met years ago
when I worked in the DA’s office and she had just passed the bar. I took her under my wing and taught her everything she knows
about prosecuting the bad guys. Now I’ll find out if I did a good job.

Stone adjusts the glasses on her nose. “Did they read you your rights?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re consenting to this interview without a lawyer present?”

“I’m a lawyer, remember?” I always respected Lois Stone, but the look on her face suggests the feeling isn’t mutual. It’ll
be a pleasure to wipe that smirk off her face.

“How could I forget?” She points to the built-in video camera on the wall. “Okay if we tape this?”

“Sure. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Okay, then let’s get started.”

“I didn’t kill Steven Toscar. I’m innocent. I’m being framed.”

Stone tilts her head. “Really?” She opens her briefcase and pulls out a folder but doesn’t open it—a ploy I taught her to
make a suspect sweat. “You sound a lot like Dexter Bass,” she says. “Except I’m starting to believe him.”

“That would be a mistake.” I stare at the folder. My heart speeds up. It’s a whole other world on this side of the table.

“Didn’t you defend Cletus Rupp?” Stone asks. “Something about him stalking his ex-wife?”

I meet her gaze. “The woman was imagining things. She needed therapy.”

Stone shrugs as if conceding the point. “Had you seen Rupp recently?”

“I hadn’t spoken to him since his trial.” Rupp and I met face-to-face. There won’t be a telltale message on his answering
machine for the cops to find.

“No chance encounter?”

“None.”

Stone locks her green eyes on me. They’re still as hypnotic as I remember. “Where were you last Monday evening between nine
p.m. and one?”

Thank God for TiVo. “I was home watching TV.”

She looks skeptical. “Anybody there with you?”

“No.”

Stone lifts a corner of the file. “Did you make any calls, or did anyone call you?”

“No.” I try to peek inside the folder, but she closes it. It’s another tactic I taught her, but my chest tightens anyway.

“Did you go anywhere? Have a pizza delivered?”

“No, I stayed home all night. Look, I’m sorry no one can vouch for me, but I didn’t think I’d need an alibi.”

Stone ignores my tone. “So what you’re saying is that you didn’t kill Steven Toscar and frame Dexter Bass.”

I lean close enough to smell her perfume—a hint of lilac. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Stone twists the ends of her hair around her fingertips. “Well, Jack, I guess that makes you a liar
and
a murderer.”

I jerk forward in my chair. “Now just—”

“Save it,” Stone snaps. She stares at me and flips open the folder. It’s full of pictures—8 x 10 blowups—and she hands me
the top one.

“This is a photo of you and Cletus Rupp. That is your Beemer, right? The one with
SHARK
on the plates?” She doesn’t wait for my reply. “You notice the date in the bottom right-hand corner? It was taken two months
ago.”

“You can program a camera to any date.”

“Is that your defense, Jack? That someone faked the date?”

I stare at the photo. “I’m just saying it’s possible. So, where did you get this?”

“We found it in Rupp’s office. You want to tell me about this, Jack?”

My brain kicks into overdrive, trying to come up with an explanation Stone will buy. I snap my fingers. “I remember now. Rupp
wanted to borrow some money. I told him no, and that was that. It must’ve slipped my mind.”

Stone leans back in her chair. “I wonder why Rupp felt the need to photograph your meet.”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“Too bad we can’t.” Stone pauses. “I’d be worried if I were you, Jack. You’re too young to have Alzheimer’s.”

Beads of sweat snake down my ribs. “We met one time. That’s the truth.”

Stone nods. “The truth is good. Who knows? Maybe it’ll set you free.”

My mouth goes dry. I glance at Hall, and he smirks. I drop my gaze and stare at the scarred tabletop. Stone rattled me with
the picture. The pupil has learned some things on her own.

“So you met just once with Rupp?”

I look up. Maybe she’s tossing me a lifeline. “Yeah, just the one time.”

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, a look of disappointment on her face. She pulls more photos from the file and
lines them up in front of me. The dates and locations differ, but each of them shows the same thing: Rupp and me sitting in
my car.

“You know what I think? I think you hired Rupp to murder Steven Toscar and frame Bass. Why? I’m not sure.”

“That’s crazy.”

She shrugs. “Maybe, but right now I feel sorry for Dexter Bass.”

I hold up my hand. “Wait a minute. Maybe Rupp did this on his own. Maybe after I turned him down, he asked Toscar for money.
Rupp had the service contract for Toscar’s pool, and Bass did the work on it.”

“Bass worked for Rupp?”

I nod. “For the past two or three months.”

Stone grabs the file and heads toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

After she leaves, Hall counts ceiling tiles while I try to figure a way out of the jam I’m in. Neither of us speaks. Stone
returns in a few minutes and hands me a Pepsi.

“I didn’t know Bass worked for Rupp. Thanks for the tip.”

I take a sip to ease the dryness in my throat. “Anything to help clear me.”

Stone places the folder on the table and hooks one arm over the back of her chair. “So how do you think the evidence got in
Bass’s car?”

I lean forward. “Rupp must’ve found out Toscar kept a lot of money in his safe. He knew Bass had done time for burglary. Maybe
he offered Bass a cut to pull off the job. Maybe Toscar surprised Bass during the robbery and things got out of hand. My guess
is, Bass threw the hammer in his car and planned to ditch it later. But he and Rupp got into a fight at the Shamrock and he
never had the chance. That’s why it was in his car.”

I sit back in my chair and feel some of the tightness leave my chest. I’ve always done my best thinking under pressure. It’s
why I’ve done well in court. I’ve given Stone a scenario that fits the facts—and she’s got to know my version offers a jury
enough room for reasonable doubt.

But she won’t let it go. “You’re saying you didn’t have anything to do with the gym bag found in Bass’s car?”

“How could I? I was home all night.”

Stone reaches into the folder once again, pulls out more photos, and spreads them in front of me. Seconds later, I realize
I’m facing the death penalty.

“Last year,” she says, “after being robbed three times in two months, the pawnshop across the street from the Shamrock installed
state-of-the-art surveillance cameras.” She pauses and picks up one of the photos, then places it back in front of me. “As
you can see, they offer a pretty good view of the Shamrock’s parking lot.”

Stone taps the photo farthest on my left. “In this one, you’ve just arrived in the parking lot. I can even make out the writing
on the baseball cap you’re wearing.” She squints at the photo. “What do you know? We listen to the same radio station.”

I stare at the photos, unable to avert my eyes.

“See how clear your face is in the one where you’re putting the gym bag in Bass’s car?” She leans closer to me. “And guess
what? We found your prints on the hammer used to kill Steven Toscar.”

My head snaps up. I know I didn’t leave any fingerprints. I wrapped the handle in plastic and wore gloves. The latex made
my hands sweat. I rack my brain, searching for an explanation. All at once, I know who set me up, and the realization leaves
me light-headed. I bend over and suck air into my lungs.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her green eyes sparkling. “Cat got your tongue?”

I look into her eyes. “Why’d you keep looking when you already had Bass in custody?”

Stone scoops up the photographs and slips them into the folder. “The fingerprints on the hammer didn’t match his. We expanded
our search and got a hit on yours. You remember getting printed when you worked in the DA’s office? After we got the photos
of you and Rupp—plus the ones from the pawnshop—all the pieces fell into place.”

The walls seem to close in on me. “I’ll tell you who set this up, but I want a deal.”

She considers this for a moment. “I’ll have to talk to my boss.”

I slowly nod. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Stone pauses in the doorway. “There’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re slipping, Jack. I’d call another lawyer if I were you.”

____

I
FOLLOW
S
TONE’S
advice and call Curt Beyer. Beyer is the best defense attorney I know. He’s expensive, but from what I’ve seen in court,
he’s worth every penny. I make the call, and forty-five minutes later he shows up. After two hours of hurried meetings with
me and the DA, he hammers out a deal: I testify for the state and the DA won’t seek the death penalty. There’s even the slim
possibility of parole in the distant future. When Stone returns, I agree to the deal.

She leans back in her chair and peers at me through her lenses. “So, what’ve you got?”

With my lawyer’s blessing, I spill my guts, from my initial meeting with Eve Toscar to the night of the murder. Stone listens
quietly. She doesn’t look impressed.

“This is your big exposé? That Toscar’s wife wanted him dead?”

I didn’t expect high-fives or pats on the back, but I thought she’d be more excited. “That’s right. Eve wanted his money,
but due to the prenup, she couldn’t get it any other way.”

“Jack, do I look stupid?” Stone’s voice drips with scorn. “Don’t you think we’d check her out?”

“Of course, but—”

“We put her under a microscope,” she says. “She came off smelling like a rose. Everyone we talked to—including Toscar’s friends—said
the marriage was rock-solid. Hell, Jack, Toscar recently changed his will to dissolve their prenup.”

The news hits me like a sledgehammer. “What?”

Stone smirks. “Didn’t know that, huh? Here’s something else I bet you didn’t know. When we asked if her husband had any enemies,
she gave us your name. She swore Toscar told her you threatened him when he cut you out of a business deal.”

“That’s a lie!”

“So you say. She also denied knowing Dexter Bass, and he confirms that.”

“No way. I’ve got him on tape telling how Eve asked him to kill her husband.”

Beyer grabs my arm. “Shut up, Jack. You can’t divulge anything Bass told you in confidence.”

I jerk my arm free and look at Stone. “You want to hear it?”

Lois Stone sits back in her chair and taps her lush lips with her index finger. “Curt’s right. Whatever Bass told you is covered
by attorney-client privilege. It’s not admissible.”

“Screw privilege,” I say. “The tape’s in my briefcase at home.”

Hall clears his throat. He’s been so quiet, I forgot he’s in the room. “His briefcase is in the evidence lab.”

Stone’s eyes narrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

Hall can’t meet her gaze. “We, uh, brought it just in case.”

Stone looks at me and shrugs. “I guess I can’t stop you from playing the tape.”

Ten minutes later, over Beyer’s repeated objections, I pop open the locks on my briefcase and pull out my tape recorder. After
I met with Bass, I never listened to the tape. Why bother? But now, with my life on the line, I’m glad I taped it. My hand
shakes as I press the Play button. The tape spins. Nothing.

“Are you sure it’s the right tape?” Stone asks.

I paw through my briefcase, searching for other tapes, but the rest are still in their cellophane wrappers. I fast-forward
the tape, hoping to hear Bass’s voice, but all I get is faint static. Then it hits me.

“I had the tape when I went to Eve’s house after meeting with Bass,” I explain. “She would’ve had plenty of time to grab the
tape while I was in the shower.”

“You have anything else to back up your story?” Stone asks.

I scour my memory but come up empty. My meetings with Eve took place after office hours, after everyone had gone home. She
wanted to keep our meetings hush-hush, so I never logged them in my appointment book. And I never billed her, since she paid
me in her own special way.

“No,” I mutter. “Nothing else.”

The door opens and a uniformed officer hands Stone several sheets of paper. She studies them, then looks at me.

“While we’ve been talking, the police checked Rupp’s employee records. There’s no record that Bass worked for him. No job
application, no W-2, nothing. We even checked the service records for Toscar’s pool. All the forms were signed by Dan Dorsey.”
She hands me the sheets of paper. “See for yourself.”

I glance through the pages. “Maybe Bass used that name as an alias.”

Stone shakes her head. “Rupp’s secretary said Dorsey has worked there for years. We talked to Dorsey, and he confirmed that
he did all the work on Toscar’s pool.”

The pages slip from my hands and flutter to the floor. Stone stands up and walks to the door. “Jack,” she says, then waits
until I look at her. “You’ve got zilch. No deal.” She looks at Hall. “See that Mr. Cleary gets back to his cell.”