Tell No Lies (7 page)

"Is someone there?" Jenny had heard the change in his tone of voice.

"Yeah, Earl's here. He's been looking for me, too, apparently."

"Okay, go on, then. We'll talk later, about that candidacy of yours." She laughed and her voice was lighter. Jack laughed, too, but it felt forced. When he hung up, Earl closed the door behind him and sat in one of the chairs opposite Jack's desk.

"Jennifer Dodson?" Earl said, motioning to the phone.

"Yeah."

"Good looking girl."

"Yeah, I guess."

Earl smiled slightly. "Good lawyer, too, from what I hear."

"Having worked with her for a few years, I'd agree with that. She's very smart."

"You two spent a lot of time together last night. You're good friends, huh?"

Jack grew impatient. "Yes, Earl," he sighed. "You know we're friends. I'm not on the witness stand. Where are you going with this?"

Earl remained silent for a minute, folding his fingers forward over his wide palms to study his nails. "Nowhere in particular, I guess," he said. "I'd just hate to see you end up somewhere you didn't even know you were going." He looked straight at Jack, and Jack understood why Earl had been a successful DA for so many years. Despite Jack's own talents in the courtroom, he wouldn't want to face Earl from the witness stand.

"You have nothing to worry about," Jack said. "I know exactly where I'm going."

"Okay." Earl stood and started to wander around the small office, looking at the diplomas and bar licenses on the wall. "You like it here?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes . . ." Jack said cautiously.
Here it comes
, he thought. The invitation to follow Earl to Clark & Cavanaugh. As much as he liked working for him, Jack had no desire to practice in a private firm again, but he didn't relish the thought of trying to explain that now. Working at one of the big firms had never been in his plans; frankly, when he'd first started law school, he hadn't given it any thought. But, like many of his classmates, Jack had succumbed to the enticements of the big, high-paying firms. He and Claire had later joked that being wooed by the big firms was a bit like entering the Hotel California. Until, that is, they didn't want you anymore. "I love my job, Earl. You know that."
 

He swiveled around in his chair, his eyes following Earl as he made his way around the office. Earl nodded and picked up a picture of Claire from a file cabinet. It was Jack's favorite picture of her. He had taken it in Amagansett, on Long Island, shortly before they were married. It was June; they had gone up for the wedding of a friend and it had been the first time on the East Coast for both of them. It had rained all weekend; neither had realized how cold it could be there at that time of year. On the last day, the rain tapered off into a mist and they decided it would be their only chance to get to the beach. They walked along the shoreline holding hands and mindlessly adjusting the direction of their stride to avoid the waves that broke on the sand at their feet. The picture was black-and-white, a close-up of Claire's face. Her head was tilted down slightly; her eyes looked up to the camera. She had only the slightest hint of a smile on her face. The wind had been strong that day, and Claire's long, curly hair blew to the side, most of it around the back of her head, toward the ocean. What Jack liked so much about the picture was the way a few stray strands had blown in front of her face and caught on her lips; he had snapped the picture just as she was about to reach up to pull them away.
 

"She's a beautiful woman, Jack," Earl said, setting the picture down.

Oh, no, here we go again
. "I know."
 

Earl crossed his arms and leaned against the cabinet. "How's she feel about your career?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, some women expect their husbands to bring in a bit more money than you'd ever make at the DA's office."

Jack smiled. That was it, he thought. Earl planned to try to talk him into going with him. "You know she's not like that. She's knows how miserable I was at Newman."

"So you plan on staying here awhile?"

"If the next guy wants me, yeah."

"Have you ever thought about being that next guy?" Earl grinned.

Jack laughed. If only Earl knew who else had suggested the same thing to him. He debated whether to risk bringing up Jenny's name again.

"What's so funny?" Earl asked. "You can't tell me you've never thought about it yourself."

"Actually, I hadn't, at least not seriously, until last night, when the same idea was pitched to me by none other than Jenny Dodson."

"So that's what you two were huddled together talking about."

"Yup, that's it." Jack was feeling bold now. "Contrary to your suspicions, we weren't planning which motel to meet in."

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it. Give me some credit, will you?"

"I simply don't want you to mess things up for yourself."

"I'm married to a 'beautiful woman,' as you say, whom I love more than life itself, and I've got two unbelievable kids. I'm not going to do anything stupid." As he said it, Jack had almost convinced himself that he'd done nothing wrong. And then, giving himself that one last push, he added, "Jenny and I are just friends, and we've got the stamp of approval from Claire."

Earl raised his hands in defense. "Okay, okay. Point taken. I won't bring it up again."

Jack took a deep breath and sighed. Earl had always treated him as the prodigal son; now he felt like a spoiled teenager who had rebuffed a parent's generous attempts at guidance.

Beverly knocked on the door and stepped into the office.

"Earl, there's another reporter on the phone for you. You want it in here?"

Earl furrowed his forehead and scratched the short fuzz on the back of his head. A veteran, he always looked as if he still got his hair cut by the Army.

"No, not now," he said. "Jack and I still have some things to talk about." When Beverly left, Earl said:  "Will you give it some thought?"

Jack wanted to say yes. He wanted to think about it, to dream about it. He knew he was a good lawyer and that, except for one minor—no, major—detail, the job was well suited for him. But, as he'd told Jenny, he knew no city in this state would elect a DA who didn't believe in the death penalty. It was considered an unspoken prerequisite for the job.

"They've asked me who I want to follow in my footsteps." "They" meaning the reporters, Jack knew. "I gave them your name."

"You shouldn't have done that without talking to me first," Jack said. "I can't do it."

"I didn't say you were going to run, or even thinking about it. I just said you'd be my pick."

"Well, I'm flattered." Jack meant it. "But the answer's no."

"Jesus . . . why, Jack?" Earl walked back to his chair and hovered over it.

"Well, let's see, there's that one little problem I have with the death penalty."

"So what?" Earl said, waving his hand in dismissal. "It's not even a factor."

"Of course it is. It will be the first question they ask me. Especially with the Barnard case. Everyone's out for blood, and if you don't give it to them on Barnard, they're gonna make damn sure they get it from the guy who takes your place."

"You've been thinking about this," Earl said quietly.

"I'm just being realistic. It's coming." He paused a minute. "You know, Earl, it's one thing being an Assistant DA. We always knew you'd just keep me off the death penalty cases if that's what I wanted." Earl nodded slightly. "But it's another thing to suggest someone like me could head up this office. It just won't happen."

"Maybe you're right. But I'd like to believe otherwise."

"That's what I always liked about you, Earl," Jack said, laughing a bit. "You always believed we'd win those cases that seemed impossible to win."

"Don't forget . . . sometimes we did."

"Yeah," Jack conceded. "Sometimes we did."

CHAPTER THREE

THE SCENT OF simmering wine and beef broth greeted Jack when he entered the house. It smelled good but he didn't have an appetite. Everyone from the office had left together around three thirty that afternoon for a small bar near the courthouse to celebrate Earl's news. Jack had drunk one too many beers and ended up staying later than he had originally planned to let the buzz wear off. Now it was almost seven and he had a headache, and he dreaded the prospect of seeing Claire. He just wanted to go back to bed and pick up where he'd left off that morning. Instead he forged into the family room, where he found her sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the built-ins that held their television and stereo. Videotapes, compact discs and old, dusty cassette tapes surrounded her. The bottom doors of the cabinet were open, and he could see where she had begun to replace the videotapes in an organized array. David Bowie sang "Let's Dance" on the cassette player; the sound was poor and scratchy. One of their old tapes.

He threw his briefcase on the couch and squatted next to her. She turned to him, and he pecked her on the cheek.

"What's up?" she said. "That was the lamest kiss ever."

"Sorry." He forced a smile and gave her another, better one.

"You guys went out after work?" she asked, turning her attention back to the tapes.

"Yeah, just the office. Our own little celebration with Earl." He sat on the floor with her. "Smells good. What's for dinner?"

"Beef Stroganoff. Hungry?"

He hesitated. "Yeah, I guess." He pointed at the mess in front of her. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know. I started to put away some of the videos the kids left out, and then I just decided to organize the whole thing while I waited for you to get home." She turned over the videotape in her hand to read the title and then searched for its corresponding case.

Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He could smell the smoke from the bar on his clothes and thought about taking a shower before dinner. "What happened to you this morning?" he asked. "You didn't wake me to say goodbye."

"I didn't have the heart. You looked dead to the world. But you know, you had this really pained look on your face, so I almost thought I should."

He picked up a magazine from the floor next to the couch and began to leaf through it mindlessly. "It didn't feel like I got any sleep at all."

"This thing with Earl's really getting to you, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I guess." He tossed the magazine aside. "Today he asked me if I wanted to run. He said he'd already told some reporters that he wanted me to."

Claire turned, her eyes wide and smiling. "Really? Wow, that's good, isn't it?" She stopped sorting the tapes and scooted closer to him.

"Yeah, in a perfect world."

"Why do you say that? I thought you said you were thinking about it."

"Well, I was. I am, I guess, or I'd like to." Was he? Or was he just covering, still, from last night? "I'd love the job, but I'd never get elected. Not in the current climate. With Barnard all over the news, they'll want someone who's willing to go for death."

He stood and went into the kitchen. Claire called after him, "If you want the job, just give it your best shot. Just be you and let the voters decide."

He laughed as he poured himself a glass of water at the sink. She wasn't that naïve. "Yeah, let's see," he said, walking back. "When they count the votes, there'd be mine, yours and maybe Earl's."
And Jenny's
.
 

She laughed, too. "Oh, Jack, you're exaggerating just a bit, don't you think? There are as many people who agree with you as disagree with you."

"Maybe," he said. "But it's the ones who disagree with me who will get out the vote this year."

She kept silent to acknowledge that maybe he had a point.

"Where is everyone?" he asked. "It's so quiet."

"Jamie's upstairs in his room playing. Michael's off rollerblading somewhere. He knows to be back by seven for dinner."

Jack lay on the couch, using his feet to kick his briefcase onto the floor. "What's with the retro music?" he asked, singing along under his breath to "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic." It was unlike Claire to be nostalgic.

"Don't you know what these are?" Claire grabbed a handful of the cassette off the carpet and held them up. "They're the tapes you made for me. Don't you remember doing that? When we first started dating."
 

"Yeah," he conceded quietly. He did remember making those tapes. He remembered sitting in his apartment, in front of the dual cassette players—one to play and one to record—and trying to choose just the right mix of songs for her. She probably didn't realize it, but he'd tried to give each tape its own theme, or sometimes he put the songs in a certain order to tell a story. He'd merely labeled them "Party Music" or "Soft Rock," so as not to reveal too much to her. He remembered recording this very song, this tape, for their first picnic in Forest Park. He'd wanted to subtly convey his attraction to her.
So much for subtlety
, he thought, embarrassed now by his youthful intentions.
 

"Of all the things you've ever given me, I've cherished these tapes the most," she said.

He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. "Really? Why?"

Claire moved closer to the couch and sat on the floor just in front of his face. "Jack, you've always been such an eloquent speaker, for the right audience. I remember you in mock trial, how you sounded like you'd been speaking to a jury all your life. Even in class, I remember Professor Buckley calling on you, and you were so cocky when you debated with him, the only one in class he didn't scare the shit out of that first year. But when it came to me, you just lost it. Try as you might, you couldn't say what you wanted to. So these tapes are like old love letters to me."

Okay, so she had realized
. He caressed the back of her head and kissed her.
 

"Hmm," she mumbled from her throat. She pulled away and scrambled up to the couch, stretching out on top of him. She loosened his tie and started to unbutton his shirt.