For The Defense

“The panties were there?”

“Red lace bikini,” Diana confirmed. “Part of the physical evidence in the prosecution’s case.”

“And the owner?”

“Tina Uttley, an employee at the real estate firm Bruce owned with his father and brother, identified them as hers. She’s also admitted to having an affair with Bruce at the time he was romancing Connie.”

“Did Bruce’s family know he’d proposed to Connie?” Jack asked.

“They said nothing about knowing in their statements to the sheriff’s office.”

Jack put down his knife and fork, pushed his empty plate aside. “Connie would have said something about Bruce seeing another woman if she’d known.”

“I’m certain you’re right,” Diana said. “But Staker’s going to claim that she realized the significance of the panties and that jealousy was her motive for killing Bruce.”

“Even though the nephew never mentioned that Connie even looked into the car?”

“All Staker has to do is put Connie in the vicinity and make the idea she saw the panties sound plausible. Without any other explanation for her running out of the garage, he’ll count on his suggestion to be taken as fact by the jury.”

Jack shook his head. “Connecting the dots so the picture of a lamb turns out to look like that of a lion.”

“Pretty scary how well Staker is able to connect those dots, too.”

When the waiter arrived to remove their empty dishes, Diana ordered iced tea refills as an excuse to keep squatter’s rights on their table. “A trial is basically the telling of two conflicting stories,” she said after the waiter had gone. “The story that seems to be the clearest and most believable to the jury given the supporting evidence will be the one they accept. I have to make Connie’s story the one the jury will believe.”

“How can I help?”

She liked the way he’d phrased that. Not, what is my job? Not, what do you want me to do? But, how can I help?

With every passing minute, Diana became more convinced that Jack really wanted to help.

“First,” she said, “you’re going to have to put Bruce Weaton in that car at the scene of Amy’s hit-and-run five years ago, establish an unbreakable link between him and the locket Connie found hidden in his garage, have every piece of physical evidence analyzed and authenticated by an outside forensic lab and do it without Staker knowing.”

“Oh, is that all,” Jack said, with good-natured sarcasm.

“No, that’s only step one of three.”

The waiter refilled their glasses, and Jack squeezed a slice of lemon over his iced tea. “Why an outside forensic lab?”

“One of our strongest weapons will be surprise. Staker and Sheriff Riker have been buddies since high school. What Sheriff Riker knows, Staker knows. We have to maintain complete secrecy about Connie’s story until she takes the stand.”

“So Staker can’t try to twist the facts the way he did in your other case.”

“And nearly every other case he’s prosecuted. I’ve watched him at several major trials. His strength lies in knowing exactly what to expect from the defense and putting his own spin on the facts. He can’t deal with surprises, which is why he mustn’t know that Connie is going to testify, much less what she’s going to say.”

“If you don’t present the evidence of Bruce’s involvement in the hit-and-run until after Connie has testified,” Jack said, “what will you say in the opening statement?”

“I’m not giving an opening statement. Judge Gimbrere’s a firm believer that a jury should base their decision on the evidence, not on a lawyer’s interpretation of that evidence, which is what he considers both opening and closing statements by trial attorneys to be. He’d restricted us to one statement to the jury. Staker chose an opening statement. I opted for a closing.”

“Staker will run the show at the onset of the trial,” Jack said. “Won’t overcoming the jury’s early conclusions be difficult?”

“Very,” Diana agreed. “The judge will caution the jury not to form an opinion until all the evidence is in, but many will do so anyway. The people who have investigated the psychology of juries say that members place the most weight on what they hear first and last. By the time I’m through, I’m going to shift that weight to Connie’s side.”

Despite the confidence Diana put into her words, she knew that her chances were slim. She had an incredibly complex case and was up against the most ruthless and feared prosecutor in the county. And she hadn’t even told Jack the most difficult part yet.

“Has Connie given you a description of the car that hit Amy?”

“Not a very good one,” Diana admitted. “She doesn’t know much about cars and everything happened so quickly. All she could remember was that the headlights were round and close together. There was a vertical grill on the front and the fenders were high above the tires.”

“Color?”

“Just an impression of gray as it sped toward the porch.”

“Age?”

“I showed her a book of old cars. She didn’t recognize any.”

“Maybe we’re talking about a classic or sports car as opposed to an old one.”

“Quite possibly,” Diana agreed. “The fact that Connie found Amy’s locket in Bruce’s garage tells me he parked the car there after killing her child. At some point the locket must have fallen off the car and ended up unnoticed in the corner. What we have to do is get a crime scene unit to scour the place for more forensic evidence without Staker knowing.”

“Who owns the property now?”

“According to the county assessor’s office, Donald and Joyce Epstein, formerly of Plainfield, New Jersey. The sale included all personal items—furniture, appliances, dishes, flatware, even towels.”

“Which implies that the Weaton family didn’t remove much, if anything, before putting the property on the market.”

“That’s the way I read it,” Diana agreed.

“When did escrow close?”

“Last week. I drove by the place yesterday. No one has moved in yet. If the Weatons or Epsteins haven’t cleaned out the garage, there might be some evidence left.”

Jack repositioned the Rolex on his wrist. “Being able to tie Bruce to Amy’s hit-and-run will blow Staker’s supposed jealousy motive right out of the water.”

“Yes, and that’s important. The jury needs to understand that Connie is not the kind of woman who would fly into a jealous rage. If she had discovered Bruce cheated on her, quietly fading away would have been far more in character for her.”

“Speaking of character, the villain I played in Seattle was brought to trial on a first-degree murder charge. As I remember, there was a scene where my attorney had to disclose to the prosecutor who he was going to call as witnesses.”

“The writers on your series did their homework,” Diana said. “I do have to give Staker a list of potential defense witnesses.”

“Then how are you going to keep him from knowing who you’re going to call to the stand?”

“My initial witness list will have close to sixty names—few of whom I actually plan to call on to testify. Each week I’ll add more names.”

“How does that help?”

“All those extra names will camouflage who I’m really going to have testify. Staker won’t have a chance to check out all the witnesses. Knowing him, he probably won’t bother to check out any since he thinks he’s got an airtight case.”

“If he sees the names of private forensic lab personnel, he’s bound to know that something is up,” Jack pointed out.

Diana liked the questions Jack was asking. They told her he had a good mind and was thinking carefully about the case. Despite his lack of experience, he was hitting on some key points.

“I’ll be requesting that a lot of the physical evidence evaluated by the sheriff’s department be reevaluated at an outside lab,” she said. “When I put the names of the lab personnel on my list, Staker will assume they’re a smoke screen. Chances are he won’t bother deposing them.”

“Give him a forest so he won’t see the trees,” Jack said with a smile. “I’ve always liked clever women.”

Diana shortened the smile she gave him, reminding herself that liking Jack too much wasn’t a good idea.

“Once Connie takes the stand and tells the jury what happened, we’ll go right to the proof that Bruce killed her child,” she said.

“And effectively turn the tables on Staker by putting Bruce Weaton on trial instead of Connie.”

“Which is going to bring some immediate questions to the minds of the jurors.”

“Such as why Bruce pursued Connie after he’d gotten away with the hit-and-run murder of her child?”

No doubt about it, Jack was very quick.

“Yes,” Diana confirmed. “Step two of getting Connie acquitted will be answering that important question as well as others. Even when the law doesn’t require motives to be established, juries always look for them. Wanting things to make sense is part of what makes us human.”

Jack nodded. “Why we do something is often as important as what we do.”

She placed her forearms on the table, aware she couldn’t have put it better. “And, for the life of me, I can’t imagine what possessed Bruce to do what he did. He was responsible for the death of Connie’s child and had successfully hidden his crime. Why would he pursue her? I would think she’d be the last woman he’d want to be around, if he had any conscience.”

“Maybe that was the problem,” Jack said. “He didn’t have a conscience. Or he got some sick thrill out of getting the mother of the child he’d murdered to fall in love with him.”

That thought gave Diana the chills.

Jack counted off on his fingers. “First, you want me to prove Bruce killed Amy. Second, you want me to find out about Bruce so the jury understands what drove him to pursue Connie.”

“Yes,” Diana answered. She could feel his next question coming. She’d been waiting for it.

“That’s two things. You said there were three. What’s the third?”

“The third thing could be the toughest,” she admitted. “I have to be sure to seat a jury who will listen to Connie, understand the shock she was in and believe her when she says that she was only trying to get away from Bruce that day. Because even if we prove to the jury that Bruce killed her child, and help them to understand his motive in pursuing Connie, and they sympathize with the awful shock she must have felt when she learned what he did, they can still convict her of murder if they believe she deliberately tried to kill him.”

Jack was quiet a moment. Diana had no clue as to where he might be looking or what he might be thinking. She was beginning to resent those sunglasses that reflected back her own image and nothing of the man wearing them.

“How are you going to seat a jury made up of people with open minds and the ability to recognize the truth when they hear it?” he finally asked.

“By your investigating the hundred and fifty people whose names have been selected as prospective jurors so we can weed out the ones who won’t while identifying the ones who will.”

“A hundred and fifty prospective jurors?” he repeated, his voice rising a full octave from its deep bases.

“The original jury pool was close to seven hundred,” she added. “The others were dropped after a preliminary questionnaire established they had either heard or read about the case, had hardship circumstances that prevented them from serving, or were relatives or friends of law enforcement or others connected with the case.”

“How long did that take?”

“Two months. Judge Gimbrere told Staker and me in a pretrial conference last week that we had to select our jury from this panel. He was adamant that he would not call up any others.”

“How long do I have to investigate these people?”

“Formal jury selection starts in six weeks. We have to gather every piece of information we can about these people by then in order to know which twelve we want sitting in the jury box.”

“You want me to investigate a hundred and fifty people in addition to gathering the evidence to prove Bruce killed Amy and discovering his motive for pursuing Connie, and do it all in six weeks?”

“Yes,” Diana said as if she was making an everyday request. “Everything has to be done before we go to trial.”

Now he knew. The next move was his.

Jack rested casually against the back of his chair, the index finger of his right hand gliding along the rim of his iced tea glass. Whatever he was thinking was well hidden behind his disguise.

As the silence lengthened, the waiting became more difficult for Diana to bear. She looked away from him to stare at the blur of people passing by on the sidewalk below.

Jack had to know that she’d asked him to accomplish the impossible. A team of professional trial consultants would probably be able to give her a thumbnail sketch on a hundred and fifty prospective jurors in the time available. But not even they could provide the kind of in-depth analysis she required in order to know whom she could trust with Connie’s life.

If such an analysis was even possible. Diana had no idea. But she couldn’t ask anything less of Jack. Connie’s life was at stake.

The Court had approved the expense for only one private investigator. Her motion requesting a trial date extension had both led to an immediate grunt of “no” from Judge Gimbrere and an undisguised snicker from Staker.

She was doing what she had to do. And Jack was going to have to do what he had to do. Chances were good he’d be getting up and walking out any minute now.

A part of her wouldn’t blame him. And, yet, she acknowledged that another part of her would be very disappointed.

A few hours ago she’d been hoping he would walk out on this case so she could get someone better qualified. But that was before she’d seen him with Connie. He hadn’t simply gotten her client to talk. He had listened to her story with compassion.

Diana realized now she’d been overlooking a key ingredient to Connie’s successful defense. Jack had the most important qualification a private investigator could have on this case—a firm belief in the client’s innocence.

What was she going to do if he walked out?

Diana started when Jack suddenly downed the contents of his glass, grabbed the check and stood.

Her heart sank. He was getting ready to run.

Jack whipped off his sunglasses and smiled at her in pure, unbridled enthusiasm. “Come on, Diana. We’re wasting time sitting around here. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

JACK COULDN’T BELIEVE what a great case this was.

He had an interesting mystery to solve, some mind-boggling investigative work to do, and he was being given a chance to help a nice woman who was far more of a victim of a crime than a perpetrator. Finally, after enduring nearly a decade of being thrust into villainous roles, Jack had been cast as a hero.

Hot damn. He couldn’t wait to get started.

Of course, Diana had given him an impossible task. But what the hell, that was half the fun. The only thing that gave him pause was the fact that they’d be working very closely together for the next six weeks.

She was an alluring combination—strong, smart and sexy. He also liked the fact that she was genuinely committed to helping her client, instead of taking the easy way out as that slimeball Earl Payman had done.

Hard-core morality in a woman turned Jack on big-time.

But his decision not to get involved with women who had children had been based on painful practical experience and important soul-searching. He knew who he was and what he wanted out of life.

Which meant that his relationship with Diana had to remain strictly business. He could handle it. In the past, he’d worked with a lot of desirable women who were out of bounds for one reason or another. Keeping his hands to himself had never been a problem.

He couldn’t suppress a smile when he remembered the surprised look Diana had given him in the restaurant when he’d accepted the case. As he had surmised when they’d met back in her office, she had underestimated him.

In a way, he was glad. There was something so poised about her that being able to rock her erroneous assumptions was irresistible.

He’d agreed to meet with her the next morning to get a copy of the sheriff’s report on Bruce Weaton’s death and a picture of the deceased, discuss strategy on his investigation and to pick up the list of the prospective jurors. Now he had to see about getting whatever evidence might exist in Bruce’s garage into the right hands.

After having listened to Diana’s description of George Staker, Jack knew that if he gathered the evidence against Bruce, Staker would do everything he could to make the jury question the validity of both Jack’s abilities and the evidence. The fact that Jack had once been an actor would be something Staker would no doubt use against him as well.

But if a sheriff’s detective got the evidence, Staker couldn’t challenge the findings because he’d be challenging his own source pool.

Diana had agreed with Jack’s assessment of Staker. But she’d initially balked at what Jack had planned to do to foil Staker. Convincing her had taken some effort.

Jared, Jack’s twin, was a detective in the sheriff’s department. Jared had no respect for the elected sheriff, Bernard Riker, whom he considered a politician, not a lawman.

Jack knew that if he gave his twin a lead in Amy’s hit-and-run, Jared would track down the truth, no matter where it led.

Jared was his own man. He’d started out as an FBI agent—as their dad had—but chucked the rigidity of the Bureau for the comparative freedom of Silver Valley County where it was a little easier to apply common sense to law enforcement.

Jack’s older brothers, Richard and David, often exchanged information with Jared on a quid pro quo basis when they worked on cases. That sharing had helped Jared make more collars in three years than most other deputies did in a decade on the job.

When he helped his brothers at the family’s private investigation firm, Jared insisted on only two things. First, they were to be discreet about his “cooperation.” And, second, if he ever had to testify in court about what he’d been asked to do, he had to be able to tell the truth.

He would go out on a limb for family or in the hot pursuit of justice. But he wasn’t going to lie under oath for anybody, not even to get himself or a family member off the hook.

Jack was well aware that the confidentiality agreement he’d signed prohibited him from sharing the particulars about Connie’s case with anyone not involved in her defense. Ethically, he had no problem telling Jared, since Jack was convinced his brother had to be the one to gather whatever evidence there might be in Bruce’s garage. To Jack’s mind that made his twin a part of the defense team.

Still, to get his brother’s help, Jack had to let him know what had to be done in a way that wouldn’t get either of them into ethical or legal trouble. This called for some careful staging.

Jack pulled into the parking lot at Costco, heading directly for the pay phone. This was not a call he wanted anyone to be able to trace to him.

Looking around to make sure no one was within hearing, he dropped some change into the slot and dialed his brother’s office. Jared answered with his name.

“Hi, I’m a concerned citizen making an anonymous call,” Jack said. “I have some important information about an unsolved crime.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. He hadn’t disguised his voice because he wanted Jared to know who was making the call so that his brother would take what he had to say seriously.

But he had purposely stated the fact that this was to be from an anonymous source so if Jared ever had to explain how he got the tip, he could truthfully say that a “concerned citizen” had called anonymously.

“All right, Mr. Concerned Citizen, I have a pad and pen handy to take down the information you wish to pass me anonymously,” Jared said.

“About five years ago, a four-year-old girl by the name of Amy Pearce was killed in a hit-and-run,” Jack said. “An old car jumped the curb and struck the girl while she was playing on her porch. The driver was never identified. You might find forensic evidence of that old car in the garage once owned by Bruce Weaton.”

“Would that be the same Bruce Weaton who was killed last year?” Jared asked.

“Yes.”

“The same Bruce Weaton that Connie Pearce has been accused of killing?”

Jared had put the pieces together fast. Jack expected nothing less.

“A couple by the name of Donald and Joyce Epstein have recently bought the Weaton property, fully furnished,” he said. “If they haven’t cleaned out the garage, the evidence could still be there. Connie Pearce was holding a locket on the day she was arrested. That locket and its chain are most likely a part of her personal property being kept at the jail. They, too, could contain important evidence.”

“I’m confused as to why you haven’t come into the sheriff’s office to tell us this in person, Mr. Concerned Citizen,” Jared said after a moment.

Jack took pains to word his answer carefully.

“If you decide to reopen this investigation and discover that Bruce Weaton was behind the wheel of the car that killed Amy Pearce, this concerned citizen hopes you will not compromise the defense of Connie Pearce by informing the prosecution of those facts.”

“Who do you suggest I inform?”

“The attorney for the defense. If anyone else learns of this connection before she has an opportunity to present the evidence to the jury, her client’s right to a fair trial could be compromised.”

There was another significant pause on the other end of the line. Jack knew that he’d told his brother he was working for Diana. He had intended to. Jared now knew why he had to contact him anonymously and also whom he could trust.

“Is there anything else you wish to tell me?” Jared asked.

“I advise caution. The sheriff and prosecutor are buddies. Bruce Weaton’s mother is well connected. Watch your back. I wouldn’t want you to find yourself in a compromising position while trying to clear up an unsolved homicide.”

Jack hung up the phone, satisfied that Jared would get hold of Amy’s locket and arrange for a team of investigators to scour the garage that had once belonged to Bruce Weaton. If any evidence remained, he’d find a way to let Jack know.

Step one was in motion.

Now on to step two. Jack was going to have to dig up everything he could on Bruce. He knew where to start looking, but he had no idea what he’d find. Not even his fictional character had sunk to the depths Bruce had.

What kind of a man would pursue a woman whose child he’d killed?

“YOU STILL HAVEN’T TOLD ME how dinner with Arnie went last Saturday,” Diana’s mother said as she ran some hot water over a sponge in the kitchen sink.

Diana stacked the dishwasher with their dinner plates. “That’s because my mother always told me if I couldn’t say something nice about someone that I should hesitate to say anything at all.”

Margaret Gilman switched off the faucet as she turned toward her daughter. “That bad?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. When Ray said Arnie was going to start dating again now that his divorce was final, I guess I hoped that maybe the two of you—”

“Your heart was in the right place,” Diana spoke up quickly. “Unfortunately, he refused to keep his hands where they belonged.”

Margaret gave the counter an overzealous wipe with the sponge. “If Arnie made improper advances to you, Ray should be told—”

“—all his efforts to teach his stepson courtesy toward a woman failed? He must know. Why rub his nose in it? Arnie was seventeen when his mother married Ray. No doubt the damage had already been done.”

“You’re right,” Margaret said. “But don’t be surprised if I develop a sudden klutzy streak at the wedding and dump a glassful of ice water onto Arnie’s lap.”

Diana chuckled at the image, although she knew her gentle mother could never bring herself to carry out the threat. “Speaking of the wedding, have you decided where you’re going on your honeymoon?”