Matthew wandered into the kitchen, taking his time, savoring each moment. He lingered in the hall and ran his hand over the molding and along the wall. Somewhere on the second floor the shower started.
Matthew strained to hear, imagining Abbie with the water cascading down her body. He was suddenly terrified by the possibility, no matter how fanciful, no matter how remote, of intimacy with a woman like Abigail Griffen.
After starting the coffee, Matthew sat at the kitchen table waiting for Abbie to come downstairs. She had asked him to stay with her. Would she have asked anyone to stay with her, just to have someone with her after her ordeal in the county jail? Was he special to Abbie in any way or was he simply an object she was using to ward off loneliness, like a television kept on through the night for the comfort of the sound?
The shower stopped. The silence was like an alarm. Matthew was as nervous as a schoolboy. He stood up and rummaged through the kitchen drawers and cupboards for silverware, cups and plates. When he was almost done setting the table, he heard Abbie in the doorway of the kitchen. Matthew turned. Her hair was still damp, falling straight to her shoulders. Her face was fresh-scrubbed. She wore no makeup, but she looked like a different person from the woman he had visited in the jail. There was no sign of despair or exhaustion. She glowed with hope.
The phone rang. They froze. Abbie looked at the bracelet on her wrist and the glow vanished. The phone rang a second time and she crossed to it slowly, her arm hanging down as if the bracelet was a great weight.
Abbie raised the receiver on the third ring. She listened for a moment, then in a lifeless voice said, "This is Abigail Griffen. The time is eight forty-five."
She put down the receiver and inserted the tapered metal strip that was attached to the bracelet into the slot in the box.
The effort to answer the phone and complete this simple task exhausted her. When she turned around, the face Matthew saw was the face he had seen in the visiting room. He felt helpless in the presence of such grief.
Chapter SIXTEEN
"You are not going to believe who the mystery witness is," Barry Frame said as he dropped the police reports in Abbie's case on Matthew Reynolds's desk.
"Tell me," Matthew said, looking at Frame expectantly.
"I should make you guess, but you'd never get it." Frame flopped into a chair. "So I'll give you three choices: Darth Vader, Son of Sam or Charlie Deems."
Matthew's mouth gaped open. Frame couldn't hold back a grin.
"Is this good news or what?" he asked Reynolds. "Geddes is basing his case on the word of a drug-dealing psychopath who murders nine-year-old girls."
Matthew did not look happy.
"What's the matter, boss?"
"Have you read all the discovery?" Reynolds asked, pointing toward the thick stack of police reports.
"I barely had time to pick it up from the DA's office and make your copy. But I did read the report of Jack Stamm's interview with Deems.
That was also a piece of luck. If Geddes had been the first one at him, he'd never have written a report."
"Something is wrong, Barry. Geddes would never base a case on the testimony of Charlie Deems unless he could corroborate it. I want you and Tracy to go over the reports. I'll do the same."
"Tonight?" Barry asked, knowing that his plans for the evening had just set with the sun. Reynolds ignored him.
"I want a list of our problem areas and areas where the prosecution is soft. I want your ideas on what we should do. It scares me to death that Geddes is confident enough to base his case on the testimony of Charlie Deems."
Abbie was wearing tan shorts and a navy-blue tee shirt when she answered the door. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her legs and arms were tanned and she looked rested. When she saw Matthew her face lit up and he could not help smiling back.
Matthew was wearing his undertaker's uniform and Tracy looked businesslike in a gray linen dress, but Barry Frame was casually dressed in a denim work shirt and a pair of chinos.
Abbie ignored Barry and Tracy and took Matthew's arm.
"Let's sit outside," she said, leading Reynolds onto the patio.
A tall pitcher of iced tea and a bowl of fruit were standing on a low glass table next to Abbie's copies of the police reports. Matthew waited until Tracy and Abbie were seated, then he took a chair and placed his copies of the discovery on his lap. Barry took out a pad and pen. Tracy leaned back and listened.
"You've read everything?" Matthew asked.
Abbie nodded.
"What do you think?"
"The whole case is preposterous. The things Deems says, they're simply not true."
"Okay, let's start with Deems's story. What's not true?"
"All of it. He says I asked him to come to the beach house the day of the attack and offered to pay him to kill Robert. That never happened.
I haven't seen Deems since his trial and I've never spoken to him, except in court."
"What about the dynamite?"
Abbie looked concerned. "Robert did buy dynamite to clear some stumps on the property."
"How would Deems know about the dynamite if you didn't tell him?" Barry asked.
"Robert kept the dynamite in a toolshed. Maybe Deems cased the cabin when he was planning the attack and saw the dynamite in the shed."
"Was there dynamite in the shed on the day of the attack?"
Matthew asked. "Is it possible that Justice Griffen used all of it when he blew up the stumps?"
"I don't know. Robert told me he cleared the stumps, but he didn't say if he used all the dynamite."
"Do you remember looking in the shed, the day of the attack?" Matthew asked.
"No. The shed's in back of the cabin. I wasn't in the back that much.
Mostly I was on the beach or the front porch or in the house."
"Have you gone to the coast since the attack?" Barry asked.
"No. I don't think Robert was there either. The court heard arguments in Salem that week."
"Barry, make a note to go out to the cabin. We can check the shed,"
Matthew said. Then he asked Abbie, "Can you think of a way we can show Deems is lying?"
"No. It's just his word against mine, but his word shouldn't carry much weight. My God, he's the worst scum. I can't imagine why even someone like Geddes would give credit to anything he said."
"But he did," Matthew said. "And Jack Stature thought there was enough to it to call in the AG's office. Why, Abbie? What evidence do they have that corroborates Deems's story?"
Abbie shook her head. "I've been over and over the reports. I don't get it."
Tracy felt nervous about interrupting, but an idea occurred to her.
"Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds," She said, "but I know where we might be able to get evidence to show that Charlie Deems is a liar. Deems received a death sentence when Mrs. Griffen prosecuted him. To get a death sentence from the jury, she had to prove he would be dangerous in the future . . ."
"Of course," Abbie said to Reynolds. "How stupid of me."
Matthew beamed. "Good thinking, Tracy."
Abbie studied Tracy, as if noticing her for the first time.
"Who handled Deems's appeal?" Reynolds asked Abbie.
"Bob Packard."
"Tracy," Reynolds said, "call Packard. He may have the transcripts of Deems's trial. It could be a gold mine of information about Deems's background."
It was warm on the patio. While Tracy made a note to contact Packard, Matthew took a sip of iced tea. When Tracy looked up, she noticed the interplay between her boss and his client. From the moment he entered the house, Matthew rarely took his eyes off Griffen, and Abbie's attention was totally focused on him.
Even when Tracy or Barry was asking a question, Abbie directed her answers to Matthew.
"How did you meet Justice Griffen?" Reynolds asked.
"I was prosecuting a sex-abuse case involving a minor victim.
The defendant was from a wealthy family and they talked the victim's family into settling the case out of court for a lot of money. Robert represented the victim in the Civil matter. We consulted about the case. He asked me out. The relationship became serious about the time the governor appointed Robert to the Supreme Court."
"That's about five years ago?"
"Yes."
"Was it a bad marriage from the start?"
"No," she answered quietly, shifting uneasily in her chair and casting a brief look at Tracy. Tracy could see that the question made Abbie uncomfortable and she wondered if their client would have felt less self-conscious if there were no other women present.
"At first the marriage was good," Abbie continued. "At least I thought it was. With hindsight, I can't really be sure."
"What went wrong?"
"I guess you could say that our relationship was like the relationship Robert had with his clients," Abbie said bitterly. "He romanced me.
Robert knew the right things to say, he could choose wines and discuss Monet and Mozart. He was also a wonderful lover." Matthew colored. "By the time I realized it was all bullshit, it was too late. I'm certain he talked about me to his other women, the way he talked about his clients to me."
"Justice Griffen was cheating on you?" Barry asked.
Abbie laughed harshly. "You could say that. I don't know their names, but I'm pretty sure there were more than one."
"How do you know he was cheating?"
"He slipped up. One time I overheard the end of a conversation on an extension and confronted him. He denied everything, of course, but I knew he was lying. Another time, a friend said she'd seen Robert with a woman at a hotel in Portland on a day he was supposed to be in Salem.
That time, he admitted he'd been with someone, but he wouldn't tell me who. He promised he would stop. I told him I would leave him if it ever happened again."
"And it did?"
"Yes. On May third. A woman called me at work and told me Robert was meeting someone at the Overlook Motel. It's a dive about twenty-three miles south on I-5, roughly halfway between Salem and Portland. The caller didn't identify herself and I never learned who she was. I drove down immediately hoping to catch Robert in the act, but the woman was gone by the time I got there. Robert was getting dressed. It wasn't a pleasant scene. I moved out the next day."
"Check out the Overlook," Matthew told Barry. "Get their register and see if you can find out the identity of the woman."
Frame made a note on his pad.
"Abbie," Matthew asked, "who do you think killed Justice Griffen?"
"Charlie Deems. It has to be. This is his revenge on me for sending him to prison. I'm more certain than ever that he's the man who tried to kill me at the cabin. And he may have tried to break into my house in Portland."
"Tell us about that," Barry said.
Abbie told them about the man she had frightened away on the evening Tony Rose accosted her.
"Did you report the burglary attempt?" Frame asked.
"No. I thought it would be a waste of time. He didn't take anything and I couldn't identify the man."
"Barry," Reynolds said, "we have to find Deems."
"There's no address for him in the discovery, Matt."
Reynolds's brow furrowed. "The discovery statutes require the state to give us the address of all witnesses they're going to call."
"I know, but it's not there."
Reynolds thought for a moment. Then he said, "Don't ask Geddes for it.
Get it from Neil Christenson. He's working out of the Multnomah County DA's office."
"Gotcha," Barry said, writing himself another note.
Matthew turned his attention back to Abbie.
"If Deems didn't kill Justice Griffen, who did? Do you have any other ideas?"
"No. Unless it was a woman. Someone he seduced then threw over. But I'm just guessing. If it's not Deems, I don't know who it could be."
Matthew reviewed his notes, then said, "There doesn't seem much more to discuss about the discovery material. Do you have any more questions, Barry? Tracy?" They shook their heads.
"Why don't you take Tracy back to the office," Matthew told Barry. "Set up an appointment to view the physical evidence and get Deems's address.
I have a few more things I want to discuss with Mrs. Griffen." okay, Barry said. "We'll find our way out.
"Thanks for the iced tea," Tracy said. Abbie flashed her a perfunctory smile.
"What did you want to ask me?" Abbie said when Barry and Tracy were out of earshot.
"Nothing about the case. Are the security guards working out?"
"I guess so. One reporter made it through the woods, but they got him before he could get to me."
"Good. How are you holding up?"
"I'm doing okay, but I get depressed if I drop my guard. When I get blue, I remind myself how much nicer this place is than my cell at the Justice Center." Abbie held up her wrist, so Matthew could see the bracelet. "I'm even getting used to this."
"Do you have friends who can visit?"
"I'm not the kind of woman who makes friends, Matt. I've always been a loner. I guess the closest I've come to a friendship is with some of the other prosecutors, like Jack or Dennis Haggard, but they can't visit me now that I'm under indictment."
"But you must have friends outside of work?"
"I met a lot of people when I was married, but they were Robert's friends."
Abbie made a halfhearted attempt to smile and shrugged.
"My work was my life until I met Robert. Now I'm pretty much on my own."
"Abbie, I understand how it is to be alone. All of my clients know they can call me at any time. I'm here for them and I'm here for you."
"I know, Matt," Abbie said softly, "and I appreciate that."
"Please, don't give up hope. Promise me you'll call anytime you feel all this getting the best of you. Anytime you need someone to talk to."
"I will. I promise."
Barry turned his Jeep Cherokee onto Macadam Boulevard and headed toward downtown Portland. The road ran along the river and they had occasional glimpses of pleasure boats cruising the Willamette. Barry envied the weekday sailors and watched them longingly, but Tracy seemed oblivious to the scenery.