For the Defense (5 page)

“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.”

J
ACK 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?

“Y
OU 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?”

Margaret squeezed out the sponge and set it at the edge
of the sink. “Ray suggested we fly to Hawaii, but I don’t know.”

Diana started the dishwasher. The explosion of water and whirling pump had her gesturing for her mom to precede her out onto the porch. She closed the door behind them to shut out the noise.

Margaret eased her trim form onto one of the porch’s white wicker chairs and patted the one beside her.

Diana sat, trying to emulate her mother’s physical grace, all the while knowing she’d fall short. She’d inherited her dad’s big bones and the kind of temperament that
would
dump a glass of ice water on a goon with grabby paws.

She often wished she were more like her mother. Margaret Gilman’s smile lit every line in her face with the joy of life. That smile was like a secret fountain of youth. Men were drawn to the wearer in hopes of being able to share in its secret. No wonder she was still turning heads at fifty-five.

Ray was a lucky guy. One of the nice things about him was that he knew it.

“You don’t want to go to Hawaii?” Diana asked.

“I’d love to go, but Hawaii is the kind of place you fly to when the weather where you are is cold and icy,” Margaret explained. “We wait all year for summer.”

Diana inhaled the sweet fragrance as she looked around at the lovely garden her mother’s time and talent had created over the years. Red, white and pink roses, all in full and glorious bloom, nodded in the muted evening sunlight. Yes, this was a lovely time of year.

“I was thinking maybe we could drive into British Columbia, find a cute little bed-and-breakfast and spend a few weeks there,” Margaret said.

“Some place comfortable and pretty like home, but away from the duties of home,” Diana added.

Margaret gave her a smile. “Sometimes I forget what a smart daughter I raised.”

Diana smiled back. “Glad I’m around to remind you.”

Mel opened the door then, bringing with her the intrusive bumps and grinds of the dishwasher. “I’ve signed off the Internet, Mom. Be ready to go apartment hunting in about ten minutes. That okay for you?”

Diana nodded in her daughter’s direction, and Mel retreated into the kitchen.

“I feel like I’m kicking you out of your home,” Margaret said, distress in her tone.

“Don’t, Mom. It’s time we got our own place. I’ll have the last of my student loans paid off in a couple of months. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t taken us in after Tony took off. Without you there would have been no law school, no—”

“Dear, you’ve thanked me a million times,” Margaret interrupted. “And not a one of them has been necessary. I’ve loved having you and Mel here.”

Diana felt the same tug in her chest that she had first experienced when she finally realized what an incredible mom she had. How blind she’d been as a child—totally idolizing her father and all but ignoring her mother’s crucial role in their lives. Kids were so damn dumb. Well, except for Mel, of course.

Thoughts of her daughter brought Diana to her feet. Time she got back to the business of finding them a place to live. One day she’d get a place out in the country like this. But for now, a city apartment would have to suffice.

“Have you told Mel that your aunt Shirley is going to be living with you?” Margaret called out before Diana had reached the door.

“Not yet,” Diana admitted.

“Coward.”

Diana laughed as she turned around to face her mom.
“We won’t be late. I can’t be. I have an early-morning meeting with a judge on a plea-bargain, and then I have to see the investigator I’ve hired on Connie Pearce’s case.”

“The movie star turned private investigator?”

“I see Mel told you.”

“Some actors don’t look nearly as good in person as they do on the screen,” Margaret said. “What do you think about Jack Knight?”

“I think an engaged lady like yourself shouldn’t be asking about handsome men when you have a first-class fiancé to ogle.”

Margaret grinned. “Ah, so you
do
think he’s handsome.”

Diana rested her free hand on her hip in feigned irritation. “Ever since you’ve gotten engaged you’ve developed this annoying tendency to try to fix me up.”

Her mother’s face was full of mischief. “Is that what I’ve been doing?”

“First with your insurance salesman. Then with Ray’s stepson. Now with this private investigator. What gets into brides-to-be? Can’t you stand seeing us happy single folk content with unwedded bliss?”