36

 

 

Marie Brassart stared at me with her deep, soulful eyes. After a moment, recognition registered in her expression, but even then, she didn’t move aside to invite me inside.

“Now…isn’t a good time,” she finally said, haltingly.

“I get that,” I assured her. “But the thing is, with everything that’s going on, I don’t think there’s ever going to be a good time.”

She didn’t answer right away, only watched me carefully, as if weighing my intent. I stood easily, letting her look all she wanted. My purpose was clear, and if she had any strength of perception at all, she’d pick up on that. Besides, I was poor but clean.

Eventually, she stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind her. “We can talk here,” she said, motioning to a pair of wicker chairs a few feet away.

I resisted the urge to give her a knowing smile. Instead, I didn’t let on that I knew she was hiding Walter inside and merely followed her to the chairs. We sat. She pulled her legs up and curled them underneath. “It was Steve, wasn’t it?”

“Stef.”

“Why are you here, Stef?”

“The same reason I came to see you at jail. I’m trying to help you.”

She watched me while I spoke, reminding me again of a deer in the middle of a field, head cocked, gauging the danger. “How are you trying to do that?” she asked.

“You want Joel Harrity to represent you?”

“Of course.”

“He’s asked for my recommendation on whether to take the case.”

She furrowed her brow slightly. “He asked for your recommendation? Who are you, exactly?”

“Someone whose judgment he trusts,” I said.

Her questioning gaze didn’t change, but she didn’t pursue the line of inquiry any further. Instead, she asked, “What do you intend to tell him?”

“That depends on this conversation,” I said.

“So this is a test, then?”

I shook my head. “Not really. At least, not of anything other than your honesty.”

She held up her hands in an open gesture. “I have been very honest with you. There are just some things that my lawyer has advised me not to—”

“Taking advice from a lawyer you’re trying to fire?” I frowned. “That doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“Perhaps not. But it only has to make sense to me.”

“True enough,” I admitted. “You know something else that doesn’t make sense? Why don’t you just hire the second best defense attorney in the city? You can afford it.”

She shook her head. “The second best? There isn’t one. Everyone knows Joel Harrity is on a level all his own. Hiring him is my only option.”

“Only it isn’t. You could go with someone else, or reach out to Seattle for a hired gun, if money isn’t an option.”

“I have my reasons, even if you don’t think they make sense.”

“Fair enough, but I’ll go you one better. This entire case hasn’t made much sense to me from the beginning. Everything about it has bothered me. The ethical lawyer’s games, the artificial restrictions on information flow, all of it. At least, until last night, when I realized something.”

“What did you realize?”

“That I don’t have to solve this case. At least, not in the sense that the cops do. My mission is simple. To tell Joel Harrity whether or not I think he should take your case. That’s it. And to do that, I don’t have to build probable cause, or lock in witness testimony or skulk around doing surveillance. I can just come here, and talk to you.”

She didn’t react. Instead, she just waited for me to continue, so I forged ahead.

“It’s as simple as this, Mrs. Brassart: will you answer my questions, or not?”

Her reply took a few seconds. “Meaning that if I don’t, you’ll recommend he not take on my case?”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

“That’s not fair.”

That made me smile. “My grandmother used to sing me a little song about that. It was in Czech, but she taught me the translation. I never forgot it.”

She just looked at me, waiting.

“It goes like this,” I said. “What is life? Life is a book. How much does it cost? A quarter. But I have only a nickel.” I waited a beat, then added with a shrug, “That’s life.”

“How depressing.”

“I think it’s more ironic than anything, but I guess it was her way of trying to teach me an important lesson. Life isn’t fair.” I gave her a meaningful look. “If you want Harrity to represent you, then you’re going to have to trust him. And me.”

She shifted in her seat, looking away. “It’s…difficult.” She looked back at me. “Trusting people.”

I nodded in agreement. “But sometimes you have to.”

“Perhaps.”

I leaned forward. “Look at it from this side. There are only two reasons I can see for not sharing all of the case files and discovery information with Harrity before letting him decide whether to take your case.”

“Which are?”

“Number one,” I said, holding out my index finger, “is that you killed your husband, or had him killed.”

She blinked but said nothing.

“And number two,” I added my second finger to the equation, “is that you didn’t, but you think the evidence will make it look like you did.”

She blinked again, but still didn’t reply.

“If it’s number one,” I said, “then you should just withdraw your request, because Harrity will never represent you. But if it’s the second reason? Well, then you have to trust that he’ll see through that, and still choose to represent you.”

She remained silent for about thirty seconds. Her eyes were on me, but I could almost see the gears turning behind them. I leaned back and rested my hands on the arms of the wicker chair, and waited.

Finally, she said, “The evidence seems bad.”

“I read the affidavit,” I said. “I know.”

“There’s more than just that. But that doesn’t matter, because I didn’t kill Henry. I didn’t love him anymore, but I didn’t kill him.”

“So why the cloak and dagger routine? Why not just come clean with Harrity and take your chances?”

She shifted in her seat again, moving her folded legs to the other side. “I…had secrets. Questions I didn’t want to answer.”

“Questions like who is inside the house right now?”

Panic flashed across her face. “What?”

I shook my head. “Don’t start bullshitting me now. I saw the Mercedes in the garage. I know who it belongs to.”

“I…” she trailed off, uncertain.

“Why don’t we get all of our cards out on the table,” I suggested.

I stood up and headed for the front door.

Her reaction was delayed, but before I reached the door, she scrambled from her chair. “No!”

I stopped at the front door and looked back at her. She moved toward me frantically, her arms extended. In that moment, I realized that I still wasn’t sure if I believed her or not. Despite the oddities in the case, and my own doubts, I couldn’t say for sure if she killed her husband, or hired the man inside the house to do it.

And I had to know.

“We’re going inside,” I told her bluntly. “We’re going to talk to your neighbor, and figure this thing out.”

“No! We’re not.”

“Yes,” I said calmly, “we are.”

I reached for the knob, turned it and pushed the door open.

Marie Brassart slid in front of me, still holding out her hands. “Please,” she whispered. “No. None of this matters. I didn’t kill him. That’s all that matters.”

“Everything matters,” I said. The words registered a faint echo, but I didn’t have time to listen to it. “Now, are you going to invite me in, or not?”

She stood there, her hands trembling, her eyes filled with panic and beseeching me. I put up a wall and simply stared at her, unyielding. I didn’t want to force my way past her. Technically, that’d be trespassing at the least, and burglary at the worst. Either one wasn’t a great idea when a cluster of cops was hanging out sixty yards away in the woods, watching.

I didn’t say a word. I knew whoever spoke next, lost. I met her gaze, and I waited.

It only took a minute before resignation replaced panic. She dropped her eyes, and stood aside.

I went inside, and she followed, closing the door behind her. I strode into the living room, projecting confidence. All the while, I wished again that I’d brought along my gun. Walter Garrison hadn’t exactly looked like a convict or a pro wrestler, but that didn’t mean he might not be a handful. Yesterday’s fracas in the alley was fresh in my mind, and my aching knee and shoulder chipped away at the confidence I felt.

“Come on out,” I said in loud, commanding tone. “We need to talk.”

I braced myself for what might happened next. I imagined Walter Garrison sprinting out of the bedroom like a linebacker and slamming into me. Or maybe coming through the door with a gun in his hand. For all I knew, he’d been the one to run down Henry Brassart, and that made him dangerous.

Marie Brassart stopped next to me. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “You can come out.”

Be prepared for anything, I said to myself.

Even so, I was shocked when a blonde woman appeared in the bedroom doorway, and walked toward us.