The pathetic thing was that after the affairs and the lies, not to mention the divorce settlement, which left Alan Page living in the same type of shabby apartment he had lived in when he was a law student, he still loved Tina. She was what he thought about when he was not thinking about work. Going to a movie did not help, reading a book did not help, even bedding the women with whom his well-meaning friends fixed him up did not help. The women were the worst, because he always found himself comparing and they never stacked up. Alan had not been with a woman in months.
The district attorney’s mood was starting to affect his staff. Last week, Randy Highsmith, his chief deputy, had taken him aside and told him to shape up, but he still found it hard to cope with bachelorhood after twelve years of what he thought was a good marriage. It was the sense of betrayal that overwhelmed him. He had never cheated on Tina or lied to her and he felt that she was the one person he could trust completely. When he found out about her secret life, it was too much. Alan doubted he would ever fully trust anyone again.
Alan pulled into the City garage and parked in the spot reserved for the Multnomah County district attorney, one of the few things Tina hadn’t gotten in the divorce, he mused bitterly. He opened his umbrella and raced across the street to the courthouse. The wind blew the rain under the umbrella and almost wrenched it from his hand. He was drenched by the time he ducked inside the gray stone building.
Alan ran a hand through his damp hair while he waited for the elevator. It was almost eight. Around him, in the lobby, were young lawyers trying to look important, anxious litigants hoping for the best and dreading the worst, and a bored-looking judge or two. Alan was not in the mood for aimless social chatter. When the elevator came, he pushed six and stepped to the rear of the car.
“Chief Tobias wants you to call,” the receptionist told him as soon as he entered the district attorney’s office. “He said it was important.”
Alan thanked her and pushed open the low gate that separated the waiting area from the rest of the offices. His private office was the first on the right along a narrow hall.
“Chief Tobias called,” his secretary said.
“Winona told me.”
“He sounded upset.”
It was hard to imagine what could upset William Tobias. The slender police chief was as unflappable as an accountant. Alan shook out his umbrella and hung up his raincoat, then sat behind his large desk and dialed across the street to police headquarters.
“What’s up?” Alan asked.
“We’ve got another one.”
It took a moment for Alan to figure out what Tobias was talking about.
“Her name is Victoria Miller. Twenty-six. Attractive, blond. Housewife. No kids. The husband is with Brand, Gates and Valcroft, the ad agency.”
“Is there a body?”
“No. She’s just missing, but we know it’s him.”
“The same note?”
“On the bed on the pillow. ‘Gone, But Not Forgotten.’ And there’s another black rose.”
“Was there any sign of a struggle this time?”
“It’s just like the others. She could have disappeared in a puff of smoke.”
Both men were silent for a moment.
“The papers still don’t know?”
“We’re lucky there. Since there aren’t any bodies, we’ve been handling them like missing persons cases. But I don’t know how long we can keep this quiet. The three husbands aren’t going to just sit around. Reiser, the lawyer, is on the phone every day, two or three times a day, and Farrar, the accountant, is threatening to go public if we don’t come up with something soon.”
“Do you have anything?”
“Not a thing. Forensics is stumped. We’ve got no unusual fibers or hairs. No fingerprints. You can buy the notepaper at any Payless. The rose is an ordinary rose. Ditto the black dye.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We’re doing a computer search on the m.o. and I’ve got Ross Barrow calling around to other police departments and the FBI.”
“Are you looking into possible connections between the victims?”
“Sure. We’ve got lots of obvious similarities. The three women are around the same age, upper middle-class, childless, housewives with executive-type husbands. But we’ve got nothing connecting the victims to each other.”
Tobias could have been describing Tina. Alan closed his eyes and massaged the lids.
“What about health clubs, favorite stores, reading circles? Do they use the same dentist or doctor?” Alan asked.
“We’ve thought of all those and a dozen more.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you have. How far apart is he working?”
“It looks like one a month. We’re into what? Early October? Farrar was August and Reiser was September.”
“Christ. We better get something going soon. The press will eat us alive once this breaks.”
“Tell me about it.”
Alan sighed. “Thanks for calling. Keep me up-to-date.”
“You got it.”
Alan hung up and swiveled his chair so he could look out the window. Man, he was tired. Tired of the rain and this asshole with the black rose and Tina and everything else he could think of. More than anything, he wanted to be by himself on some sun-soaked beach where there were no women and no phones and the only decision he would have to make was about the strength of his suntan lotion.
No one ever called Elizabeth Tannenbaum stunning, but most men found her attractive. Hardly anyone called her Elizabeth, either. An “Elizabeth” was regal, cool, an eye-catching beauty. A “Betsy” was pleasant to look at, a tiny bit overweight, capable, but still fun to be with. Betsy suited her just fine.
A Betsy could also be a bit frazzled at times and that was how Betsy Tannenbaum felt when her secretary buzzed her just as she was stuffing the papers on the Morales case into her briefcase so she could work on them at home this evening, after she picked up Kathy from day care and cooked dinner and straightened the house and played with Kathy and …
“I can’t take it, Ann. I’m late for day care.”
“He says it’s important.”
“It’s always important. Who is it?”
“He won’t say.”
Betsy sighed and looked at the clock. It was already four-thirty. If she got Kathy by five and rushed to the store, she would not be done cooking until six. On the other hand, if she did not keep bringing in clients she would have all day to shop. Betsy stopped pushing papers into her briefcase and picked up the phone.
“Betsy Tannenbaum.”
“Thank you for taking the call. My name is Martin Darius.”
Betsy caught her breath. Everyone in Portland knew who Darius was, but he did not call many of them.
“When does your staff leave?” Darius asked.
“Around five, five-fifteen. Why?”
“I need to speak to you this evening and I don’t want anyone to know about it, including your secretary. Would six be convenient?”
“Actually, no. I’m sorry. Is there any way we can meet tomorrow? My schedule is pretty open then.”
“How much is your normal fee, Mrs. Tannenbaum?”
“One hundred dollars an hour.”
“If you’ll meet me at six tonight, I’ll pay you twenty-five hundred dollars for the consultation. If I decide to hire you, you will be extremely pleased by the fee.”
Betsy took a deep breath. She dreaded doing it, but she was going to have to call Rick. She simply could not afford to turn down that kind of money or such a high-profile client.
“Can I put you on hold, Mr. Darius? I have another obligation and I want to see if I can get someone else to take care of it.”
“I can hold.”
Betsy dialed Rick Tannenbaum on the other line. He was in a meeting, but his secretary put her through.
“What is it, Betsy? I’m very busy,” Rick said, making no attempt to hide his annoyance.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I have an emergency. A client needs to meet me at six. Can you get Kathy at day care?”
“What about your mother?”
“She’s playing bridge and I don’t have the number at her friend’s house.”
“Just tell the client you’ll meet him tomorrow.”
“He can’t. It has to be tonight.”
“Damn it, Betsy, when we separated, you promised you wouldn’t do this to me.”
“I’m really sorry,” Betsy said, as angry at herself for begging as she was at Rick for making this so difficult. “I rarely ask you to pick up Kathy, but I need you, this once. Please.”
Rick was silent for a moment.
“I’ll do it,” he answered angrily. “When do I have to be there?”
“They close at six. I really appreciate this.”
Betsy hung up quickly, before Rick could change his mind.
“Six will be fine, Mr. Darius. Do you know the address of my office?”
“Yes,” Darius said and the line went dead. Betsy put the phone down slowly and sank into her chair, wondering what business a man like Martin Darius could possibly have with her.
Betsy glanced at her watch. It was six thirty-five and Darius had not arrived. She was annoyed that he had kept her waiting after she had put herself out, but not annoyed enough to jeopardize a twenty-five-hundred-dollar fee. Besides, the wait had given her time to work on the Morales case. She decided to give Darius another half hour.
Rain spattered against the window behind her. Betsy yawned and swiveled her chair so she could look out into the night. Most of the offices in the building across the way were deserted. She could see cleaning women starting to work. By now, her own building was probably deserted, except for the night people. The silence made her a little uncomfortable. When she swiveled back, Darius was standing in the doorway. Betsy started.
“Mrs. Tannenbaum?” Darius said, as he entered the room. Betsy stood. She was almost five feet eleven, but she had to look up to Darius. He extended his hand, exposing the exquisite gold cuff links that secured his French cuffs. His hand was cold and his manner distant. Betsy did not believe in auras, but there was definitely something about the man that did not come across on television or in newspaper photos.
“I’m sorry to be so mysterious, Mrs. Tannenbaum,” Darius said when they were seated.
“For twenty-five hundred dollars you can wear a mask, Mr. Darius.”
Darius grinned. “I like an attorney with a sense of humor. I haven’t met too many of them.”
“That’s because you deal with business lawyers and tax attorneys. Criminal lawyers don’t last long without a sense of humor.”
Darius leaned back in his chair and looked around Betsy’s cluttered office. It was her first and it was small and cramped. She had made just enough money this year to think about moving to larger quarters. If she ever collected the verdict in the abortion case she would definitely move, but that case was bogged down in the appellate courts and she might never see a penny.
“I was at a charity affair for the Portland Opera the other night,” Darius said. “Do you go?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Too bad. It’s quite good. I had an interesting discussion with Maxine Silver. She’s on the staff. A very strong-minded woman. We were discussing Greig’s book. Have you read it?”
“The novel by the serial killer?” Betsy asked, puzzled by the direction the conversation was taking.
Darius nodded.
“I’ve seen a few reviews, but I don’t have time to read anything but legal periodicals. It’s not my kind of book, anyway.”
“Don’t judge the book by its author, Mrs. Tannenbaum. It’s really a very sensitive work. A coming-of-age story. He handles the subject of his protagonist’s abuse with such tenderness that you almost forget what Greig did to those children. Still, Maxine felt it shouldn’t have been published, solely because Greig wrote it. Do you agree with her?”
Darius’s question was strange but Betsy decided to play along.
“I’m opposed to censorship. I would not ban a book because I disapproved of the person who wrote it.”
“If the publisher bowed to pressure from, say, women’s groups and withdrew the book from circulation, would you represent Greig?”
“Mr. Darius …”
“Martin.”
“Is there a point to these questions or are you just making small talk?”
“Humor me.”
“I could represent Greig.”
“Knowing that he’s a monster?”
“I would be representing a principle, Mr. Darius. Freedom of speech. Hamlet would still be Hamlet, even if Charles Manson wrote it.”
Darius laughed. “Well put.” Then he took a check out of his pocket.
“Tell me what you think, after reading this,” he said, placing the check on the desk between them. The check was made out to Elizabeth Tannenbaum. It was for $58,346.47. Something about the figure was familiar. Betsy frowned for a moment, then flushed when she realized the sum was her exact gross income for the previous year. Something Darius would know only if he had access to her tax returns.
“I think someone has been invading my privacy,” Betsy snapped, “and I don’t like it.”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars of this is your fee for this evening’s consultation,” Darius said, ignoring Betsy’s anger. “The rest is a retainer. Place it in trust and keep the interest. Someday, I may ask you to return it. I may also ask you to represent me, in which case you may charge me whatever you believe the case is worth over and above the retainer.”
“I’m not certain I want to work for you, Mr. Darius.”
“Why? Because I had you investigated? I don’t blame you for being angry, but a man in my position can’t take chances. There is only one copy of the investigative report and I’ll send it to you no matter how our meeting concludes. You’ll be pleased to hear what your colleagues have to say about you.”
“Why don’t you give this money to the firm that handles your business affairs?”
“I don’t wish to discuss this matter with my business lawyers.”
“Are you being investigated in connection with a crime?”
“Why don’t we discuss that if it becomes necessary.”
“Mr. Darius, there are a number of excellent criminal defense attorneys in Portland. Why me?”
Darius looked amused. “Let’s just say that I believe you are the most qualified person to handle my case, should representation become necessary.”
“I’m a little leery of taking a case on this basis.”
“Don’t be. You’re under no obligation. Take the check, use the interest. If I do come to you and you decide you can’t represent me, you can always give the money back. And, I can assure you, if I’m accused I will be innocent and you will be able to pursue my defense with a clear conscience.”
Betsy studied the check. It was almost four times the largest fee she’d ever earned and Martin Darius was the type of client a sane person did not turn down.
“As long as you understand I’m under no obligation,” Betsy said.
“Of course. I’ll send you a retainer agreement that spells out the terms of our arrangement.”
They shook hands and Betsy showed Darius out. Then she locked the door and reentered her office. When Betsy was certain Darius was gone, she gave the check a big kiss, gave a subdued whoop and whirled around. A Betsy was allowed to indulge in immature behavior from time to time.
Betsy was in a terrific mood by the time she parked her station wagon in her carport. It was not so much the retainer, but the fact that Martin Darius had chosen her over all the other attorneys in Portland. Betsy was building a reputation with cases like State v. Hammermill, but the big-money clients were still going to the big-name criminal defense attorneys. Until this evening.
Rick Tannenbaum opened the door before Betsy fished her key out of her purse. Her husband was slender and an inch shorter than Betsy. His thick black hair was styled to fall across his high forehead, and his smooth skin and clear blue eyes made him look younger than thirty-six. Rick had always been overly formal. Even now, when he should be relaxing, his tie was still knotted and his suit coat was on.
“Damn it, Betsy, it’s almost eight. Where were you?”
“My client didn’t come until six-thirty. I’m sorry.”
Before Rick could say anything else Kathy came tearing down the hall. Betsy dumped her briefcase and purse on a chair and scooped up their six-year-old daughter.
“I made a picture. You have to come see,” Kathy yelled, fighting to get down as soon as she received a hug and kiss from her mother.
“Bring it to the kitchen,” Betsy answered, lowering Kathy to the floor and taking off her jacket. Kathy streaked down the hall toward her bedroom with her long, blond hair flying after her.
“Please don’t do this to me again, Betsy,” Rick said, when Kathy was far enough away so she wouldn’t hear. “I felt like a fool. I was in a meeting with Donovan and three other lawyers and I had to tell them I couldn’t participate any longer because I had to pick up my daughter from day care. Something we agreed is your responsibility.”
“I’m sorry, Rick. Mom wasn’t available and I had to meet this client.”
“I have clients too and a position to maintain in my firm. I’m trying to make partner and that’s not going to happen if I get a reputation as someone who can’t be relied on.”
“For Christ’s sake, Rick. How many times have I asked you to do this? She’s your daughter, too. Donovan understands you have a child. These things happen.”
Kathy rushed into the kitchen and they stopped arguing.
“This is the picture, Mom,” Kathy said, thrusting forward a large piece of drawing paper. Betsy scrutinized the picture while Kathy looked up at her expectantly. She was adorable in her tiny jeans and striped, long-sleeve shirt.
“Why Kathy Tannenbaum,” Betsy said, holding the picture at arm’s length, “this is the most fantastic picture of an elephant I have ever seen.”
“It’s a cow, Mom.”
“A cow with a trunk?”
“That’s the tail.”
“Oh. You’re sure it’s not an elephant?”
“Stop teasing,” Kathy said seriously.
Betsy laughed and returned the picture with a hug and kiss. “You are the greatest artist since Leonardo da Vinci. Greater even. Now let me get dinner ready.”
Kathy ran back to her room. Betsy put a frying pan on the stove and took out a tomato and some lettuce for a salad.
“Who is this big client?” Rick asked.
Betsy didn’t want to tell Rick, especially since Darius wanted his visit kept secret. But she felt she owed Rick the information.
“This is very confidential. Will you promise not to breathe a word if I tell you?”
“Sure.”
“Martin Darius retained me, tonight,” she said, breaking into a huge grin.
“Martin Darius?” Rick answered incredulously. “Why would he hire you? Parish, Marquette and Reeves handles his legal work.”
“Apparently he thinks I’m also capable of representing him,” Betsy answered, trying not to show how much Rick’s reaction hurt her.
“You don’t have a business practice.”
“I don’t think it’s a business matter.”
“Then what is it?”
“He didn’t say.”
“What’s Darius like?”
Betsy thought about the question. What was Darius like?
“Spooky,” Betsy answered just as Kathy hurtled back into the kitchen. “He likes to be mysterious and he wants you to know how powerful he is.”
“What are you cooking, Mom?”
“Roast, little girl,” Betsy said, picking up Kathy and nibbling her neck until she squealed. “Now, buzz off or I’ll never get dinner ready.”
Betsy lowered Kathy to the floor. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asked Rick. He looked uncomfortable and checked his watch.
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get back to the office.”
“All right. Thanks, again, for picking up Kathy. I do know how busy you are and I appreciate the help.”
“Yeah, well … Sorry I jumped down your throat. It’s just …”
“I know,” Betsy said.
Rick looked like he was going to say something but went to the closet instead and got his raincoat.
“Good luck with Darius,” Rick told her as he was leaving. Betsy shut the door behind him. She had heard the hint of jealousy in his voice and regretted telling Rick about her new client. She should have known better than to say anything that would let him know how well she was doing.
“ ‘But it takes time to make a raft, even when one is as industrious and untiring as the Tin Woodman, and when night came the work was not done. So they found a cozy place under the trees where they slept well until the morning; and Dorothy dreamed of the Emerald City, and of the good Wizard Oz, who would soon send her back to her own home again.’
“And now,” Betsy said, closing the book and laying it on Kathy’s bed, “it’s time for my little wizard to hit the hay.”
“Can’t you read one more chapter?” Kathy begged.
“No, I cannot read another chapter,” Betsy said, giving Kathy a hug. “I already read you one more than you were entitled to. Enough is enough.”
“You’re mean, Mommy,” Kathy said, with a smile Betsy could not see because her cheek was against Kathy’s baby-soft hair.
“That’s tough. You’re stuck with the world’s meanest mommy and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Betsy kissed Kathy’s forehead, then sat up. “Now get to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Kathy rolled onto her side and wrestled Oliver, an oversized, stuffed skunk, into position against her chest.
“Night, hon.”
Betsy closed the door of Kathy’s room behind her and went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Although she would never admit it to her feminist friends, Betsy loved washing dishes. It was perfect therapy. A lawyer’s day was littered with stressful situations and insoluble problems. Washing dishes was a finite task that Betsy could do perfectly every time she tried. Instant gratification from a job well done, over and over again. And Betsy needed some instant gratification after being with Rick.
She knew why he was so angry. Rick had been a superstar in law school and Donovan, Chastain and Mills had lured him to their two-hundred-lawyer sweatshop with a large salary and glowing promises of a fast track to a partnership. The firm had worked him like a dog, constantly holding the partnership just out of reach. When he was passed over last year, just as her career was starting to take off, it had been a crushing blow to his ego. Their ten-year-old marriage had not been able to withstand the strain.
Two months ago, when Rick told her he was leaving, Betsy was stunned. She knew they had problems, but she’d never imagined that he would walk out. Betsy had searched her memory for a clue to Rick’s jealousy. Had he changed or was he always so self-centered? Betsy had trouble believing that Rick’s love was too fragile to withstand her success, but she was not willing to give up her career to appease his ego. Why should she? The way she saw it, it was a matter of Rick accepting her as an equal. If he couldn’t do that then she could never stay married to him. If he loved her, it should not be such a hard thing to do. She was proud of his achievements. Why couldn’t he be proud of hers?
Betsy poured herself a glass of milk and turned off the light. The kitchen joined the rest of the house in soothing darkness. Betsy carried her glass to the kitchen table and slumped into a chair. She took a sip and gazed sleepily out the window. Many of the houses in the neighborhood were dark. A streetlight cast a pale glow over a corner of the front yard. It was so quiet with Rick gone and Kathy asleep. No traffic sounds outside, no television on. None of the little noises people make shuffling around a house.
Betsy had handled enough divorces to know that many estranged husbands would never have done what Rick had done for her tonight. He had done it for Kathy, because he loved her. And Kathy loved Rick. The separation was very hard on their daughter. There were times, like now, when the house was quiet and Betsy was alone, that she missed Rick. She was not certain she loved him anymore, but she remembered how good it had been. Sleeping alone was the hardest thing. She missed the lovemaking, but she missed the cuddling and the pillow talk more. Sometimes she thought they might get back together. Tonight, before Rick left, she was certain that there was something he wanted to tell her. What was he about to say? And if he said he wanted her back, what would she say? After all, he was the one who had walked out on ten years of marriage, a child, their life together. They were a family and Rick’s actions told her that meant nothing to him.
The night Rick walked out, alone in bed, when she couldn’t cry anymore, Betsy had rolled on her side and stared at their wedding picture. Rick was grinning. He had told her he had never been so happy. She had been so filled with joy, she was afraid she could not hold all of it. How could a feeling like that disappear?