August 13, 2017
Dan Kruger’s office was no smaller than Adam Grant’s but testified to an even greater commitment to minimalism. The wall of books was screened by opaque glass, matched by the glass of the big desk. Bare cherry parquet with a demonic sheen. The two large canvases appeared, at first glance, blank—until you shifted your angle and saw that they were in fact shades of the very palest creams and grays. No family photographs. The room’s only concession to color was the client seating, three chairs of tubular steel and dark green leather. Kruger’s chair was white leather, so clean it made Valerie wonder if he ever actually sat in it.
He wasn’t sitting in it now. He was leaning against the edge of the desk with his hands in his pockets. A dark blue suit, white shirt, green tie exactly the shade (by design?) of the client chairs. Either way his wardrobe somehow set off the whiteness of his close-cropped hair. Valerie couldn’t tell if it was premature gray or a self-inflicted bleach job. He was altogether a striking physical specimen, tall, muscular, with light blue eyes that managed, weirdly, to be both calm and fierce. The big windows behind him showed San Francisco sunlit, occasional details—cornices, skylights—picked out as if with tenderness.
“I’d hate to think you were wasting my time almost as much as I’d hate to think I was wasting yours,” he said. “You already showed me the photographs. I don’t know the woman.”
“Yes,” Valerie said. “But that’s not what I asked you. I asked you if Adam told you he was seeing her. Seeing anyone other than his wife, in fact.”
Kruger took his hands out of his pockets and rested the heels of them on the edge of the desk. He’d come straight from the gym. Smelled freshly showered and cologned. A little aura of wholesomely spent male energy. “Nope,” he said.
Valerie looked at him. Really?
“Scout’s honor,” he said. Then smiled. “You sure this is a smart line of inquiry?”
“What?”
“Adam’s alleged infidelity?”
Her body heat went up—but she did her best to look puzzled. “I don’t follow you,” she said.
Kruger held the smile, then eased himself away from the desk and walked around it, lowered himself into his chair. Valerie was thinking that for the right kind of guilty client this was exactly the sort of guy they’d find reassuring: strong, merciless, in it purely, purely for the money. He gave the impression of mild amusement at his own professional acumen, as if he knew he could win your case with less than half the weapons in his arsenal.
“Adam wasn’t the only lawyer in Carlton’s that night,” he said.
Shit.
Her stupidity hit her. The slap she knew she deserved. Serves you right. How many times hadn’t she said that to herself? Put it on her headstone. The perfect epitaph.
Still, she said nothing. Just continued with what she hoped was a look of bafflement.
Dan Kruger laughed, gently, dismissively, a laugh that said he had bigger fish to fry—unless he discovered frying this little fish might come in particularly handy. “It’s a funny thing,” he said. “As these things always are, if you’ve got the right sense of humor. I saw you and Adam tête-à-tête at the bar. I was going to come over and ask him if he knew he was fraternizing with the SFPD, but I got a call, and when I looked again you guys had gone.”
There was more to it, his complacency said. Valerie kept her mouth shut, but in spite of her efforts it was clear he could see her discomfort.
“Of course that would have been the end of it,” Kruger said. “Except I had an early flight the following morning. Cab took me right past your building. Guess who I saw staggering out just after five A.M.?”
Four years ago. Lawyers, like cops, required a perversely talented memory. Kruger was a man who never mislaid his wallet, never forgot an appointment, never missed an opportunity to file away a snapshot detail that might, one distant day, be put to his service. Valerie found herself at a perfect impasse. Saying nothing was as incriminating as saying something, saying anything. The simultaneous need for and absence of a response filled her, stalled her, mapped her body at what felt like the cellular level. A detached part of her marveled at how rarely this happened: speechlessness.
Kruger let the moment stretch, relaxed into it, savored it. Then made a slight movement with his hand, a bored colossus shooing away a fly. “Don’t sweat, Detective,” he said. “I outgrew sadism years ago. For the record—for your peace of mind—Adam’s story when I quizzed him about it was that nothing happened. You went to dinner, drank late, shared a cab, he walked you up to your apartment, he left.”
And still Valerie found herself without words. What she wanted now was to turn and walk out of the room. That would be an admission of something. But so was standing here like a moronic mute.
“Anything you want to add?” Kruger asked.
Suddenly, boredom released her. Mental math had, in fact, been going on. There was no way of knowing whether that had been Adam Grant’s story. And if it hadn’t been, there was no way of knowing what Dan Kruger planned to do with whatever story he’d really been told. She shrugged, gave him a little indifference of her own, and quite deliberately used his own version of the earlier negative: “Nope,” she said.
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
She turned to go, but he got to his feet and came toward her, hand outstretched. They hadn’t shaken hands when she’d arrived. She took it—back on guard. His grip was stronger than she liked. The moment when he should have let go came and went.
“Let’s be clear about this,” he said. “I know you’ve got a job to do. I also know you’re one of the good ones, one of the best. Your record speaks for itself. But Adam was a good friend and a good man.”
Pause. He still had her hand in his.
“I want you to get Jenner. But I don’t want Adam’s memory dragged through the shit. You’re a smart enough professional to avoid that. Rachel and Elspeth have suffered enough. Do we understand each other?”
Valerie tightened her own grip. Now that the words were available it felt good to say them. “Let’s be clear,” she said, with a smile. “I’m going to pursue any line of investigation I believe will lead to the resolution of this case and the conviction of Adam Grant’s murderer. Whatever the consequences. To anyone. That’s my job, and that’s what I’m going to do. So, yes, I have a strong feeling that we understand each other.”
For a moment they stood in silence, eyes locked. Then Kruger released her hand. She turned, walked to the door, exited without a backward glance.