At five thirty on Monday evening, Peter Gannon was taken from the Tombs, an electronic bracelet clasped around his wrist, and released on the bail that Susan had guaranteed. With Harvey Roth at his side, the terms of his temporary freedom had been spelled out. He was not to leave Manhattan without the permission of the judge, and he was not to visit his daughter in the hospital.
At last, he and Roth were outside. Peter inhaled deeply of the crisp late-October air. “I have a car,” Roth told him. “I’ll drop you off at home if that’s what you want. I would suggest you get some rest. I’m sure the last two nights in the Tombs have not been conducive to sleep.”
“I’ll take up that offer,” Peter said, quietly. “I have a feeling it’s the best one I’ll get for a while.”
Roth’s driver pulled up to the curb and the two men got in the car. Peter waited until they were on the West Side Highway before he said, “I’m not sure if you’re the right lawyer for me. I need to have someone who believes that I am not a murderer, and I get the feeling that you think I am. I want a lawyer who does more than look for legal loopholes. I want somebody who is going to fight hard to prove my innocence.”
“I prefer not to consider myself an attorney who deals in legal loopholes,” Harvey Roth said mildly.
“You know what I mean. I’ve started to be able to think a little more clearly. What have you found out about the clothes I was wearing when I met Renée? Are there any bloodstains on them? Or is there any of her DNA on them?”
“The detective heading the case told me there are no apparent bloodstains, but the DNA evidence will take time to evaluate. On the other hand, you claim you were afraid of becoming nauseous when you left her. I understand there is absolutely no hint on your clothes that you became ill that night.”
Peter smiled grimly. “What you’re saying is that I’m a tidy drunk. Let’s consider this. The bar where I met her was in the eighties, on York Avenue. My office is nearly two miles away. Maybe I went directly there and passed out? Is that so improbable?”
“Mr. Gannon, it is very unfortunate that your office building does not have security cameras to back up that scenario,” Roth said. “Apparently they have been out of commission for quite a while.”
“The building that my present office is in is a dump,” Peter agreed.
“Nevertheless,” Roth said, “to get into it, a key to the outer door is required, as well as a key to your own office. Are you suggesting that you went directly there and that someone came in while you were passed out and hid that money in your desk? Isn’t that what you are telling me? Isn’t that a little far-fetched?”
“Mr. Roth, the couch where I was asleep is in the reception area of the suite. My office is in the next room. There’s a separate entrance for it, in case I want to go in without having to walk through the waiting room.”
“Peter, we might as well get on a first-name basis. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Let’s not waste any of it grasping at straws. Who else would have keys to your office building, your suite, and your private office?”
“As Susan can verify, I’m not very organized. I’m one of those people who is always losing keys.”
“Peter, a lot of people are careless with keys. But most of them aren’t carrying a shopping bag containing one hundred thousand dollars and leaving it in your office, to say nothing of putting the money in a hidden panel in your desk.”
Then, even in the semidarkness, Roth could see the expression on Peter’s face suddenly change. “Peter,” he asked sharply. “Can you think of anyone who had access to spare keys, and who might also have known about that one hundred thousand dollars?”
Peter did not answer. He looked out the window of the sedan as it moved slowly forward in the evening traffic. “Let me think about that,” he answered. He knew he could not yet bring himself to speak the name of the person who he was almost certain had been the one to put that money in his office.
I’m starting to remember, he thought. That car that was parked across the street when Renée slapped me. It looked familiar. She would have accepted a ride from him. If he suspected that she knew, he might have told her that he’d pay her off to keep quiet about his insider trading.
My brother, Greg.