“And you were sure it was her?”
“It was her, Tam. She admitted it, remember? And they got her fingerprints on the doorknob. I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“I’m just trying to get you something to make you feel better.” Now with a little heat, “So maybe you could feel like you contributed to casting doubt on what happened. Like if you saw her trying the knob or something, maybe trying to get in, and she couldn’t, just before she turned and then you saw her as she was leaving.”
“I don’t think I’m going to change my story now. I saw what I saw. You want me to commit perjury under oath? I don’t think Hardy would want me helping that way.”
“No. It’s just that you happening upon her just at the one second… anybody would believe if you just got there a minute earlier and watched her trying to get in. I mean, Mr. Hardy could ask you that anyway.”
Chiurco wasn’t warming to this idea at all. His mouth had hardened down to a thin line. “And then I’d just say no.”
“Hey, don’t get mad at me,” she said. “You’re the one who started with how bad you felt about not being able to help her. I’m just saying maybe Mr. Hardy could make it seem as if you’d seen her not getting in. Then they don’t have that assumption anymore. You didn’t see her coming out exactly, did you? I mean, she was just there at the door?”
Suddenly, Chiurco slapped a palm down on the bed between them. “Hey! What’s this interrogation? What are you trying to get at here?”
“Craig! Nothing! I’m not trying to get at anything. I’m just talking to you. What’s your problem? What are you so uptight about?”
After fighting his emotions for a second he gathered himself and let out a sigh. “Maybe I’m uptight because I’m nervous enough about this to begin with. I’m not going to go changing my story, even a little, even if it might help her. That just gets me in trouble. With Wyatt, with Hardy, with everybody. I don’t see how you want me to do that. It’s tricky enough as it is.”
“What’s tricky?”
“Saying what you saw. Keeping it simple. It’s not as easy as it seems, especially when everybody’s all over you with these little details you never thought about. I got my story and I’m sticking to it.”
“The way you say it like that, it sounds like you made it up.”
“I’m not making anything up! Jesus, Tam, I can’t believe you’re saying this to me.”
“Well, I can’t believe you’re so touchy about it. It’s not that big a deal. We’re just talking.”
“No, we’re not just talking.” Now he sat up straight, off the headboard, pulling the blankets up around him. “And it’s way that big a deal! You don’t see that?”
“Not as big as you’re making it.” She stood up and walked across to the chair where she’d put her clothes. She slipped out of the robe and started to grab her underwear.
“What are you doing?” Chiurco asked.
“I’m going home. I think we’re done for tonight.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” She had her jeans on, pulled her sweater over her head. “And while we’re at it, disagreeing about this and other stuff, I thought we’d decided we weren’t going to be smoking weed anymore.”
Now Chiurco crossed his arms, shaking his head back and forth, and went silent, rage and frustration smeared across his features.
“In case,” Tamara went on, “you think I didn’t notice or smell it or anything.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it.”
“No? A quick toke in the bathroom with the window open? That’s not exactly lighting up in front of me.”
“I thought you’d be mad.”
“Correct, Craig. Mad at you for using it, and mad that you can’t stop.”
“I don’t want to stop, Tam. I’ve told you. I like it, is the problem. And I could stop anytime I want. Which maybe I don’t.”
“Maybe I’ll believe you when I see it start even a little. And meanwhile, this paranoia problem, don’t kid yourself. That’s the weed too.”
“Now I’ve got a paranoia problem.”
“Your testimony issues? We just had a fight about them? Hello?”
“You’re wrong. You’re just plain wrong.”
“I really don’t think so.” She crossed over to the door. “I really don’t, Craig. And in the meanwhile, I’m just plain gone.”
In the living room of his Marina mansion Harlen Fisk hit the remote switch and turned off the television right after the nightly news. He and Kathy had in fact made quite a splash by showing up today in the courtroom, and the networks had played it up in a gratifying way. The city wasn’t coming close yet to an election cycle, so in spite of the negative connotations being slung around about his connection to Joel’s development deals and his sister’s coffee shop, the general rule of thumb was that the more your name appeared in the media, the better your chances to get elected.
And getting elected was what Harlen was all about.
Still, he couldn’t help but be disappointed in his sister. As a matter of fact, disappointed was hardly the word.
Well, he told himself, I’m not going to think about Maya now-what her future might be like if in fact she got convicted and sent to jail. That wasn’t his fault; it was her doing. Her clueless, stubborn nature.
If she had only kept her mouth shut. That had been Harlen’s intent in putting her in touch with Hardy in the first place. A good lawyer should in theory have kept her from admitting anything that put her near any of the murders. But by the time she’d gotten with Hardy, she’d already told the police that she’d been out at church that morning, and somehow the fear that she’d be caught in that lie had led her to compound the injury by confessing to both the lie and her whereabouts near the time of the murder.
Which put her in their sights.
Stop. Don’t keep worrying this to death, he told himself. Get up. Go to bed.
But his body didn’t respond. He sat there with the reading lamp on next to him, his hands crossed over his comfortable-looking stomach, which tonight felt suddenly knotted with tension.
“Babe?” His wife, Jeannette, looking in. “Are you all right? Are you coming to bed?”
“In a minute.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“This trial. Maya. The whole thing.”
She came into the room, pulled up an ottoman, and sat on it. She was tall, solidly built, athletic, with shoulder-length blond hair encircling a wholesome, all-American face. “I’ll talk about it if you want.”
He smiled at her. “I would have thought you’d have been sick of it by now.”
“I might be sick of it, but I’m not too tired to talk about it if you want to.”
He paused a moment. “I just marvel that she can be so dumb. Sticking with the story that she didn’t know much about the weed. I mean, come on, I knew about it, everybody knew about it.”
Her forehead creased in a look of concern. “I don’t think I knew that. You knew Dylan? How well did you know him?”
He waved that away. “I met him first when he was her boyfriend for a while when they were in college. Then again when Maya hired him, just after he got out of jail. I told her it was a mistake. And of course, she listened to me as much as she always does, which is not at all.”
“Harlen, come on. She listens to you.”
“Maybe listens, but doesn’t hear. I told her this dope stuff could be a problem a couple of years ago, told her to fire him. No chance.”
“Why not?”
“She was saving him, I think. This messianic complex she’s got. She’s got everything and she’s so lucky and so she’s got to help losers to balance the scales or something. Not realizing, of course, about the people who are covering for her.”
“You mean you?”
“Let me just ask you,” he said. “Who’s got her kids right now?”
“I don’t mind that. They’re good kids.”
“No argument. But they’re not ours, are they? And you and me, we didn’t sign on for the little darlings, did we?” Sighing, he went on. “She shouldn’t even be in this at all. I told her not to go down there. Six in the morning? I mean, what kind of hour for a meeting is that? And why do these things with her become my problems?”