When Kate put Rose’s report on top of a stack of items that were pertinent to the Dunthorpe seminar, a photograph caught her attention. She pulled it out of the center of the pile and studied it. The photo showed Charlie and his entourage as they were about to enter the mansion in Dunthorpe. Kate was glad she’d found it, because it put a face to the people about whom she’d been reading.
Charlie sported a great tan and looked like a poor man’s John Travolta circa Saturday Night Fever in his white jacket, white slacks, and black silk shirt. Gold chains graced his neck and a gold Rolex encircled his wrist. His smile was warm and he appeared to be relaxed and in control. Standing to Charlie’s right was a grinning Mickey Keys. Keys wore a navy blue blazer, tan slacks, and an open-necked, emerald green sports shirt that went perfectly with his styled red hair.
Slightly behind Charlie was a massive black man with a shaved head, who Kate assumed was Delmar Epps. On Charlie’s left was a young woman who was looking up at Charlie with adoring eyes. Several things about her were odd. Her head was as devoid of hair as the guru’s bodyguard’s, and while everyone else in Charlie’s entourage was dressed in expensive, stylish togs, the girl was wearing a peasant dress and blouse. To Kate’s eye, the woman seemed out of place, like a gypsy who had wandered into a night club full of partying movie stars.
A thought occurred to Kate. Epps had testified that he’d left the.357 Magnum in the limo when he’d gotten out at the entrance to the Westmont on the night of the shooting, but no one had corroborated that assertion. What if Epps did have the gun when he left the limo but lied so no one would think he fired the fatal shot? If Epps was carrying the revolver when he left the limo, how could Marsh have gotten it?
Kate studied a photograph of the weapon. Then she went on the Internet and discovered that the Ruger weighed over two pounds. The gun also had a six-inch barrel, so it would be a bit unwieldy. Epps had been fighting with the security guards shortly before the fatal shot was fired. Kate remembered a witness testifying that Epps had knocked down a guard with a karate kick to the head. All that jumping around could have dislodged the gun if the heavy, cumbersome weapon was stuck in Epps’s waistband, and anyone in the crowd around the combatants could have picked it up.
Kate found a few photographs that showed both the area on the side of the turnaround where Epps had been fighting and the area between the turnaround and the pro shop where their client had been standing. There wasn’t that much space between the two positions. If the gun had dropped out and had been kicked back toward Marsh, he could have rushed forward and gotten it.
Kate tried to remember who had been with Marsh. Werner Rollins had testified that he’d joined Marsh and Gary Hass after he’d decked the guard with whom he’d been fighting. Epps said that he had moved back so he could protect Marsh. Rollins had testified that he saw Marsh fire the shot that killed Arnold Pope Jr.
If Epps and Rollins had lied to the police so they could cut deals, any of the other men standing with Marsh could have fired the shot.
CHAPTER 26
Amanda had returned to New York a few times since graduating from law school at NYU, and she had mixed feelings about the city. Manhattan was a wonderful place to visit. It had the best restaurants, great shopping, terrific museums, cutting-edge art, the theater, and a buzz in the air that let you know that big things were happening. But you didn’t go to the theater or eat at a four-star restaurant every night when you lived in the city. At heart, Amanda was an Oregon girl. After the initial excitement of a visit wore off, she would miss Portland with its easygoing pace, snow-capped mountains, and gentle, green hills. This, however, was her first day in New York in some time, and she found herself intrigued by the bustling crowds and longing for a real pastrami sandwich when the limo that had picked her up at the airport whisked her past the Carnegie Deli on the way to her meeting with her client.
World News was hiding Charlie Marsh in a corporate condo near Columbus Circle. The driver phoned ahead to alert Dennis Levy that Amanda was on her way. As she rode up in the elevator, Amanda wondered if the real Charlie Marsh would be anything like the Charlie Marsh of her imagination: a swashbuckling bandit who had dramatically cast away his penchant for violence so he could bring enlightenment to mankind. Many people who had been won over by his vivid transformation from evildoer to saint never believed he was guilty of the congressman’s murder. Amanda had been enthralled by his autobiography, but she’d learned enough about the failings of career criminals from her father to maintain a healthy skepticism about the guru’s claims.
The door to the World News condo opened as soon as Amanda knocked. A skinny kid, who looked like he was barely out of adolescence, peeked through a gap in the door and anxiously scanned the corridor beyond Amanda’s shoulder as if he was expecting a SWAT team to charge in behind her.
“Miss Jaffe?” he asked nervously.
Amanda nodded. “And you must be Dennis Levy.”
“Come on in,” Levy said, stepping back enough so Amanda could slip sideways into a large living room with an amazing view of Central Park. Several locks snapped shut behind her. A moment later, Amanda felt the freezing cold air that was blowing through the apartment like a hurricane.
“What’s with the air-conditioning?” she asked Levy as she fought an impulse to wrap her arms across her chest.
The reporter, who was bundled up in a heavy sweater, jerked his head toward a slender, blond-haired man in a dark blue warm-up suit, who was perched on the edge of a sofa, channel-surfing on a huge flat-screen TV.
“He says he hates heat and anything else that reminds him of Africa.”
Amanda’s idea of what Marsh would look like was based on his author photo on the back of The Light Within You and dim memories of the fugitive on television shows. Marsh looked nothing like the confident, dynamic spokesman for self-awareness she remembered. He was emaciated and his skin had the leathery look common to people who spend too much time in the sun with too little sun block.
“Charlie, your lawyer’s here,” Levy said.
When Marsh heard his name, his head swiveled toward Amanda but his body and the remote stayed pointed at the television.
“I can’t get over all these channels,” Charlie said. “Did you know you can get porn in your own home for free in high definition?”
“Yes, Mr. Marsh, I’m well aware of that,” Amanda said, smiling involuntarily. Her client’s wide-eyed awe reminded her that he had been in exile for twelve years.
Marsh turned off the set and stood up. “How come I didn’t get your father?”
Amanda took no offense. “He represented Mrs. Pope, your codefendant. It would be a conflict of interest if he represented you, too.”
Marsh inspected Amanda. “You look young. Do you have enough experience to handle a case this big?”
“Do you think a major publication like World News, with all its resources, would ask me to represent you if they didn’t think I was up to the job?” she answered calmly.
“Yeah, point taken. But you can consult with your father, right? I mean, he can be involved in the case even if he can’t be my lawyer?”
“I always consult with my father when I have a complex case. And he consults with me when he has one. So you don’t have to worry. You’ll be getting two lawyers for the price of one.”
“Okay. Just checking. Don’t get upset. It’s my life on the line here.”
“I’m well aware of that. Look, Mr. Marsh, you’re the client and what you say goes. If you aren’t comfortable with me as your attorney you’re perfectly free to hire someone else.”