Amanda took a hot shower to banish the chill that the arctic conditions in Charlie’s condo had seeded into her bones. There was a message from Martha Brice, who wanted an update. Amanda gave it to her while luxuriating on her bed, wrapped in one of the terry-cloth robes that the hotel provided. She was tempted to call Mike Greene just so she could talk about something other than the case, but she remembered the three-hour time difference between New York and Oregon and realized he’d probably be in court. Instead, she called Karl Burdett to tell him that Marsh would fly back on Wednesday. Burdett agreed to set the bail hearing for Thursday. Amanda had feared that the DA would renege on his promise and she breathed a sigh of relief when she hung up the phone. After the call to Burdett, she phoned her office to see if there was anything that required her attention and spoke briefly with Kate Ross.
When she finished her conversation with Kate, Amanda was a little more relaxed and ready to think about her first impressions of Charlie Marsh. He was definitely not faking his relief at escaping from Batanga. His years there sounded like hell. Amanda couldn’t imagine the horror he’d felt when he saw his butchered lover in Baptiste’s torture chamber.
Marsh also seemed needy and unsure of himself. He had tried to put on a brave front but Amanda could tell he was scared; a perfectly rational reaction, given his situation. Getting Charlie bail wasn’t going to be easy. Neither was keeping him off of death row.
What worried Amanda most was whether Charlie was anxious because he had murdered Arnold Pope Jr. In the American legal system, the state was the only party with a burden at trial. It had to convince the jury beyond a reasonable doubt that a defendant was guilty as charged. A defendant never had a burden of proving anything, so a defense attorney didn’t need to know whether her client had committed the crime with which he was charged. That didn’t mean that Amanda wasn’t as curious about her client’s culpability as she was about the contents of the box he’d given her. Charlie’s protestations of innocence were convincing, but he was a con man, and con men made their living by lying with a straight face.
CHAPTER 27
The knot in Frank Jaffe’s gut tightened as he drew closer to Sally Pope’s estate. The more he wanted to see her, the more he didn’t. When Frank promised Amanda that he’d meet with Sally, he honestly thought he could handle seeing her again. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Sally lived in the middle of farm country. Here and there, cattle, sheep, and horses grazed in fenced pastures and a barn or a farmhouse appeared. There were low hills and cultivated squares of yellow and green given over to crops or dark brown patches where the fields had been churned to reclaim the soil for planting.
Frank had arranged the meeting through Jimmy Pavel, the attorney who handled Sally’s legal affairs. A few hours after Frank phoned, Pavel called with directions to the estate and a time for the meeting. While he waited for the call, Frank looked up Sally on the Internet. There were numerous references to her before, during, and immediately after the trial. The search results tailed off drastically after she moved to Europe but there were references that linked her to Liam O’Connell, an Irish author who’d been short-listed for the Booker Prizeb and was a minor celebrity in the U.K. There were very few hits since she’d returned to the States.
A low stone wall marked the boundaries of the estate. It broke to permit access to the grounds along a dirt road that wound through a thicket of trees. After a short distance, the woods gave way to an expanse of well-tended lawn and a view of a white, antebellum plantation home that looked down on new arrivals from its perch on top of a gentle rise. An image flashed through Frank’s mind, of hoop-skirted southern belles fanning themselves in the summer heat while their beaus sipped mint juleps on the veranda.
The drive curved in front of a columned portico. Frank parked and got out. A white-and-honey-colored collie trotted toward him, wagging its tail lazily. Frank leaned over to pet the dog, then rang the doorbell. After his Gone with the Wind moment, Frank was disappointed when the woman who answered the door was wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt. She had straight black hair, an engaging smile, and a heavy Italian accent.
“You must be Mr. Jaffe.”
Frank nodded.
“I’m Gina, Mrs. Pope’s personal assistant. She’s expecting you. She’s around back. Follow the path. You can’t miss her.”
Frank followed a trail of irregularly shaped slabs of gray slate around the side of the three-story house. The collie trotted along beside him. Frank heard a splash and laughter and saw three teenage boys playing in a large swimming pool. They were bronzed from hours in the summer sun. Two of the boys had mops of shaggy black hair. Chlorine and sunlight had turned the tallest boy’s hair a shiny, copper blond. There was a diving board at the deep end and the boys were taking turns doing silly dives. The blond boy paused at the end of the board. He was lean and muscular. After a few bounces he pushed off and rose gracefully. At the point where a competitive diver would have tucked and somersaulted, he flailed his arms in crazy circles and belly-flopped, creating a tidal wave that soaked his friends. The boys laughed and Frank smiled.
“That’s Kevin.”
Frank turned. Sally Pope was observing him from beneath a floppy, wide-brimmed straw hat. There were gardening gloves on her hands and she was holding a trowel. Sally was dressed in patched jeans and a short-sleeved shirt stained with dirt. She was not wearing makeup, and perspiration streaked her face. There was a spot of grime on one cheek, where she’d touched it with her glove. With all that, Frank thought she was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.
“He looks like he’s had a few lessons,” Frank said as he watched Sally’s son swim a lap of butterfly.
Sally grinned and her smile affected him as it had all those years ago.
“He’s on the high school team.” She pulled off her gloves and wiped her brow. “Let’s talk on the patio. And take off your jacket and tie. It’s way too hot for formal attire.”
Sally led the way to a circular glass table on a large brick patio that was mercifully shaded by an overhang. Frank stripped off his jacket and was loosening his tie when Gina appeared with a pitcher of iced tea. Sally set her hat on a chair and shook out her hair. Despite an occasional strand of gray, her blond hair was still vibrant.
“You look good, Frank.”
“I look old.”
She smiled. “Not so old. How’s Amanda?”
“Great. She’s a partner in the firm.”
“I tried to keep up on Oregon news when I was living in Italy and I read about some of her big cases.”
“She’s got another one. That’s why I’m here.”
“Jimmy said it was about a case, but he also said you refused to explain.”
“I wanted to tell you in person. Charlie Marsh is coming back to stand trial.”
The color drained from Sally’s face.
“I wanted to give you a heads-up before the press learns he’s coming home.”
“My God, I can’t go through that again.”
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to avoid it. Karl Burdett is bound to call you as a witness.”
Sally turned her head toward the pool. “They’ll go after Kevin.”
“He was too young. He wouldn’t know anything Karl could use.”
“Not Burdett, the reporters. I’ve tried to shield him. Now it will all come out about Arnie and me, my affairs.”
She looked sick.
“I’m sorry,” Frank said, knowing that the tepid sentiment was totally inadequate and would do nothing to disperse the terrible cloud Sally and her son would soon be under.