“You think I killed Arnold Pope?”
Amanda smiled. “No one is listening to our conversation, and you don’t have to admit a thing, if you’re worried.”
“I have nothing to worry about. I’m just curious to know why you think I’m a murderer.”
“The gun has always been the key. If Delmar Epps had it when the fight started, any number of people could have shot Junior, but it had to be you if Epps left the gun in the limo. Mickey Keys, Charlie, Delmar Epps, and you drove to the Westmont in the limo. Mickey Keys remembers Epps dropping the gun during the ride to the country club. It freaked out Keys because the barrel was pointing at him when it hit the floor of the car and he thought he was going to be shot. He got very upset and yelled at Epps. Keys had a very clear memory of Epps putting the gun on a seat in the limo after he yelled at him, but he can’t remember what happened to it after that and no one else can say what happened to the gun once the limo stopped at the Westmont.
“Keys couldn’t have shot the congressman because he was behind him near the entrance to the Westmont.
“Epps is dead, so he can’t tell us whether he took the gun out of the car, but he acted instinctively to protect Charlie when Gary Hass opened the limo door and probably left the gun on the seat.
“Werner Rollins remembers you standing with Charlie, Gary Hass, and Delmar when Junior was shot. But no one has said where you were between arriving at the country club and the shooting.”
Amanda showed Martha Brice the other photograph she’d brought from Portland, a crime scene picture taken on the evening of the murder.
“This is the turnaround in front of the entrance to the country club.” She pointed to a section of the picture. “Someone trampled the flower beds on the far side. When the limo stopped at the front entrance to the Westmont, the driver went around to the passenger door to open it but Gary Hass beat him to it. Werner Rollins was also on the passenger side of the car. Delmar Epps got out on the passenger side when Gary Hass opened the door. Charlie and his agent got out on the passenger side right after Epps. No one saw you get out. I think that’s because you went out the rear door on the driver’s side while everyone was distracted by the commotion on the passenger side. I think you trampled the flower bed when you ran away from the fight.
“Charlie told me how concerned you were that someone would report him to his parole officer for handling the gun. I think you took the revolver with you to keep it from Charlie so he wouldn’t get in trouble when the fight between him and the congressman started. You joined Charlie and Gary Hass when they went to the far side of the turnaround. Then you heard Congressman Pope threaten Charlie and run toward him. I think you shot Pope to protect Charlie.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” Brice said.
“I always wondered why Charlie contacted you of all people when he needed money to escape from Batanga.”
“He knew I’d pay him for his story.”
“There’s that too. You sent him seventy-five thousand dollars as soon as he asked. That’s something you might do if you were worried that someone might expose a long-buried secret. But, as I said, you can put your mind at ease. Charlie has no intention of revealing your secret. He wants to put the past behind him. And I have no duty to solve the murder of Arnold Pope Jr. When Charlie’s case was dismissed I lost all interest in what happened twelve years ago at the Westmont Country Club.
“There’s no mention in any of the articles written about you of your brief disappearance from Yale and I assume few if any people know about your Oregon adventure. Killing Pope must have been a pretty sobering experience. You excelled at your studies after you returned and you’ve excelled in your professional life. Now that Charlie’s case is closed I intend to destroy these photographs, because I can’t think of a single reason to destroy the life you’ve made for yourself.”
Brice smiled. “If I had any doubts before, you’ve convinced me that I made the right decision when I told Charlie to hire you. You are one smart lady.”
CHARLIE MARSH WATCHED Amanda Jaffe and Martha Brice through the picture window. He knew why Amanda had brought Martha outside. When Martha came back in, he would tell her that she had nothing to fear from him.
Over the past few months, Charlie had thought a lot about his life and had come to the conclusion that he was at a crossroad. The murder charge had been dismissed and Amanda had gotten the IRS to agree that they wouldn’t pursue any federal charges if he paid the taxes he owed. For the first time in years, Charlie was not in trouble with the law.
Two weeks ago, rebel forces had fought their way into Baptisteville and Jean-Claude had fled to Libya. Charlie had worried that the president would send someone after him to avenge Tuazama’s death, but no one had shown up and now Baptiste had more pressing matters to think about.
On paper, Charlie’s life looked pretty good. He was free of Baptiste and the law, he was a celebrity, and he was set financially. With the book royalties and the amount still sitting in his Swiss account he would be fine even after he paid off the IRS.
Charlie should have felt great. Instead, he felt like someone drifting in a lifeboat with no safe port in sight. What did you do when you had everything any rational person could want and it wasn’t enough, because you’d lost the one person who had made your life worth living? The riches and the notoriety Charlie had wallowed in a decade ago now left him cold. And he still grieved for Bernadette. He would never forget her and he hoped one day he would find someone he could love as much as he loved her. At least he knew that he was capable of love.
Charlie felt he’d been given a fresh start and he needed a plan for the rest of his life, only he didn’t have one right now. But he vowed to work on that, and this time it would be a good plan that didn’t involve lies and violence. He had no idea how the plan would look but hopefully it would be illuminated by the light he hoped he had inside him.
Acknowledgments
For me, writing a novel is a team effort. After I outline my novel, I make a list of areas where I need the help of an expert. I want to thank Chic Preston, Steve Perry, and Joe Copeland for educating me about subjects of which I knew nothing. Carolyn Lindsey and Robin Haggard researched questions on the Internet for me, because I remain a techno-idiot.
Pam Webb, Jay Margulies, Karen Berry, and Jerry Margolin read drafts of Fugitive, and I appreciate their input and the time they spent.
When I finish my draft, I send it to my editor, who points out all the problems with the book that I missed, and suggests ways to improve it. If you like Fugitive, thank my editor, Sally Kim, for making it a better book than the one I sent her. Thanks also to Sally’s intrepid assistant, Maya Ziv, and to Heather Drucker, and to everyone else at HarperCollins for their support.
There is a reason why I always thank my agent, Jean Naggar, and everyone at the Jean V. Naggar Literary Agency, in the acknowledgments section of each novel. They are the best.
Last, but most important to me, is Doreen, my muse, who still inspires me to do my best.
About the Author
PHILLIP MARGOLIN has written thirteen New York Times bestsellers, including his latest, Executive Privilege. Each displays a unique, compelling insider’s view of criminal behavior, which comes from his long background as a criminal defense attorney who has handled thirty murder cases. He lives in Portland, Oregon.
www.phillipmargolin.com
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