"It looks like you're trying to hide. So does dyeing your hair black."
"my wife and child were murdered, Tannenbaum. I found their bodies.
Those deaths were part of my old life.
When I moved here, it was my chance to start over. I didn't want to see my old face in the mirror, because I would remember bow Sandy and Melody looked beside me in old photographs. I didn't want to work at the same job, because there were too many associations between that job and my old life."
Darius leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the table and supported his bead on his lean fingers, massaging his forehead, as if he was trying to wipe away painful memories.
"I'm sorry if that sounds crazy, but I was a little crazy for a while.
I'd been so happy. Then that maniac Darius closed his eyes. Stewart studied him carefully. Betsy was right. Either the guy was a great actor or he was innocent.
"We'll need the old files from Hunter's Point," Betsy told Stewart.
"You'll probably have to go back there to talk to the detectives who worked the case. Page's theory falls apart if Martin didn't kill the Hunter's Point women."
Stewart nodded, then he leaned toward Darius.
"Who are your enemies, Mr. Darius? Who hates you enough to frame you for these murders?"
Darius shrugged. "I've made lots of enemies. There are those fools who are tying up the project where the bodies were found."
"Mr. Darius," Stewart said patiently, "with all due respect, you're not seriously suggesting a group dedicated to preserving historic buildings is responsible for framing you, are you?"
"They torched three of my condos."
"You don't see a difference between setting fire to an inanimate object and torturing three women to death?
We're looking for a monster here, Mr. Darius. Who do you know who has no conscience, no compassion, who thinks people are no more valuable than bugs and hates your guts?"
Betsy did not expect Darius to put up with Stewart's insolence, but he surprised her. Instead of getting mad, he leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing in frustration as he tried to think of an answer to Stewart's question.
"What I say doesn't leave here, right?"
"Reggie is our agent. The attorney-client privilege applies to anything you tell him."
"Okay. One name comes to mind. There's a project in Southern Oregon I couldn't fund. The banks didn't trust my judgment. So I went to Manuel Ochoa. He's a man who doesn't do much but has lots of money. I never asked where it came from, but I've heard rumors."
"Are we talking Colombians, Mr. Darius? Cocaine, tar heroin?" Reggie asked.
"I don't know and I didn't want to. I asked for the money, he gave me the money. There were terms I agreed to that I'll have trouble meeting if I stay in jail. If Darius Construction defaults, Ochoa will make a lot of money."
"And druggies would snuff a woman or two without thinking twice,"
Stewart added.
"Does Ochoa know about Hunter's Point?" Betsy asked suddenly. "We're not just looking for a psychopath.
We're looking for a psychopath with intimate knowledge of your secret past."
"Good point," Stewart said. "Who knew about Hunter's Point besides you?"
Darius suddenly looked ill. He rested his elbows on the table again and let his head fall heavily into his open palms.
"That's the question I've been asking myself, Tannenbaum, ever since I realized I was being framed. But it's a question I can't answer. I've never told anyone in Portland about Hunter's Point. Never. But the person who's framing me knows — all about it, and I just don't know how that's possible."
"Coffee, black," Betsy told her secretary as she flew through the front door, "and get me a turkey, bacon and swiss from the Heathman Pub."
Betsy tossed her attache case on her desk and took a brief look at the mail and messages Ann had stacked in the center of the blotter. Betsy tossed the junk mail in the wastebasket, placed the important letters in her in-box and decided that none of the callers needed to be phoned immediately.
"The sandwich will be ready in fifteen minutes," Ann said as she put a cup of coffee on Betsy's desk.
"Great."
"How did the arraignment go?"
"A zoo. The courthouse was swarming with reporters. It was worse than "Hammermill." Ann left. Betsy sipped some coffee, then punched out the phone number of Dr. Raymond Keene, a former state medical examiner who was now in private practice.
When a defense attorney needed someone to check the m.e.'s results, they went to Dr. Keene.
"What ya got for me, Betsy?"
"Hi, Ray. I've got the Darius case."
"No kidding."
"No kidding. Three women and one man. All brutally tortured. I want to know everything about how they died and what was done to them before they died."
"Who did the autopsies?"
"Susan Gregg."
"She's competent. Is there some special reason you want her findings checked?"
"It's not so much her findings. The d.a. thinks Darius did this before, ten years ago, in Hunter's Point, New York. Six women were murdered there, as far as I can tell. There was a suspect in that case who was killed resisting arrest. Page doesn't believe the suspect was the murderer. When we get the Hunter's Point autopsy reports, I want you to compare the cases to see if there is a similar m.o."
"Sounds interesting. Did Page clear it?"
"I asked him after the arraignment."
"I'll call Sue and see if I can get over to the morgue this afternoon."
"The quicker the better."
"You want me to perform another autopsy or just review her report?"
"Do everything you can think of. At this point, I have no idea what might be important."
"What lab tests has Sue done?"
"I don't know."
"Probably not as many as she should. I'll check it out. The budget pressures don't encourage a lot of lab work."
"We don't have to worry about a budget. Darius will go top dollar."
"That's what I like to hear. I'll call as soon as I have something to tell you. Give 'em hell."
"I will, Ray."
Betsy hung up the phone.
"Are you ready for lunch?" Nora Sloane asked hesitantly from the office doorway. Betsy looked up, startled.
"Your receptionist wasn't in. I waited for a few minutes."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Nora. We did have a lunch date, didn't we?"
"For noon."
"I apologize. I forgot all about it. I just picked up a new case that's taking all my time."
"Martin Darius. I know. It's the headline in the Oregonian.
I'M afraid today isn't good for lunch. I'm really swamped. Can we do it another day?"
"No problem. In fact, I was sure you'd want to cancel. I was going to call, but… Betsy," Sloane said excitedly, "could I tag along on this case, sit in on conferences, talk to your investigator? It's a fantastic opportunity to see how you work on a high profile case."
"I don't know…"
"I wouldn't say anything, of course. I'd keep your confidences. I only want to be a fly on the wall."
Sloane seemed so excited, Betsy did not want to turn her down, but a leak of defense strategy could be devastating. The front door opened and Ann appeared in the doorway carrying a brown paper bag. Sloane looked over her shoulder.
"Sorry," Ann said, backing away. Betsy motioned her to stop.
"I'll talk to Darius," Betsy said. "He'll have to give his okay. Then I'll think about it. I won't do anything that could endanger a client's case."
"I understand perfectly," Sloane said. "I'll call in a few days to see what you decide."
"Sorry about lunch."
"Oh, no. That's okay. And thank you."
There was a van with a CBS logo and another from ABC in Betsy's driveway when she pulled in.
"Who are they, Mom?" Kathy asked, as two beautifully dressed blondes with perfect features approached the car. The women held microphones and were followed by muscular men armed with portable television cameras.