"Who was checked into Room 103?"
"An Elizabeth McGovern from Seattle."
"Did you check in Ms. McGovern?"
"Yes."
"At what time?"
"A little after noon."
"I am handing the witness State's exhibit thirty-five.
Do you recognize that woman?"
"That's Ms. McGovern."
"You're certain?"
"Yeah. She was a looker," Gutierrez said sadly.
'-Then, I saw her picture in the Oregonian. I knew her right away."
"To what picture are you referring?"
"The picture of the murdered women. Only it said her name was Victoria Miller."
"Did you call the district attorney's office as soon as you read the paper?"
"Right away. I talked with Mr. Page."
"Why did you call?"
"It said she disappeared that night, the eleventh, so I thought the police might want to know about the guy I saw.,
"What guy?"
"The one who was in the room with her."
"You saw a man in the room with Mrs. Miller?"
"Well, not in the room. But, I saw him go in and come out. He'd been there before."
"With Mrs. Miller?"
"Yes. Like once or twice a week. She would register and he would come later." Gutierrez shook his head.
"What I couldn't figure out is, if he wanted to sneak around, why did he drive that car?"
What car?"
"This fantastic black Ferrari."
Highsmith searched for a photograph among the exhibits on the clerk's desk, then handed it to the witness.
"I'm handing you State's exhibit nineteen, which is a photograph of Martin Darius's black Ferrari and I ask you if it looks like the car driven by the man who went into the room with Mrs. Miller?"
"I know it's the car."
"How do you know?"
Gutierrez pointed at the defense table. "that's Martin Darius, right?"
"Yes, Mr. Gutierrez."
"He's the guy."
"Why didn't you tell me about Victoria Miller?" Betsy asked Martin Darius as soon as they were alone in the visiting room.
"Calm down," Darius said patiently.
"Don't you tell me to calm down," Betsy responded, infuriated by her client's icy composure. "Damn it, Martin, I'm your lawyer. Don't you think I would find it interesting that you were screwing one of the victims, and beat her up, the day she disappeared?"
"I didn't beat up Vicky. I told her I didn't want to see her anymore and she became hysterical. She attacked me and I had to control her.
Besides, what does my fucking Vicky have to do with getting bail?"
Betsy shook her head. "This could sink you, Martin.
I know Norwood. He's straight-laced. Real old-fashioned.
The guy's been married to the same woman for forty years and goes to church on Sunday. If you'd told me, I could have softened the impact."
Darius shrugged. "I'm sorry," he said, without meaning it.
"Were you having sex with Laura Farrar or Wendy Reiser?"
"I hardly knew them."
"What about this party for the mall?"
"There were hundreds of people there. I don't even remember talking to Farrar or Reiser."
Betsy leaned back in her seat. She felt very uncomfortable alone with Darius in the narrow confines of the visiting room.
"Where did you go after you left the Hacienda Motel?"
Darius smiled sheepishly. "To a meeting at Brand, Gates and Valcroft with Russ Miller and the other people working on the advertising for Darius Construction. I'd just seen to it that Russ was put in charge of the account.
I guess that won't work anymore."
"You are one cold son-of-a-bitch, Martin. You screw Miller's wife, then throw him a bone. Now you're joking about her when she's been murdered.
Dr. Gregg said she could have been alive for hours, sliced open, in the most godawful pain. Do you know how much she must have suffered before she died?"
"No, Tannenbaum, I don't know bow much she suffered," Darius said, the smile leaving his face, "because I didn't kill her. So how about spreading a little of your sympathy in my direction? I'm the one who's being framed. I'm the one who wakes up every morning to this jail stench and has to eat the slop that passes for food."
Betsy glared at Darius and stood up. "Guard!" she shouted, pounding on the door. "I've had enough of you for today, Martin."
"Suit yourself The guard bent down to put the key in the lock.
"The next time we talk, I want the truth about everything. And that includes Hunter's Point."
The door opened. As Darius watched her walk away, the thinnest smile creased his lips.
Chapter Thirteen
International Exports was on the twenty-second floor of the First Interstate Bank Tower in a small suite of offices tucked away in a corner next to an insurance company. A middle-aged Hispanic woman looked up from her word processor when Reggie Stewart opened the door. She looked surprised, as if visitors were an uncommon sight.
Moments later, Stewart was seated across the desk from Manuel Ochoa, a well-dressed, heavy-set Mexican with a swarthy complexion and a bushy, salt-and-pepper mustache.
"This business with Martin is so terrible. Your district attorney must be insane to arrest someone so prominent. Certainly there is no evidence against him?" Ochoa said as be offered Stewart a slender cigarillo.
Stewart raised his hand, declining the smoke.
"Frankly, we don't know what Alan Page has. He's playing his cards close to the vest. That's why I'm talking to people who know Mr. Darius. We're trying to figure out what in the world Page is thinking."
Ochoa shook his head sympathetically. "I'll do anything I can to help, Mr. Stewart."
"Why don't you explain your relationship to Darius."
"We are business partners. He wanted to build a shopping mall near Medford and the banks would not finance it, so he came to me."
"How's the venture going?"
"Not well, I'm afraid. Martin has been having trouble lately. There is the unfortunate business with the site where the bodies were discovered.
He has a lot of money tied up in the town house project. His debts are mounting. Our venture has also been stalled."
"How serious is Darius's financial situation?"
Ochoa blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. "Serious. I am concerned for my investment, but, of course, I am protected."
"If Mr. Darius stays in jail or is convicted, what will happen to his business?"
"I can't say. Martin is the genius behind his firm, but he does have competent men working for him.
"How friendly are you with Mr. Darius?" ochoa took a long drag on his cigarillo.
"Until recently, you could say we were friends, but not close friends.
Business acquaintances would be more accurate. I have had Martin to my home, we socialized occasionally. However, business pressures have strained our relationship."
Stewart laid photographs of the three women and a sheet of paper with the dates of their disappearances on the blotter.
"Were you with Mr. Darius on any of these dates?"
"I don't believe so."
"What about the photographs? Have you ever seen Mr. Darius with any of these women?" Ochoa studied the photos, then shook his head. "No, but I have seen Martin with other women." Stewart took out a pad. "I have a large house and I live alone. I enjoy getting together with friends.
Some of these friends are attractive, single women."
"Do you want to spell this out for me, Mr. Ochoa?"
Ochoa laughed. "Martin likes young women, but he is always discreet. I have guest bedrooms for my friends."
"Did Mr. Darius use drugs?"
Ochoa eyed Stewart curiously. "What does that have to do with your case, Mr. Stewart?"
"I need to know everything I can about my client.
You never know what's important."