"Maybe to punish you?"
"I don't think so. And there's no sign of a struggle, which there would have been. If she heard the garage door, and she would have, she would have thought it was me coming home early. And that would have got her out of the tub with a towel around her, at the very least."
"Maybe not. Maybe while you were gone she thought about the reality of you two getting divorced and changed her mind."
Stuart's mouth curved up, but it wasn't quite a smile. "That's a kind thing to say, Jedd, but that didn't happen."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying she knew who it was. She was expecting him."
Conley suddenly seemed to remember his coffee and took a sip, then put the cup down with exaggerated care. "So you want to talk to who?"
"Everybody I outlined to Gina, the people Caryn did business with. All the other suspects. My other suspects, I should say." "But you said they all had alibis."
"No. Juhle said that. They were all sleeping in their homes, apparently. Or maybe not. It could have been any of them." "So what do you expect to accomplish?" "I talk to them all, maybe I'll flush the one who did it." "And then what?"
A shrug. "Play it by ear, I suppose. Break the guy's story, take it to Juhle. Or Gina."
"Or maybe, since he's already killed once, he'll just take you out too." Conley shook his head. "Listen, Stu, this is a bad idea. You said Gina's got an investigator working for her. He does this stuff every day, right? Questions witnesses, checks out alibis, huh? Let him do it."
"And meanwhile, what do I do? Sit around and wait for Juhle to come and arrest me?"
"You've got funeral arrangements, don't you? You've got Kym. You got Debra."
"I'm not spending any time in jail."
"Well, that's what Gina…"
"No!"
The vehemence of the answer brought Conley up short. "Hey! Easy." He straightened up in his chair. " 'No' what, Stu?"
"You're talking about Gina and her investigator, but the fact of the matter is that neither of their jobs have anything to do with keeping me out of jail. If I'm arrested, I'm sure they'll be great, but listen to them-all of them: Gina, Hunt, Juhle. Listen to them talk and you get the impression that the whole arrest scenario isn't really in anybody's hands. It can just happen when some kid of a DA gets a wild hair."
"But Gina's kept it from happening up till now."
"Not exactly true. It's either her or the fact that Juhle can't find evidence that I did it. In spite of my blabbing my guts out to him on day one." Finally, Stuart's features seemed to relax to a degree. "I'm not complaining about Gina, Jedd. I'm glad she's on board, for which I have you to thank. But I can't sit around and wait until somebody decides I need to be in jail. I've got to do something."
"Understandable." Conley cocked his head. "So you've come back to me? Not that I wouldn't help you in any way I can, but I can't really afford to get mixed up in this in a public way, Stu."
"I get it. Politics. Hanging out with a murder suspect is bad form. The help I want wouldn't be any more public than we are right now."
Conley finished off the dregs of his coffee, during which time he came to his decision. "All right," he said. "What are friends for? What do you need?"
Stuart cast a glance around the tiny restaurant, then leaned in across the table. "You said you'd talked to Caryn on Friday. You'd been working with her on some of the problems with PII and the socket. How serious were they?"
As though appreciating the question for the first time, Conley nodded almost imperceptibly, his eyes narrowed. "All things being equal, pretty serious. Evidently in some of the clinical trials, there'd been problems."
"Like what?"
Conley hesitated. "Like, apparently, people dying."
"Apparently? People don't apparently die, Jedd. They actually die. Did Caryn know about this? She must have."
"She was trying to understand what had happened first. There was ambiguity."
"How could there be ambiguity? People either died or they didn't, right?"
"Right. Sure. But these deaths happened after the study had been published, so due to the length of time before the problem showed up, there was some question about whether it was the result of the hip replacement or not."
"And Caryn was trying to find out?"
"Essentially, yes. You know as a public service my office looks into certain kinds of business fraud on behalf of some of our constituencies, and Caryn asked if…"
"Jedd. You already got my vote. I'm sure you did what you needed to do. But you're saying Caryn might have been threatening to blow the whistle on PII about these deaths. Which would cost all of the investors big money, wouldn't it?"
"I don't know if she'd gotten to that yet, but it… I'd say she was in the process of deciding what she was going to do."
"And who was she talking to about this? Besides you? The guy in Palo Alto, Furth?"
"Mostly, yes, I believe. Fred Furth."
Eighteen
Elbow resting out the driver's side window, letting the warm and fragrant air swirl around him in the truck's cab, Stuart Gorman kept his pickup at the speed limit all the way on the "Country's Most Scenic Freeway," the 280 out of San Francisco down the forty-some miles to Palo Alto. He almost missed the small polished-granite sign indicating the headquarters of Sand Hill Equities Bank-a long, low, black glass building that appeared to be built directly into a tawny-brown hillside off Page Mill Road.
As he pulled into the parking lot, which was graciously shaded with olive trees, Stuart realized that his ride didn't exactly fit into the prevailing motif of luxury automobiles. He wondered about the location of the local dealership that obviously gave away all the Mercedes, BMWs, Lexuses and the random Porsche, since he figured there was no way that this many people could afford to buy them.
Parking far over to one side to retain a tenuous obscurity, he got out of the cab in the now-impressive heat and caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the building's surface: jeans, T-shirt, hiking boots.
He couldn't put on his jacket in this weather to cover his S &W. Which meant that the gun remained wrapped in the jacket inside his duffel bag.
So much for preparation. "Idiot," he said. It didn't matter.
The receptionist somehow conveyed the impression that billionaires dressed any way they damn pleased. And when Fred Furth heard who was waiting outside in the lobby to speak to him, even though Stuart didn't have an appointment, he came right out.
In his mid-thirties, with a square jaw, perfect teeth, and an athlete's body molded into a two-thousand-dollar suit, he nevertheless managed to exude both sincerity and sympathy. "Mr. Gorman. Frederick Furth. Fred."
"Stuart."
Furth had a crushing grip. "It's good to meet you at last, although I wish it could have been under less difficult circumstances. We are all still devastated here about Caryn. And of course, anything we can do to help you…" He turned to his receptionist. "We'll be in my office, Carol. No calls, please. No interruptions. Mr. Gorman. Stuart. This way."
They walked in silence down a cool, wide, dove gray corridor and into a very spacious office made distinctive by a floor-to-ceiling window that covered two-thirds of the facing wall until it disappeared into the hillside into which the building had been built. Behind Furth's desk, the back wall-windowless-featured six inset computer terminals and two television screens, all of them on and, in the case of the TVs, with the sound turned down.
But Furth didn't head toward his desk, but instead to a seating area of functional leather chairs over where the room was brightest. As Stuart was sitting down, taking in his surroundings, the banker asked if he could get him anything. "If it helps you decide, I'm having coffee. Peet's."