Dark Moon, page 20
She gave him a small, mischievous smile. “I think he’d like to have me back.”
“He definitely would like to have you back. He knows you need to be in the hospital.”
“No, he liked me. I could tell. He liked me.”
“You’re on a lot of medication right now.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know when an attractive man likes me.”
“Okay, okay. He liked you. Why don’t you let me take you straight back to the hospital then?”
“Because I’m tired, and I want to sleep in my own bed. He’ll call me tomorrow. He has to find out how I am.”
Jim suppressed his annoyance and helped her make her way up the walk in the chilly November morning dark. He realized the drugs were talking and exposing the lonely, vulnerable side of her life, something she kept expertly hidden from the world.
She leaned on him while he turned the key in the lock. He stepped into the hall, drew her inside, and closed the door behind them. She smelled of antiseptic and her usual gardenia perfume. He put his arms around her and thought of a bird’s small bones as she sagged against him.
“Come on, then, let’s get you into bed.” He reached out and flipped the switch for the hall light.
“Oh, my God!” Sarah lurched toward the living room, which had been turned upside down. Lamps lay smashed on the floor. The end tables had been overturned. Someone had used a knife to rip open all the sofa cushions and scatter down everywhere.
Jim tried to grab her before she got beyond arm’s reach but was not successful. She stopped in the doorway, and Jim saw her legs sag as she grabbed the doorframe.
He hurried to put his arms around her before she could fall.
“Turn on the light,” she commanded.
“No, don’t look.”
“I want to see.”
Reluctantly Jim reached out and switched on the overhead recessed lighting.
She shook her head in disbelief. He saw tears in her eyes. But his training immediately made him pull her close.
“We have to get out of here,” he whispered in her ear.
“No.”
“Sh-h-h. We don’t know who did this. And we don’t know who might still be here.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but he picked her up and hurried out to the car. He didn’t have time to go back and clear the scene, and it would be dangerous to do that alone, anyway.
He bundled her into the car, and backed out of the drive quickly, still afraid someone might yet be in the house. Shock on top of the medications had silenced Sarah. She slumped against the passenger’s door and closed her eyes.
Jim’s mind raced through the possibilities of who could be responsible. Had the same person who’d cut her brakes been the one who’d gone through her house? And what about Alexa? He’d left her ready to sleep. Had they gone after her, too?
He drove through the dark, deserted streets wondering if he should swing by Alexa’s. But it was three-thirty in the morning, and she’d been instructed to call if anything seemed amiss. Right now getting Sarah to rest had to be his top priority.
He pulled into his garage, closed the roll-up door behind him, and got out of the car. Fatigue and fear had finally done gotten the best of her. He carried her into his guest room, pulled back the sheets, and tucked her in. She smiled in her sleep but never woke up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
First Saturday in November, 2013, Jim’s Bungalow, Pacific Beach
Sarah opened her eyes and wondered where she was and why her head felt as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to it. The bright light streaming into the bedroom hurt her eyes, and she closed them. It felt like the worst hangover on record, except she couldn’t remember being at a party last night.
The door opened, and Jim appeared with a small tray.
“How are you feeling?”
“Awful. Where am I?”
“My guest room.”
“How did that happen? I left Alexa’s, and then I don’t remember–”
“You don’t remember crashing your car? Or the very handsome Dr. Barrett at Scripps?”
Sarah frowned at the tray. “What’s that?”
“Breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast. Just a little until we see how you’re doing.”
She frowned. “I don’t think I’m hungry.”
“Well, try. Sit up.” She moved slowly. “Ow. Every bone in my body aches. And the light hurts my eyes.”
He settled the tray on her lap and closed the blinds. “There.” Then he sat down on the chair by the bed.
“You’re watching me eat.”
“True. I want to see how you’re feeling.”
“Really awful.”
“Do you remember being at Alexa’s last night? She remembered why she went to Brigman’s that night.”
She considered for a moment between bites of egg. “Yes. In fact, it’s coming back to me now. The car crashed on the other side of Mount Soledad as I was driving home. And someone went through my house. And Dr. Barrett is the one who bandaged up my head.”
“Yeah, you hit so hard the air bag gave you a mild concussion. But it also saved your life.”
She closed her eyes and lay back against the pillows. “Sorry, can’t eat any more. I’m dizzy. Has Dr. Barrett called to find out how I am?”
“As a matter of fact he has.”
She smiled. “Good.”
But suddenly she opened her eyes and tried to sit up.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He gently pushed her shoulders back against the pillow.
“I’ve got to go home and see what’s missing. Some of my confidential files on Alex’s case were there.”
“I think you should make a police report.”
“Thanks for the advice, but no. I need to go home and see if they took my file.”
“And the only way you’ll get there is if I drive you.”
“If you don’t, I’ll call a cab.”
“Well, then rest until early afternoon. We’ll go at three o’clock. I need to run out now and make sure Alexa is still okay.”
“All right.” Sarah settled back against the pillows and closed her eyes.
Not long after she heard the front door close behind Jim, her phone began to ring.
She smiled. Wrecking the car and banging her head were not preferred ways of meeting attractive men, but Tom Barrett was exceptional and single. Maybe he would take her mind off Jim.
“Hello.”
“I’m not happy with you.”
Sarah stiffened at the sound of Coleman Reed’s voice.
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“I’m not responsible for the car. My man who was tailing you saw it, though. He called the paramedics. He thought you were dead. Would have been a nice benefit for me if you had been.”
“So I guess you’ll try on your own next time.”
“Maybe. When Raoul saw them haul you off in the ambulance, he went over to your place. Found your file.”
“Couldn’t he have done that without destroying everything?”
“Well, he could have. But I told him to create maximum impact. Just in case you had survived the crash.”
“I’m not feeling well, Justice Reed. I’m going to hang up now.”
“Not yet. I’ve got another proposition for you.”
“Not interested.”
“Are you interested in staying alive?”
“Depends on the day. Right now I’m in a lot of pain.”
“I’ve read your file. You don’t have a defense, and you’ll never find that nanny.”
“We’ve learned Michael was bribing Ronald Brigman for custody of the children.”
Coleman laughed. “Big, f**ing deal. Michael was fully justified. He knew how unstable Alexa was. She’d be bad for the kids.”
“Number one at Georgetown. Clerkship for your colleague, Justice Moreno. Nothing in Alexa’s history is unstable.”
Coleman was silent for a long time. Then he said, “I’ve got an out that will save your career.”
“Such as?”
“How would you feel about ten million dollars in your name in an offshore account by midnight tonight and guaranteed partnership at Warrick, Thompson? In exchange, you go in on Monday and tell that clown Tomlinson you’re too ill to continue.”
“I told you before. I’ve already turned down a partnership at Warrick, Thompson.”
“But it didn’t come with a ten million dollar tax-free signing bonus.”
“Not interested.”
“Look, I happen to know you’ve sunk everything into starting that law practice out there, and you’re very short of cash.”
“Big deal.”
“And you’re only going to make peanuts on this case.”
“So what?”
“You need ten mil and a spot at Alan Warrick’s place a lot more than you need to be the lawyer who sent Alexa Reed to death row.”
“She’s not going to death row.”
“In your dreams. The offer is open until midnight. You know where to find me.”
PRETRIAL
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Second Friday in November, 2013, Sarah’s Office, La Jolla
“Here’s what I can testify to.” Jordan Stewart sat at the far end of the conference table in Sarah’s office the following Friday. Sarah sat at the other end with Jim in the middle. Jordan had come down on the train from L.A. that morning to meet with Alexa at the cottage. Now she was ready to give Sarah and Jim her conclusions.
“Let’s hear it,” Sarah said. She still had a bruise above her right eye, and she was wearing a brace on her right hand, but she refused to acknowledge the car accident in any other way. She was happily aware that she had a date with Tom Barrett for drinks at eight-thirty at Trend.
“I can testify she has the symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which will support my opinion that she was battered.”
“But you only have her word that Michael abused her,” Sarah said.
“That’s true. Without third-party corroboration, a jury might decide she’s lying.”
“Or the judge might rule you can’t testify if she doesn’t. And I don’t want her on the stand.”
“I had a lead on that nanny in Guadalajara, but it hasn’t panned out,” Jim said. “Still looking.”
“We’re running short of time,” Sarah gave him a pointed look.
Jim frowned, and Jordan looked from one angry face to the other, but said nothing.
“I can testify Michael’s repeated batteries made her hyper vigilant where he was concerned and that’s why she killed him. It wouldn’t have taken much from him to trigger her fear reaction and make her believe she needed to defend herself.”
“That’s not a great defense,” Sarah said.
“I know. And it is much harder to apply PTSD and Battered Woman’s Syndrome to Ronald Brigman’s death. But I think I can say legitimately, based upon the research, that Brigman’s emotional battery became one in Alexa’s mind with Michael’s physical battery, and she reacted to him the same way. But Battered Women’s Syndrom requires facts that show Alexa reacted to what she perceived as a threat of immediate danger. Neither Michael nor Brigman was armed. Instead, it looks a lot more like she got fed up with the custody proceedings and drove across town on a night when she didn’t have the kids and shot both of them.”
“But she says she didn’t have her gun,” Sarah observed. “If she didn’t have that gun, she didn’t kill them. What did you find out about the police report she said she made?”
Jim frowned. “Nothing. Yet. My contacts at the San Diego Police Department couldn’t verify or rule out a written report.”
“So in short, all we’ve learned is that Michael was bribing Ronald Brigman. And that fact doesn’t help our case!”
I’ve never seen Sarah this angry, Jordan thought.
“I can’t make facts out of thin air!” Jim’s tone was too sharp. The tension was getting to both of them. “We need to interview the possible eyewitnesses, Meggie and Sam Reed.”
They were squabbling like high school students, Jordan thought. “Fighting isn’t going to help Alexa’s defense,” she said mildly.
Sarah and Jim eyed each other uncomfortably.
“We’ve got to come up with something better than Battered Women’s Syndrome,” Sarah said.
“It fits the facts we have,” Jordan observed. “I have no doubt she was physically and emotionally abused by Michael and Ronald Brigman.”
“But if she didn’t have her gun, she didn’t do it!” Sarah insisted. “What about Tara Jeffers? She was sleeping with both of them, and they weren’t happy about it.”
“I ran that down,” Jim said. “Tara was at a fund raiser for the San Diego Symphony that night. She was even photographed around eleven p.m. with a large group of patrons.”
“Are you sure?” Sarah demanded.
“I’ll send you the time-stamped photographs if you don’t believe me!”
* * *
Jim drove Jordan to Solana Beach to catch the five o’clock train.
Jordan was silent for much of the trip, but just as he exited I-5 onto Lomas Santa Fe, she said, “How long have you and Sarah been at each other’s throats?”
“We aren’t.”
“Would you like to give a truthful answer this time?”
“Okay, okay. Someone tried to kill Sarah last Friday night by tampering with her car and then ransacked her house and stole her confidential file. She refuses to ask Judge Tomlinson for a continuance of the trial which begins in less than a month.”
“Does she need a continuance?”
“She’s a ball of nerves, as you can see.”
“But would she be any less on edge about this case in another six weeks or two months?”
Jim parked in the lot at the train station, turned to Jordan, and frowned. “Is this the part where the therapist shows the client how unreasonable he’s being?”
She smiled. “Your emotions are too mixed up in what needs to be purely professional. You’ve lost the ability to be objective.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“That’s not what I’m seeing.”
He took a deep breath and leaned back against the driver’s seat. “Look, the Reed children could be important witnesses, and Sarah refuses to interview them. And that’s unacceptable given that there’s a small, fragile, emotionally vulnerable woman who’s lost everything and whose life is hanging by the thread of Sarah’s ability to persuade a jury she didn’t kill her two tormentors. Doesn’t Alexa have a right to an attorney who’s had time to get over the emotional toll of an attempt on her life?”
“Sarah always does a good job.”
“I question her ability to do a good job right now. You have to understand. She’s been the target of multiple threats for months, and last week it became more than a threat.”
“And that has to be because someone who is afraid she’ll win is putting pressure on her. Don’t underestimate Sarah.”
* * *
After dinner that night, Alexa and Jim settled side-by-side on her threadbare couch to finish the bottle of zinfandel. She was wearing her blue sweater and tight jeans, and Jim wished yet again that they had met under different circumstances.
She smiled up at him, and he had to fight the urge to kiss her. She was so sweet and intelligent and much less complicated than Sarah, who was full of secrets. But that was part of the trouble. The secrets made her so intriguing.
“Tell me about the meeting with Jordan today.”
“She just went over the outlines of her trial testimony.”
“And you could see I don’t really have much of a defense.”
Jim winced, and she smiled. “Don’t be afraid to be honest. You know I know the truth.”
He frowned. “Yeah, unlike the average client, there’s no way to sugar coat it.”
Alexa took a thoughtful sip of wine and wrapped herself protectively in the soft turtle neck collar of her sweater. She looked so sad that Jim’s heart ached, and his anger flared. It was all so unfair.
“It’s 11:30. You need your sleep.” He stood up and smiled down at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She smiled and got up, too, and followed him to the front door.
“Lock up as soon as I’m gone. And keep your phone with you, and call if you even think something suspicious is going on.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll be back in the morning.” And he gave her what had become their nightly ritual, a kiss on the cheek. Then he headed out into the night to confront Sarah.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Midnight, Second Friday in November, 2013, La Jolla Shores
“Should you answer that?”
Someone was knocking loudly on Sarah’s front door, and it was close to midnight.
She had questioned her decision to invite Tom Barrett to come home with her after drinks at Trend. But her inner fire of loneliness was burning more intensely than usual, so she took a chance.
They had been sitting side-by-side on her sofa, polishing off a bottle of merlot, while he talked about his work as a neurosurgeon. He was telling her about an operation scheduled for Monday morning on a thirty-two-year old mother of three to remove a malignant tumor. She was attracted to more than his square-jawed good looks. He was not just a highly skilled medical technician. He was a healer who cared deeply about the people who came to him in pain.
“I’m hoping it’s small enough to get all of it. I’d like to help her.”
Sarah smiled. “You care about us patients, don’t you?”
“Of course. But you are no longer on the patient list since we are sitting here having this conversation.”
He smiled, and Sarah noted with satisfaction that her heart at least flip flopped when his dark eyes met hers. Maybe something could develop here. After David Spineli, she was deeply tired of superficial sexual encounters.
But at that moment the knocking interrupted them.
Sarah hesitated, as the replay of the accident rushed through her head. Someone wanted to kill her, and that someone could be standing on the other side of her front door. On the other hand, Tom’s black Mercedes was sitting in her driveway, so it was obvious she was not alone.
