Fatal Flaw (36 page)

44

“AND YOU
think this bastard, Hailey’s Uncle Larry, actually killed her?” asked Guy as the two of us sat alone in the gray lawyer-client conference room in the county jail. I had just told him everything I’d learned in Pierce, the whole ugly story.

“I think he sent his lackey, Bobo, to kill her, yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Any idea?”

“Maybe she threatened to take away the money he needed for his luxury nursing home. Or maybe he was sick of his luxury nursing home and wanted the insurance money for a new stake. Who knows? It could be anything. But he did it.”

“What can we do about it?”

“I don’t know. There’s a chance maybe this Bobo will turn against him. There’s a cop in Nevada that’s going to get him alone in a room and ask some tough questions.”

“And if that gets us nothing?”

I didn’t say anything. I kept perfectly still and waited.

“What do we do, Victor? What do I do?”

I waited some more, and then I said, “I have an idea, but it’s risky.”

“What is it? Tell me.”

“If it doesn’t work, it will blow up in our faces.”

“Go ahead, Victor. What is it?”

I leaned forward and clasped my hands on the table and told him what I would have to do and then what Breger would have to do and then what Jefferson would have to do and then what I would have to do.

“Jesus. That’s all you could think of, that risky Rube Goldberg contraption of a defense?”

“It is, yes. And the thing is, the trial’s gone pretty well for us so far. Our gambit with the headphones worked out great. I think the possibility that someone else might have entered that house and killed Hailey has come alive for the jury. I think we have a pretty decent chance of winning this thing outright, without the risk. We’ve created a suspect, the other lover, and I think we’ve created enough of a hole in the prosecution’s case for the jury to find both opportunity and motive. Our argument at the end of this case will be as strong as I could have hoped.”

“Are you guaranteeing an acquittal?”

“No, I can’t guarantee a thing, you know that, but we have a decent chance.”

“I don’t want to hear about chances. I need to get out of here.”

“But there’s something else. You know how they keep asking for my phone records and I keep refusing and the judge keeps upholding my refusal based on attorney-client privilege?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the whole plan only works if Breger does his part, and Breger will only do his part if we offer up, in exchange, my phone records.”

“So?”

I stood, walked to the narrow window to look upon another wall. This is why I had come alone, why I had left Beth at the office to work up some motions. “Guy, they want to know about the phone call you made to me on the night of the murder.”

Guy stared at me for a moment, thinking of that night, that horrible night, thinking of what he had done when he stepped out of the tub. “Oh,” he said.

“They have questions about that call that haven’t been resolved by your own phone logs.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I haven’t asked you this yet, but it’s time. Why hasn’t the phone call you made to me shown up on your phone records?”

“I was flustered. I was scared. I…I couldn’t remember your number.”

“So what did you do?”

“I used Hailey’s phone. The red phone. It was right on the table by the bed.”

“Why her phone?”

“Because…because I…because…”

“Guy?”

“Because your number was on the speed dial.”

I didn’t say anything, I didn’t need to. Outside, it was a sunny fall day, one of those days that remind you of the summer that passed and foreshadow the end of the coming winter. It was a lovely day outside, but a brisk chill had descended into that hard gray room.

“You didn’t think I would check it out?” he said. “You didn’t think I would find out who it was, Victor? I gave myself over to her completely, sacrificed my family, my integrity, my very soul on her altar and yet she was sleeping with someone else. You didn’t think I would do whatever I needed to learn who the bastard was? I spied on her, I followed her, I listened in to her conversations. She was wily, I got nowhere. But then the phone appeared and one night, when she was in the Jacuzzi, I checked out the speed dial, and there were the numbers, some totally foreign, but the first two, the first two strangely familiar. One was your office, Victor, one was your home. I think by then she wanted me to know, that was why she left out the phone. I think she was using you to tell me that it was over. You were her get-out boy, the excuse to break up with me, like she would have found a get-out boy for you when your time came. And you want to know something? By the time I found out, I wasn’t even angry at you. I felt sorry for you instead, sorry that you had fallen into her web.”

“Guy…”

“So who would I call when I found her dead? Who could understand
even some of what I was feeling? Who could I trust? Only you. And in my panic I knew where to find your number with just the touch of a button.”

“Guy…”

“So that’s why I used her phone.”

“I’m sorry…”

“No you’re not.”

He was right, I wasn’t.

“And neither am I,” he said.

“Then why did you keep me on as your lawyer?”

“First you were just there and I was desperate. Then I thought it through. There’s nothing to do in here except think. I analyzed the case, the evidence, I put on my most dispassionate lawyer mind-set and came up with a strategy. The strategy I came up with, the one that made the most sense, was to blame the other lover. That’s why I kept suggesting it. But I couldn’t have that other lover just walk into the courtroom and take himself out of the case by providing an alibi, like being at home when I called. I needed to make sure that never happened, and as far as I could see, there was only one way.”

“Keeping me on as your lawyer.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re a son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

“I’d say we both are, Victor.”

And what could I say to that? He was right, absolutely, we were both sons of bitches, and we had both been played for fools. We had each been made part of whatever strange journey was mapped out by Hailey Prouix and, truth be told, each of us was thrilled to our bones to be taken along on her ride.

“So what should I do?” I asked.

“About the uncle?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe this Booboo guy will turn on him.”

“Bobo. Maybe.”

“But it won’t be that easy, will it?”

“No.”

“What’s he like, the uncle? Have you met him?”

“Yes, I have. He’s a hard man.”

“And he killed Hailey.”

“I think he did.”

“But we don’t want them looking at your records, do we?”

“No, we don’t.”

“It could ruin us both.”

“That’s right.”

“It makes a lot of sense to play it out just like it is and let him get away with it.”

“Yes, it does.”

“He’s old, dying, only a few pathetic years left in some nursing home. We should just let him be.”

“All right.”

“But we won’t, will we?”

“It’s your choice.”

“We need to do something about him, if he killed her.”

“It’s your choice.”

“She used us, she used us both. When I first saw her on the mattress, bloodied and gone, when I first saw her, I was devastated at my loss. My loss. But I’ve been thinking about her, what she lost. We just can’t leave it like that. Whatever she did, she didn’t deserve to die. Whoever was responsible for killing her should pay. That’s what I think.”

“All right.”

“Do you think you can pull this off?”

“I’ll try.”

“You better do more than try, Victor. If all you do is try, I’ll be here longer than I could bear. Don’t just try it, Victor. Do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Do it. And when that murderous bastard gets close, rip out his heart.”

45

SO FAR
it had been an ordinary sort of trial. Troy Jefferson was trying to make it seem a simple case of murder. I was complicating things, flogging my theory that the unnamed, undiscovered, unscrupulous lover had done it on the sly. Jefferson and I were in pitched battle, but we kept our interchanges formal, using the polite vernacular of the courtroom. The judge was refereeing with dyspeptic fairness. The jury was relatively attentive. There had been a few bold moments, a few comic interludes. The prosecution felt confident, the defense felt hopeful. All expectations were that it would play out as it had begun, one theory battling the other, decided by the jury as it mostly ignored the instructions of the judge and reached its verdict. So far it had been an ordinary sort of trial, but things were about to change.

Leila Forrest was in the courtroom that day, she was in the courtroom every day, standing by the man who had fled from her at first opportunity. I would have liked to have seen a little spite out of her, a little anger, but instead she sat behind Guy with concern etched on her face. Yes, it is always useful to have the loyal wife sitting behind the defendant, and in other situations I would have designed it just so, but not this time. I hadn’t asked that she sit there, like an ornament for the defense. I wasn’t even sure it was helpful. But
there she sat, and in the breaks she and Guy talked quietly to themselves, maybe about the children, maybe about the past, maybe, God help her, about the future.

She had sat still with a stone face as her father testified, trying to bury the man who had married his only child and then deserted her. It was strong testimony, hard testimony, it made Guy look very bad, until I asked the question “How much did you make last year?” Such a rude question, and objected to, of course, but it was allowed, and the number was staggering, and the point was made: Guy was in line for a huge amount if he had stuck it out with his wife. Enough to make Guy look the fool for leaving, yes, a fool for love. But a man who killed for money?

The judge had not yet entered the courtroom on this day, so it wasn’t only Leila who was waiting. Behind the prosecution table sat the stolid figure of Detective Breger, along with his partner, Stone. Stone sneered at me with her smile. I caught Breger’s eye and signaled him I wanted to meet. He stood and left the courtroom. I followed.

“Any word on Bobo?” I asked when we had found a private nook in the hallway.

“He has disappeared. Flown. My coming out there was apparently enough to spook him.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Have you spoken to your client?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He says you’re being a hard-ass.”

Breger didn’t answer, he simply smiled.

“But he agreed. We’ll let you look at the logs, but only after.”

“After?”

“That’s right.”

“After what?”

“After it all plays out.”

“You mean after the trial? What good is that for me?”

“No, before the end of the trial, but after what happens today plays out. When I tell you what I want, you’ll understand.”

“And if it doesn’t play out like you expect?”

“We still have a deal.”

Breger closed his eyes. “I can live with that. What’s the word?”

“All you have to do is whisper it.”

“So you said.”

“In his ear, after the explosion.”

“The explosion is coming?”

“Oh, yes it is.”

“What’s the word?”

“‘Uncle,’” I said. “The word of the day is ‘uncle.’”

“ARE WE
ready to proceed?” said Judge Tifaro from the bench. She was an efficient jurist, keeping the trial moving, witness after witness, brooking no delays as she pushed toward a verdict. No long, drawn-out, chatty proceedings for her, no months and months of keeping the jury in virtual lockup. She had set up a timetable and kept us to it. I liked that about her.

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Troy Jefferson. “But before we bring in the jury, we have some housekeeping matters that have already been agreed upon by both sides.”

“Excellent,” said the judge. “It’s gratifying to see you gentlemen working so smoothly together. What do we have, Mr. Jefferson?”

“A stipulation as to the admissibility of the ballistics report, People’s Exhibit Twenty-three.”

“Mr. Carl?”

“No objection.”

“The report will be entered. What else?”

“A stipulation as the admissibility of People’s Exhibits Six through Nine and Twelve through Twenty-two.”

“Mr. Carl?”

“No objection. We retain the right to object to Exhibits Ten and Eleven on the grounds of relevance.”

“People’s Exhibits Six through Nine and Twelve through Twenty-two are entered into evidence. Anything else?”

“And we also, Your Honor, have certain technical, factual stipulations that have already been agreed upon and that will speed up the trial considerably.”

“Let’s have them, Mr. Jefferson. Put them in the record now, and I will read them to the jury with the appropriate instruction.”

“Stipulation one: That the location of the killing subject to the indictment was 1027 Raven Hill Road in the Township of Lower Merion, Montgomery County, in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.”

“Mr. Carl?”

“No objection.”

“Stipulation two: that on the date of the alleged crime the owner of the said property of 1027 Raven Hill Road, according to the deed on file in the County Clerk’s Office of Montgomery County, was Hailey Prouix.”

“Mr. Carl?”

“No objection.”

“Stipulation three: that the cause of death, as reported by the coroner, was a single gunshot wound in the chest portion of the body that pierced the victim’s heart.”

“Mr. Carl?”

“No objection.”

“Stipulation four: that the gun in question, People’s Exhibit One, is a King Cobra .357 Magnum, registered by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania to Guy Forrest, with a Social Security number the same as the defendant’s and an address given on the application as 1027 Raven Hill Road, Township of Lower Merion, Montgomery County.”

“Mr. Carl?”

“No objection.”

“Finally, Your Honor, stipulation five: that the murder victim found at 1027 Raven Hill Road, as stated in the indictment, was indeed Hailey Prouix.”

“Mr. Carl?”

“Well, Judge,” I said, “as to stipulation five, that the victim was Hailey Prouix, there we seem to have a problem.”

The explosion wasn’t loud, Jefferson had more control than that, but it was angry and sustained. Troy Jefferson did a classic double take, and then he let me have it.

“It was agreed to, Your Honor. We went over these stipulations carefully, word by word, Your Honor. Mr. Carl agreed, explicitly, and we relied on that agreement. He’s backstabbing us now, backstabbing
us. There is no doubt who was the victim. We have the birth certificate. We have the death certificate. Mr. Carl himself saw her lying there. I don’t know what kind of crazy theory he is postulating here, but, Your Honor, he agreed, and he is bound by that agreement.”

And the whole time I was standing calmly, smiling, and letting him roar, until Judge Tifaro put a stop to it. “Mr. Carl, is it the wording you are concerned about?”

“No, Judge, it is the fact.”

“Did you agree?”

“Yes, Judge, but now I have questions that need answering, and so I am simply asking that the prosecution prove that the victim, as stated in the indictment, was Hailey Prouix and not just some woman who was going around using that name. It is a basic element of the case. He needs to prove it was her.”

“Can you do that, Mr. Jefferson? Can you prove it was Hailey Prouix who was killed?”

“Of course, Your Honor. This is just a cheap delaying tactic, just another low blow from the defense team.”

“Maybe it is, but don’t get mad, Mr. Jefferson,” she said with a note of sweetness in her voice, “get a witness. And preferably somebody who knew her well and long and who can link up the name on the birth certificate with the pictures of the corpse you’ve already admitted into evidence. Would that satisfy you, Mr. Carl?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Is there a parent?”

“Both dead,” I volunteered.

“A sibling?”

“One sister,” I said, “in a West Virginia insane asylum.”

The judge stared at me when I told her that and then, without taking her eyes off my face, said, “Identifying the victim is a pretty crucial step, Mr. Jefferson. You couldn’t have just expected the dead woman to identify herself. Can you get a witness?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You were going to rest next week, isn’t that right?”

“We planned to have the lab technician at the start of the week and a few other minor witnesses, and that was to be it.”

“I guess that won’t be it, will it? You’ll be allowed to amend your witness list as you require, and I’ll allow you additional time in your case due to the surprise, but I’ll want the witness here next week, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Get the name of the new witness to Mr. Carl as soon as possible. Any questions?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Anything else? No? Excellent. Bailiff, let’s bring in the jury.”

I sat down as Jefferson gave me his “you’ll pay for that one, you bastard” stare before he spun around to talk with his team. I’m no lip-reader, but it didn’t take one to know what he was saying.

“Why the hell did he do that?” said Jefferson.

Only shrugs in response.

“Who can we get? Who’s our witness?”

More shrugs, heads turning one to the other to see who had an answer, and then Breger leaned forward. Then Breger leaned forward and put his lips close to Troy Jefferson’s ear and whispered. There were a lot of possibilities, a lot of names could have been pulled out of the hat to do what the prosecution needed to do, but it was Breger who leaned forward and whispered in Jefferson’s ear.

Jefferson pulled back. “You sure he can do it?”

Breger nodded.

“Then get him, damn it. Get him now.”

The jury was just starting to enter when Breger stood, straightened his jacket, gave me a quick wink before he headed out the door of the courtroom.

Good, that was done. Now for the hard part.