The Undertaker's Widow

Part Four

Political Necessity

Chapter 23.

[1]

Henry Orchard popped the videotape into the VCR and pressed the Play button on the remote. Ellen Crease drew in smoke from her Cuban Cohiba Panatela. The anchor on the evening news suddenly appeared on the forty-eight-inch television screen in her home entertainment center.

"This is the Saturday night news report on Channel 6, but it's representative of the stories that the other local channels carried as the lead story last night," Crease's campaign manager told the senator. "The networks used local feeds."

Crease watched herself leave the courthouse protected by a phalanx of policemen. She saw herself ignore the outstretched microphones and the reporters' entreaties. Then Judge Quinn came down the courthouse steps. He stopped at the bottom and turned to the reporters.

"This is good," Orchard said as he turned up the volume.

"The police have asked me to refrain from making a statement or answering questions, and I am going to follow their instructions with one exception. Senator Ellen Crease saved my life tonight and I want to acknowledge her heroism and my debt to her."

"How did she save your life?" several reporters asked simultaneously, as others asked what had happened in the courthouse, but Quinn refused to say anything more. The next shots were of Quinn's and Crease s cars driving from the scene while a voice-over informed the viewers that Senator Benjamin Gage had refused to comment on the incident at the courthouse.

"Now, here's where they hurt us," Orchard said.

"Although Senator Gage refused to comment on the shooting, United States Congresswoman Renata Camp, a strong supporter of Senator Gage, did have this to say."

The screen showed a stern-looking woman of fifty with short gray hair. When she spoke into the camera, she looked very concerned.

"I want to preface this statement by saying that I know very little of the facts surrounding tonight's shooting incident. I do know that the man who attempted to murder Circuit Court Judge Richard Quinn at the Multnomah County Courthouse was a longtime friend and associate of Senator Ellen Crease and the current head of security at her husband's company. I hope that the authorities will look more deeply into the facts surrounding the murder of Lamar Hoyt."

"The information we have," a reporter told Congresswoman Camp, "is that Senator Crease saved Judge Quinn's life by shooting Jack Brademas. You seem to be suggesting that there was something more sinister going on here."

"I'm not saying that at all. I do find it interesting that the senator hid behind a legal technicality in order to escape a trial of the facts of her murder charge, after spending her political career decrying the so-called legal loopholes that murderers, rapists and child molesters use to escape punishment. Then we have her good friend and associate trying to murder the judge in her case. I think these kinds of facts deserve investigation."

Orchard stopped the tape and switched off the set.

"You don't need to see the rest, unless you want to."

Crease waved her cigar at her political adviser.

"It's more of the same," Orchard continued. "What hurts is the innuendo and the accusation that you're hiding behind legal technicalities to keep the voters from learning the truth about Lamar's murder."

Orchard leaned toward Crease. "There's just over a month to the primary and you are way back in the polls. You've got three choices: You quit, you sit and take it or you fight back. If you choose column A or column B, you might as well concede the election and go on vacation."

Crease blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. Then she looked at Orchard.

"You know the first thing I'm gonna do when I'm elected to the United States Senate, Henry? I'm going to get the embargo of Cuba lifted so I can smoke these cigars in public."

Orchard grinned broadly. "That's my girl! Now, I've got some ideas about how we can use Judge Quinn's statement."

"Hold on to them until tomorrow, Henry. I'm meeting with Mary Garrett tonight. I might have something that will bring us back, but I've got to talk to her before I tell you about it."

"What's Garrett have to do with your campaign?"

"I can't tell you. But it will be worth the wait. If I decide to go public with what I know, I've got to make sure that I don't burn myself. So hold on until tomorrow. Then we'll see."

[2]

The Multnomah County District Attorney's Office was deserted on Sunday afternoon, so Leroy Dennis and Lou Anthony were the only people who witnessed Cedric Riker's tirade.

"Can you tell me what the fuck is going on here?" Riker swore when the detectives finished their account of the Saturday shoot-out at the courthouse.

"It's confusing, Ced," Leroy Dennis told the D. A.

"Confusing?" Riker raged. "What do you find confusing? It looks like simple math to me. By my count that bitch has now killed two people. We usually send serial killers to death row. What are you two geniuses proposing? That I give her a marksmanship medal?"

"Just listen to Leroy, Ced," Anthony told the D. A. in his most conciliatory tone.

"I'm all ears."

"Before Saturday, it looked like Senator Crease paid Jablonski to kill her husband. Then the evidence started pointing to Lamar, Jr. Now there's a possibility that Senator Gage is involved."

"Gage! What are you talking about? Are you accusing Benjamin Gage of murder?"

"We're not accusing anyone right now."

"Well, that's a relief. Ben happens to be a close personal friend of mine and one of my staunchest supporters. Not to mention the fact that he is a United States senator."

"I'm just saying that there is a lot of circumstantial evidence pointing at people other than Ellen Crease. We may have acted too hastily when we arrested her."

"Lou, I went to the grand jury on Crease on your say-so. Are you telling me that we indicted an innocent woman?"

Anthony flushed. "We might have."

"Where does Senator Gage come in?" Riker asked.

"Karen Fargo was paid to come forward. The day after she came in to see me five thousand dollars was deposited in her bank account and she was offered a job at a business owned by one of Gage's supporters. This morning I took Fargo to a TV studio to view a videotape that showed Ryan Clark, Gage's administrative assistant. She identified him as the person who bribed her."

"Shit!" Riker swore as he paced back and forth in front of the detectives.

"There's a lot of circumstantial evidence linking Brademas to Junior," Leroy Dennis said, "but Brademas could have sold out Crease to Gage. We think we have enough to bring in Gage for questioning."

Riker spun around and glared at Dennis.

"You are not going to drag a United States senator down to the station house."

"Where do you suggest that we question him?" Anthony asked calmly.

"Damn," Riker muttered. He paced to the window and back. "I'll call Gage. We'll talk to him someplace where the press won't see us." Riker pointed a finger at Anthony. "I don't want one word of this getting out. Meanwhile, you concentrate on Lamar Hoyt."

Anthony did not say anything. He knew Riker owed Gage. Everyone knew that. But he didn't owe Gage a thing and he would follow the investigation where it led him.

[3]

Mary Garrett closed her office door behind Ellen Crease and studied the senator as she crossed the room. After what her client had been through, she expected some sign of wear, but Crease looked confident, poised and full of fight. Crease had asked for this emergency meeting, so Garrett waited for her client to explain what she wanted.

"Mary, I need your advice,'' Crease said without preliminaries.

"That's what you pay me for."

Crease told her lawyer what had happened at the courthouse. When she finished, she hesitated and suddenly looked troubled.

"This is the difficult part, Mary, because it may mean betraying the trust of someone who came to me for help. But we're also dealing with political realities here and the current reality is that I don't stand a chance in hell of winning the primary if something dramatic doesn't happen quickly."

"If the police pin your husband's murder on Jack Brademas and Junior, that will be pretty dramatic."

"We don't know if that will happen. Gage is already using his stalking horses to suggest that I may still be guilty and that Brademas could have been my accomplice. If Junior doesn't confess, the killing will remain officially unsolved."

"What about going public with the fact that Gage bribed Fargo to come forward?"

"I've thought about that. Gage can admit he paid Fargo, then claim credit for bringing a witness forward. Some people will think what he did was sleazy, but they're not going to vote for me if my name hasn't been cleared."

Crease looked very uncomfortable. "Before I tell you anything more, I need your promise that nothing I say will leave this room unless I consent to it."

"Of course. That's all covered by attorney-client confidentiality."

"Would attorney-client confidentiality cover information I gave you about the criminal actions of another person?"

"Yes. It covers anything you tell me with a few exceptions that don't apply here."

'Would the privilege apply even if the person who committed the criminal acts was a judge and he committed them while acting in his capacity as a judge?"

Garrett frowned.

"What's this all about, Ellen?"

Garrett had never seen her client look so uncertain.

"I feel awful about this, but my political future and my reputation are at stake."

Crease told Garrett what Richard Quinn had confided to her on the night that he was attacked in the garage. As Crease related the details of the blackmail plot, Garrett looked incredulous. When she explained Paul Baylor's alternative explanation of the blood spatter evidence, Garrett took careful notes. When Crease told Garrett that Quinn had confessed that he fixed the motion to suppress, the lawyer looked stunned.

"This is very bad. I've never heard of anything like it."

"It happened. Brademas hired Jablonski to kill me and Lamar, then he used this call girl that Junior knew to coerce the judge into assuring my conviction."

"And you think that Junior was Brademas's partner?"

"Junior is the most likely person to have been in this with Jack, but there is another possibility. Benjamin Gage could have learned about the Ritter woman while trying to find dirt to use against me in the campaign. That must be the way he found out about Fargo."

"Do you have any proof of that?"

"No, but the blackmail plot required money and a high level of planning. Jack could have worked it out, but Junior never could have. Whatever else I think about Gage and Clark, there is no denying that they are extremely intelligent."

"You still haven't told me what you want from me, Ellen?"

"Advice. If I hold a press conference and go public with the fact that I was the victim of a conspiracy, I might turn the voters around. But Judge Quinn trusted me. He saved my life by ruling as he did. I don't want to hurt him. And there's the legal problem. I need to know what would happen to Quinn's order if Riker learns that the judge fixed my case. Would I be back facing a murder charge?"

"I'm pretty certain that the order would be null and void if Quinn admits he lied about his legal conclusions, but Riker would have real problems continuing his prosecution. Even if the blood spatter evidence was ruled admissible by a new judge, we now have a reasonable explanation for it, and that's the only concrete evidence the State has to contradict your version of what happened on the night of your husband's murder.

"Then, there's all this new evidence about Jack Brademas and Junior, and Gage bribing Fargo to come forward. The fact that someone tried to blackmail Quinn into assuring your conviction also makes it look like someone else was behind your husband's murder."

"What will happen to Judge Quinn if I go public with the information that he fixed my case?"

Garrett sighed. "He'll be ruined. Even if he fixed the case with the best of intentions he'll be removed from the bench. He could be disbarred. He could even face criminal charges."

"So Judge Quinn will be destroyed if I go public."

"I'm afraid that's what it comes down to."

"And if I don't go public, my reputation and my political career are over."

Chapter 24.

[1]

Henry Orchard and Ellen Crease sat in the back booth of a dimly lit downtown restaurant and discussed the campaign.

"I don't know what to do, Henry."

"It s a no-brainer, Ellen. You've got to hold the press conference and blow this blackmail scheme wide open. It's the only way you can give yourself a real chance to become a United States senator."

"I'd be climbing into national politics over the judge's body. It'd kill him, bury him so deep he might never crawl out."

"What if Gage is behind Lamar's murder? If you do nothing, Gage will win. You could be sending a murderer to the United States Senate. There's more at stake here than the career of one person. Quinn will still be alive. You've got money and influence. You can help him after you're elected."

Crease leaned her head against the back of the booth and shut her eyes.

"I wish this would all go away, Henry. I wish Lamar was still alive and I never decided to challenge that son of a bitch Gage."

"Yeah, well, those are wishes that won't come true, Ellen. And you're going to have to decide what you're going to do now. The days are slipping away. The primary is in May. If we're going to repair the damage caused by your murder indictment, we have to act. I agree with Garrett. Riker would be a fool to pursue his case once you reveal what you know. It's true that there are going to be casualties and Quinn will be one of them, but we're talking about your life here and about bringing your husband's murderer to justice.

"Look, why don't you talk this over with Quinn? Maybe he'll join you at the press conference and tell everyone how you saved his life and how this masked guy tried to force him into convicting you. If Quinn will help, it could be the break we need."

Crease sighed. "How soon can you set up the press conference?"

"I'll have you on the air Thursday night, prime time. We might even get national coverage."

"Then, God help me, let's do it. And God help Richard Quinn."

[2]

Quinn threw two more logs into the stone fireplace in the living room of Frank Price's beach house.

"You warm enough?" Quinn asked Laura.

"Uhm."

Laura was bundled up in a wool sweater and jeans. A glass of wine sat on a low table at her elbow. Quinn settled on the floor beside Laura and they both stared through the huge picture window at the rain that pounded the beach and the boiling whitecaps that rolled over the beleaguered sand. The fire crackled and Quinn felt the heat on his face. He had good memories of this rustic cabin where he had spent many of his summers growing up. He was sorry that he would have to drive back to Portland tomorrow.

"What are you thinking about?" Quinn asked. "If it's business, you're in big trouble."

Laura laughed. "Believe it or not, I haven't thought about my practice since we crossed the coast range. The mountains must block the brain waves from Price, Winward."

Quinn put his arm around Laura's shoulder. He, too, had felt a lessening of tension as the landscape changed from urban sprawl to farmland and forest during their Sunday morning drive to the coast. By the time he and Laura were finishing bowls of thick, steaming clam chowder at a ramshackle restaurant of weathered wood on the Newport waterfront, he was a different person. An hour after lunch, Quinn and Laura were making love to the sound of rain pattering on the shake roof of the beach house and the murders were a universe away.

When they awoke Monday morning, a storm was brewing in the Pacific, but the rain held off until three. Quinn and Laura had walked the beach, driven into town for lunch, then spent the afternoon reading in front of the fire.

"If it's not business, then what caused that glazed look in your eyes?"

Laura looked a little guilty.

"You won't be mad at me?" she asked sheepishly.

Quinn squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

"Speak. I know you. You'll brood all night if you don't get whatever is bothering you off your chest."

"Why do you think Brademas told Lamar, Sr., that Junior was embezzling the money?"

Quinn groaned.

"You said you wouldn't be mad."

Quinn sighed. "Brademas was Hoyt's head of security. He was supposed to tell him."

"I know, but wouldn't it have made more sense for Brademas to keep Hoyt in the dark? If Brademas hired Jablonski to kill Hoyt and Senator Crease so he would get a share of the estate when Junior inherited, wasn't Brademas risking a lot by going to Senior? What if Hoyt called in the police immediately after finding out about Junior? What if he changed his will the same day?"

"I see what you mean. Maybe Brademas didn't think of the plan until after he spoke to Hoyt."

"That would explain it," Laura said in a tone that let Quinn know she was not really convinced. "And there's something else. That visit from Marie Ritter when she was pretending to be Claire Reston."

"What about it?"

"What was the point? What possible purpose was served by having Ritter pretend to be her sister?"

Quinn shrugged. "I guess Brademas and Junior wanted to shake me up so I'd go along with their blackmail scheme."

"But you were already a mess. They'd threatened to frame you for murder. You thought you'd be disbarred, disgraced and incarcerated in a rat-infested prison on St. Jerome. Ritter's visit was really overkill."

"Wait a minute. Ritter told me where she was staying just when Fran Stuart walked in. Brademas and Junior were creating a witness. After Ritter was murdered, Fran could testify that Ritter was upset when she left my chambers and that I knew her hotel room number."

"That makes sense, but what if you saw through Ritter's makeup and figured out that Claire Reston and Andrea Chapman were the same person? You'd know Ritter wasn't murdered on St. Jerome. Brademas and Junior would have lost their leverage. Why put Marie Ritter in the same room with you when everything was going so well? Why take the risk?"

"They probably figured that I'd be so shaken up that I wouldn't be able to figure out that Reston and Chapman were the same person. And they were right. If I hadn't seen the scar on Ritter's hip I would still believe that Claire and Andrea were different women. They took a risk, but given my state, it wasn't all that big a risk."

Laura snuggled close to Quinn. "You're probably right."

Quinn kissed Laura. "Even if I'm not right, I don't care. I want to forget about Ellen Crease, Lamar Hoyt,fils and perey and Jack Brademas."

Laura kissed Quinn. "I've been a bad wife. I promise not to mention the case or anything even remotely connected to law for the rest of our stay."

"Good. Because even a single slip of the tongue will be severely punished."

"Oh? What might you do?"

"Hmm. Ravishing comes to mind."

Laura fluttered her eyelids. "You mean that I'll be ravished if I say anything connected with law?"

"You betcha."

Laura smiled seductively and whispered, "Habeas corpus."

[3]

Lamar Hoyt, Jr., lived on the eighth floor of a brick and glass condominium near the Vista Bridge. Anthony flashed his badge at the security guard and told him not to announce the arrival of the detectives and the four uniformed officers who accompanied them. When they arrived at Junior's apartment, the officers stationed themselves on either side of the door and Dennis rang the bell. He had to press the button five times before an angry voice, thick with sleep, asked, "Who is it?"

Anthony held his badge in front of the peephole and said, "Open up, police."

The door swung open, revealing a huge living room decorated with low-slung, modern furniture of polished metal, glass and smooth woods. Anthony saw the lights of Portland through a floor-to-ceiling window that stretched across the outer wall of the apartment. The other walls were decorated with framed posters or paintings with a skiing theme. The top of a glass coffee table was covered with empty beer bottles, a half-filled bottle of red wine and an open pizza delivery box containing only the half-eaten remains of a slice of pepperoni and cheese.

"Real class, Junior," Anthony said.

"Ah, shit," Junior replied when he recognized the detective.

Junior was wearing a dark blue silk bathrobe belted loosely at the waist. The robe hung open a little, exposing Junior's hairy legs and torso and a pair of bright red bikini underpants.

"May we step inside, Mr. Hoyt?" Dennis asked.

"No, you may not."

"I'm afraid we have to insist," Dennis responded patiently.

"I'm calling my lawyer."

"Maybe you'd better do that," Anthony said. "Tell him to njieet you downtown."

"Down . . . It's the middle of the night. I'm not going anywhere unless you've got a warrant."

Dennis smiled and handed Hoyt his copy of a search warrant.

"What's this about?" Junior asked nervously.

Why don't we talk inside?"

Junior backed away from the door. Dennis noticed a dining area in front of the picture window that was relatively clean. He motioned Junior toward it. Anthony took a seat at the head of a large dining table and Dennis sat beside him. Two policemen stationed themselves near Junior and he eyed them anxiously.

"We have a new lead in your father's death and we need your help, Mr. Hoyt," Dennis said.

"What kind of new lead?"

Anthony took an autopsy photograph of Marie Ritter out of a manila envelope and handed it to Junior.

"Jesus!" Junior said, dropping the picture the moment he saw what it was.

"That's a curious reaction for someone who works in a funeral parlor," Dennis told Junior.

"You didn't happen to know this woman, did you?" Anthony asked.

Junior forced himself to look at the picture. He looked confused at first, then his expression changed. When he looked up, Junior's eyes shifted nervously between the detectives.

"You are two sick fucks, you know that?"

"Not as sick as the person who did this," Anthony answered, pointing at Marie Ritter's mutilated body. "This is a call girl named Marie Ritter. She was murdered a few nights ago at the Heathman. I understand that you were one of her customers."

Junior twitched. He cast another anxious glance at the autopsy photo.

"Look, I'll be honest with you. I, uh, I knew this woman, but not down here. I knew her in Seattle. And not as Marie Ritter. She called herself Crystal. All these whores have whore names." Junior forced a smile, but Anthony and Dennis did not respond. "But I didn't know that she was dead." Junior fidgeted nervously. "This isn't my normal thing, you understand. A friend of mine turned me on to her. Said she was, uh, exotic. I usually don't pay for sex, if you know what I mean."

"I'm sure you get lots of pussy, Junior," Anthony said. "But we're more interested in the last time you saw Marie Ritter than we are in your love life. When was that?"

"Uh. Let's see. It would be sometime in January. Late January."

"So soon after your father's death?" Dennis asked.

"So much for a period of mourning," Anthony added.

"Hey, I don't have to take this shit," Junior said, half standing and glaring at Anthony. "Especially from the person who blew the investigation of my father's killer."

Anthony paled and he started to stand, but Dennis put a restraining hand on his partner's arm.

"Why don't you relax, Mr. Hoyt?" Dennis said. "I'm sure it just seemed odd to my partner that you would be cavorting with a high-priced call girl so soon after your father passed away."

"Yeah, well, it happened," Junior answered sullenly. He settled back onto his chair. "I was in Seattle on business and I called her."

"Directly?"

"No. She works for an escort service. I arranged it through them."

"I bet Crystal didn't come cheap, Junior. No pun intended," Anthony said.

"You think you're funny?"

"Where do you get all the money for these expensive toys, Mr. Hoyt?" Dennis asked.

Junior barked out a harsh laugh. "You are two pathetic civil servants. For a guy like me, a couple of hundred a night is nothing. I'm making a bundle from the mortuaries."

"You must be spending a bundle, too," Dennis said casually. He didn't sound the least offended by Junior's outburst. "Wine, women and song, heh, heh. You know, the credit check I ran on you has you maxed out on just about every credit card there is and your bank balance ..." Dennis shook his head sadly and Junior turned pale.

"Do you remember where you were on Wednesday evening?"

"Wednesday?" Junior asked nervously. "Why do you need to know that?"

"That's when Ms. Ritter--Crystal--was killed."

"Hey, I didn't have anything to do with that."

"Of course," Dennis said soothingly, "but it would help if we could eliminate you as a suspect. See, so far, you're the only person connected with this case who knew Ms. Ritter."

"I . . . I'm pretty sure . . . Yeah, Wednesday, I was by myself. I stayed home alone."

"No one called you or dropped in to visit?" Dennis asked.

"No."

"That's too bad. You're certain you were home and not at the Heathman with Miss Ritter?"

"Absolutely."

Dennis smiled. "Well, we'll know soon enough. The lab reports are expected back soon." Dennis shook his head sadly. "You know, it just isn't fair anymore. A good crook used to be able to beat the rap by just wearing gloves so he didn't leave fingerprints. But now with this DNA if you spit or leave a teensy-weensy head hair or an itsy-bitsy drop of semen, you're doomed."

"You won't find any of my prints or DNA on that woman."

"Mr. Hoyt," Anthony asked, "do you think you can remember a little more about that argument you had with your father? The one at Hoyt Industries headquarters. You were pretty vague about what made you and your father so upset."

"I've had enough of this. First, you drop a picture of a dead woman on my table, then you suggest I killed her, now you're asking about some argument I already told you about ..."

"Let me help you out here. You know Jack Brademas, the head of security for Hoyt Industries, don't you? Probably heard all about his getting killed on the TV."

Junior did not answer. He looked desperate.

"We know that Brademas told your father that you were skimming money from the mortuaries. That's what you and your father argued about."

"That's bullshit, pure bullshit, and I'm not talking to you two anymore without a lawyer."

"That's your choice," Dennis said, "but it might be smart to cooperate with us now. That way we can tell the D. A. to give you a break."

"What D. A.? Are you gonna charge me with some crime?"

"Why, have you done something you're worried about?"

"No, I haven't," Junior said, but he looked confused and scared. "Now, why don't you two get out of here?"

"We're going to leave, but you'll be coming with us while these officers search your apartment.

"Take him into the bedroom and let him dress," Anthony told two of the officers. Two men surrounded Junior. He hesitated and Anthony said, "We can take you downtown dressed in those skivvies and put you in the drunk tank, if you'd like."

Junior wrenched his elbow free and strode angrily out of the room.

Chapter 25.

[1]

Lou Anthony and Leroy Dennis met Cedric Riker at Benjamin Gage's house at three o'clock/Tuesday afternoon. Benjamin Gage ushered Anthony and Dennis into his den, where Riker was waiting drink in hand. It looked like their arrival had interrupted a chat between old friends.

"I know that you gentlemen are busy, so why don't you tell me how I can help you?"

"Do you know a woman named Karen Fargo, Senator?" Anthony asked quickly to keep Riker from conducting the questioning.

"No. I don't believe I've ever met her."

"But you know who she is," Dennis said.

Dennis smiled disarmingly, but Ryan Clark had briefed his boss on both detectives and he knew that he was not dealing with fools.

"Of course. I've followed Senator Crease's case very closely."

"Have you ever paid her any money, Senator?" Dennis asked.

"Now, wait a minute," Riker interjected, "we're not here to . . ."

Gage held up his hand and Riker's sentence squealed to a halt.

"I have great respect for the law, Ced. I want to be completely candid with these men."

Gage turned to Dennis. 'I hope I didn't do anything wrong in urging Miss Fargo to go to the police with what she knew, but I felt that her evidence would be of use in finding Lamar Hoyt's killer. Was it illegal to find Miss Fargo a job after Ellen Crease had her fired? Was I wrong to help her with her rent and food until she could get back on her feet?"

"No one is accusing you of doing anything illegal, Senator," Riker assured Gage.

"I appreciate that, because, after the fact, I wondered if I'd been out of bounds."

"Mr. Clark, he's your assistant?" Anthony asked.

"Administrative assistant. A true patriot. He was a navy SEAL. Decorated extensively."

"Do you happen to know his whereabouts on last Wednesday?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask him about that. I'm sure he'll answer all your questions."

"Do you know where we can reach him?"

"Certainly."

Gage told them a phone number.

"Senator, did you or Mr. Clark know Marie Ritter or Martin Jablonski?"

Gage smiled patientiy. "I can only speak for myself. I recognize Mr. Jablonski's name, of course, and I can assure you that we never met. I'm unfamiliar with the other person you mentioned. I can't speak for Mr. Clark. You'll have to ask him."

Riker stood up. "Thank you for taking the time to talk to us."

"Anytime, Ced. I'm a strong supporter of the police."

Gage walked the detectives and the district attorney to the front door. When they were on their way, the senator returned to his study and phoned Ryan Clark.

"How did it go?" Clark asked.

"Piece of cake."

[2]

The message light on the answering machine was blinking furiously when Quinn and Laura returned home from the beach late Tuesday afternoon.

"Probably reporters/' Quinn said as he carried the last of the bags in from the car.

"Or my office," Laura answered as she hit the Play button.

They were right about the first four messages, but the fifth was from Ellen Crease.

"Judge, I've tried calling you every place I could think of, but no one knows where you are. It's urgent that we speak as soon as possible. Please call me immediately."

"I wonder what that's about," Laura said.

"I'd better call. She sounded upset."

Quinn dialed the number Crease had left. James Allen answered the phone. Quinn gave his name and Ellen Crease picked up a moment later.

"I just got your message. Laura and I have been hiding out at the coast since early Sunday. What's up?"

"We need to talk."

Crease sounded very tense.

"About what?"

"It's not something that we should discuss over the phone. Can you come to my house?"

"Now?"

"Right away."

"Can't this wait until tomorrow? We just walked in the door and I'm bushed."

"It has to be now. Please. This concerns both of our futures. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Quinn hesitated. Then he gave in.

"Use the back entrance to the estate. That way, no one will see you. I'll leave the gate open. It's a little tricky to get to. You have to take some back roads."

"Give me the directions."

Quinn grabbed a pencil and wrote down Crease's instructions on a pad, then read them back.

"What was that about?" Laura asked when Quinn hung up.

"I have no idea."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"She sounded very uptight, so she must think that it's important we meet. She even wants me to come by a back way so I won't be seen."

"Call her back and tell her you'll talk to her tomorrow."

"She saved my life, Laura."

Laura sighed. "You're right. Do you want me to come with you?"

Quinn squeezed Laura's hand. "There's no reason why both of us should run out. I won't be gone long."

Quinn left and Laura carried their bags upstairs to the bedroom. She was unpacking them when something Crease had said on the answering machine flitted in and out of her consciousness. Laura paused and tried to recapture the thought. She frowned, then shook her head. It was gone. She was tempted to replay Crease's message but that would mean going downstairs. She felt sticky from the ride. She decided to shower first. It was probably nothing, anyway.

Quinn took the back roads to the Hoyt estate and ended at a small gated entrance surrounded by woods. The gate was open, just as Crease said it would be. It was almost a mile to the house on a narrow unpaved road.

Ellen Crease was waiting for Quinn at the rear door.

"I've given James Allen the night off and I've dismissed the security guards so we can have privacy," Crease said as she led Quinn into a sunroom in the rear of the mansion. The room was painted white and floored with terra-cotta tiles. Wide-leaf plants filled the corners of the room. Three of the walls were floor-to-ceiling windows divided into small panes through which the pale evening light entered.

Crease gestured Quinn onto one of four wicker chairs that surrounded a glass-top table. Outside the room was a garden. None of the flowers were in bloom and there were no buds on the limbs of the trees. The foliage looked cold and exposed. Just beyond the garden were heavy woods that stretched to the boundary of the estate. Crease got to the point immediately.

"I need your help, Dick. Believe me, I've thought long and hard before asking you for it, but I have no choice."

"I'll help any way I can," Quinn assured her.

"Don't say that so quickly. Wait until you hear what I want from you."

Crease sighed. She seemed sad.

"I've only known you for a short time, but you've impressed me with your integrity and character. That's what makes my request so difficult. I am going to lose my bid to win the primary unless I go public about the conspiracy against me. I trust the voters. If they know that I was framed for Lamar's murder, I believe they will swing over to me."

Crease's features hardened. She captured Quinn with her eyes. He could feel her power.

"Dick, the voters have to be told that you were threatened with blackmail if you did not fix my case. Benjamin Gage is taking the position that I've been hiding behind a legal technicality to keep the public from finding out the truth about Lamar's murder. You can tell everyone that you ruled as you did to protect me from a plan to frame me. I know it's a lot to ask. I tried to reach you yesterday, so you would have time to think about what I'm asking you to do. When I couldn't find you I had to go forward. I've planned a news conference for Thursday night. I'm going public with everything.''

"You can't do that."

Crease looked sad. She shook her head wearily. "You have no idea how difficult this decision was for me, Dick, but I'm convinced that I must go ahead with the news conference."

"Do you appreciate what could happen to me if it gets out that I fixed your case?"

"Yes. I consulted Mary Garrett before I made this decision. She told me that you will probably have to resign from the bench and that you might face criminal charges."

"There is no 'might.' Cedric Riker is a political crony of Benjamin Gage. If my confession costs Gage the election he'll definitely come after me."

"I've got money and influence, Dick. I won't desert you if things start to go bad."

Quinn shook his head as if he could not believe what he was hearing.

"I know I'm asking a lot. If you go public at my press conference, I am prepared to back you with every penny I've got. You'll have the best lawyers, and I'll work behind the scenes for you. Gage isn't the only person with political influence."

Quinn leaned back and closed his eyes. He had been prepared to resign from the bench on the evening that Brademas attacked him in the garage. Crease had convinced him to reconsider that decision. Now she wanted him to make a public confession.

"I have to talk this over with Laura. If I'm disbarred or go to prison, it will affect her, too."

"Of course. But I'm going to go ahead with the news conference whether you help me or not. If you confess publicly, it may help you later."

Quinn was about to respond when the rear doorbell rang.

"Stay here," Crease said. "I'll see who that is."

A moment later, Quinn heard raised voices in the hall. One of them was Laura's. Quinn walked into the hall. Laura saw him and walked down the hall with Crease close behind her.

"What does she want from you?" Laura demanded.

"Your husband was just about to drive home and tell you," Crease answered calmly. "Why don't we discuss this in the sunroom, instead of standing in the hall?"

Quinn and Laura followed the senator into the sun-room. When they were seated, Quinn said, "Ellen wants me to go public about the blackmail plot. She thinks it will help her win the election if the voters learn that someone tried to coerce me into fixing her case so that she would be convicted."

Laura turned on Crease. "You want my husband to risk prison so you can win an election?"

"The decision to go public has already been made. The only question is whether Dick helps me. I'm sorry, Laura."

"I don't think you are. There's something very wrong here, something that I don't understand. I listened to the message that you left on our answering machine. You said that you tried to find Dick, but no one knew where he was."

"Yes?" Crease answered with obvious confusion.

"You couldn't find us because Dick and I didn't tell anyone that we were going to the coast."

Now Quinn looked confused, too.

"What are you getting at?" Quinn asked.

"How did Jack Brademas know that my husband was working at the courthouse on Saturday?" Laura asked Crease. "It was a weekend afternoon. No one would expect him to be there. The only person besides me that he told was you, Senator, when he phoned to tell you about the police report."

"Jack must have followed your husband," Crease said.

"That's possible, but it wouldn't explain why he was so desperate to kill Dick. Only one thing could have caused that urgency. Knowing that Dick had discovered his link to Jablonski and was going to tell the police. And you are the only person who knew about Dick's discovery."

"You think I sent Jack to kill your husband?" Crease asked incredulously.

"There were a few things that never added up. If Brademas was working with Junior so he could get a cut of the estate, it made no sense for him to tell your husband about the embezzlement scheme and run the risk that Lamar would go to the police or disinherit Junior. I think Jack Brademas was your accomplice all along, Senator."

"You've got it all wrong, Laura," Crease said without rancor.

"I don't think so. Jablonski was your sacrificial lamb. You hid in the bathroom while he murdered your husband. Then you ambushed him and became a grieving widow and a law-and-order avenger overnight. It was a terrific little coup that helped you to skyrocket in the polls and become a multimillionaire. Everything was going great until Gary Yoshida stumbled across the blood spatter pattern on the armoire and Gage bribed Fargo to go to the police. When you were indicted for Lamar Hoyt's murder, you lost everything you had gained. Now your priority was to escape death row. That's when you dreamed up your blackmail scheme. You knew that Dick was going to St. Jerome because he announced it at your bail hearing. I bet Brademas found out about Marie Ritter while he was investigating Junior. You used her to ensnare Dick, then you killed her when she had served her purpose."

"There's a problem with your theory, Laura," Crease said calmly. "If Jack and I were working together, why would we tell your husband that he would be ruined unless he did everything he could to see that I was sent to prison?" Crease flashed Laura a condescending smile. "That doesn't sound like a very good plan to me."

"That was the cleverest part of the plan, Senator, and it hinged on an excellent reading of the character of my husband. I could never understand why the blackmailers sent Marie Ritter to see Dick during the hearing. They were running an incredible risk that he would figure out that Claire Reston and Andrea Chapman were the same person. If that happened, the blackmail plan would be useless because Dick would know that Andrea Chapman was not murdered on St. Jerome. The blackmailers' leverage would be lost.

"On top of that, Reston let Dick know that she could go public with the fact that he was with Chapman in the cove. It was a ridiculous thing to do if the blackmailers wanted their plot to succeed, but it was a very clever thing to do if the blackmailers wanted their plan to fail."

For the first time since Laura arrived, Crease looked uncertain.

"You sent Reston to see Dick because you wanted him to do exactly the opposite of what Brademas ordered. You knew that my husband would never give in to blackmail if you told him to fix the case so that you would be acquitted. He would have gone to the police even if it meant his career. You used reverse psychology to get Dick to do what you wanted. You knew how decent Dick is. You gambled that he would sacrifice his career to save you."

"This is absolute nonsense," Crease said.

"Look at the evidence. Paul Baylor didn't say that Gary Yoshida's interpretation of the blood spatter evidence was wrong, he only gave a theoretical alternative to Yoshida's explanation. If Yoshida was right, you lied all along. You also profited the most when your husband died. You and Brademas go way back. Who does it make more sense for him to work with? And you were the only one who knew about the report that implicated Brademas, the only one who could tell him where to find Dick."

"She saved my life, Laura," Quinn said.

"No, Dick, she didn't save your life when she killed Brademas. She took care of a witness who could hang her. Brademas became a liability as soon as you found his name on that report."

"But why didn't she wait until Brademas killed me? With both of us dead there would be no way to prove that her case was rigged and she would be free of the murder charges."

"With you dead, there would be no one who could tell the voters about the conspiracy to frame her. She needed you alive to save her campaign. It all fits, Dick. She's been playing you since you were assigned to her case."

Quinn stood up. He should have been furious, but he was too stunned to be angry.

"Where are you going?''

"To the police."

"'Don't do that, Dick," Crease implored desperately.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'll make you a deal."

"'There's nothing you can offer me."

"But there is. I can offer you your career. In order to implicate me, you'll have to confess to fixing my case. No one can prove what you did if you don't go to the police. Keep quiet and you'll stay on the bench, you won't be disbarred, you won't have to worry about criminal charges and the disgrace."

Quinn suddenly saw Crease's real face. An image of Marie Ritter spread-eagled on the hotel bed flashed in his mind and he remembered the terror he felt in the garage and as he lay waiting for death on the cold marble floor of the courthouse.

"Not a chance. If I have to go to jail, I will, but you're not walking away from this."

Quinn turned his back to the senator.

"God damn it, Quinn, you'll ruin us both," Crease shouted.

Quinn and Laura kept walking. There was an end table at Crease's elbow. She opened a drawer and pulled out a gun.

"Stop," she yelled. When Quinn did not look back, Crease squeezed the trigger. Quinn's right/leg flew out from under him and he fell to the floor. Laura screamed. Quinn stared at Crease, dazed. Blood was spreading along his pants leg near his knee. Crease took a pair of handcuffs from the drawer and tossed them to Laura. She made no move to catch them and they fell at her feet. Crease cocked the gun and pointed it at Laura.

"Tick them up and cuff him," she ordered.

"I'm not . . . ," Laura started, but Crease smashed her across the cheek with the revolver, driving her to her knees. Quinn threw himself at Crease, but she stepped out of reach and he collapsed sideways, grimacing with pain. Crease pointed the gun at Quinn's head and spoke to Laura.

"Do as you're told or I'll kill him."

Laura looked at Crease wide-eyed. Crease cocked the revolver and Laura retrieved the cuffs.

"Get your hands behind you," Crease told Quinn. Laura snapped on the cuffs.

"Was it the money? Did you kill your husband for his money?" Quinn asked to stall for time.

Crease shook her head wearily.

"I didn't care about Lamar's money. I cared about Lamar and I killed the bastard because he was going to leave me."

Crease's voice caught and her eyes watered.

"I loved him. He's the only man I ever loved. I gave Lamar everything and he threw my love in my face." A tear ran down Crease's cheek. "Fargo wasn't the first tramp he'd played around with, but she was the one he was going to substitute for me. It was history repeating itself. As soon as one of his wives started to age, Lamar would trade her in. I tried to talk him out of it. I did everything I could. I really loved that son of a bitch, but I told him I'd see him dead before I'd let him make me into one of his discards. He didn't believe me."

"What if you were wrong about me? What if I did fix the case so that you were convicted?"

"I thought of that possibility. If I saw that you were trying to help the prosecutor convict me I would have released the photographs to the media and moved for a mistrial claiming that you had been blackmailed into fixing the case. But I never had to do that, because I had you doped out one hundred percent."

Quinn felt like a complete fool.

"What we didn't count on was that police report with Jack's name on it," Crease said. "If it weren't for that ..." She shook her head.

"Did Brademas help you for the money?"

"Of course. And he was in love with me. He had been since we were on the force together. We were even lovers before I married Lamar. Jack had been shaking down drug dealers. Internal Affairs was after him, but they didn't have the evidence to make a case stick. He resigned to avoid a further inquiry. I got him his job in security at Hoyt Industries for old time's sake.

"When Lamar started cheating on me I became Jack's lover again, out of spite. But he never meant anything to me. When I decided to kill Lamar, persuading Jack to help me was easy. Then he started to get out of control. He was just supposed to kill Ritter, not torture her. I was furious when I heard what he'd done. I wanted to frame you for Ritter's murder, but you would never have killed her like that. Then you told me about the police report and I knew Jack was a liability I could not afford.

"When we got to the courthouse, I told Jack that I would follow him as backup. He thought that he was supposed to kill you and take the report. But I would never have let him kill you. Laura is right. You were worth more to me alive so you could tell everyone how I saved your life."

"Why did Brademas go after me in the parking garage?"

"We wanted to make sure that the order suppressing evidence would stand. I couldn't risk having it set aside if you told someone that you had fixed my case. Then you came to me for help. I decided that you would be of more use to me alive, because you would be my proof of the plot to frame me for Lamar's murder."

Crease suddenly looked very tired.

"We've talked long enough," she said. "Are both of your cars in back of the house?"

Quinn and Laura nodded.

"Get him up and help him outside," Crease told Laura.

"Don't do this," Quinn begged. "I'll make the broadcast."

Crease shook her head. "It's too late for that. I'd never be able to trust you."

"For God's sake," Quinn started.

"Move," Crease ordered, "and no more talking."

Quinn hobbled forward into the hallway. Crease followed at a safe distance.

"I love you," Quinn whispered to Laura.

"What did I say about talking?" Crease asked angrily.

A second later, a gunshot exploded in the hall.

Chapter 26.

A young cop was waiting at the front door of the Hoyt mansion when Anthony and Dennis drove up. Two marked cars were parked along the other side of the turnaround. The officer told them where everyone was and Anthony and Dennis walked along the front of the mansion until they found a slate path that led toward the pool. The path continued along the side of the house. Eventually, they rounded a corner and saw an ambulance and two parked cars. Richard Quinn was lying on a stretcher. A medic was working on his leg. A second medic was working on a nasty gash on Laura Quinn's cheek. Through the open back door, Anthony saw a forensic expert circling a third person who was lying facedown in the hall. He was carrying a camera. Every so often he would stop and take a photograph. Another cop was videotaping the scene.

Anthony walked inside and knelt next to the body of Ellen Crease. He spotted the entry wound in the back of her head. He had no desire to see the mess the bullet had made when it exited. It was enough to know that Crease was dead.

Anthony walked outside just as Quinn gasped in pain. The medic apologized and Quinn gritted his teeth. He looked spent, but Anthony needed to find out what had happened. He squatted down beside the judge.

"Feel up to talking?"

"I can manage a little."

"We're gonna have to take him to the hospital," the medic said. "Make it quick."

"She was in it with Brademas," Quinn said. "She hired Jablonski to make the hit on Lamar because he was going to leave her for Karen Fargo."

Anthony remembered his interview with Crease in the library on the evening of her husband's murder. He had been impressed by the dignity with which she had conducted herself despite her grief. Maybe the grief had not been an act.

"Crease was going to go on television Thursday night and tell everyone that I had been blackmailed to fix her case. She wanted me to speak at her press conference. Laura figured out what happened. She came here and confronted Crease. We were going to the police. Crease shot me and hit Laura. She was going to kill us."

"Gotta go," the medic said as he signaled his partner.

"You take care," the detective said as the medics started maneuvering the stretcher toward the ambulance. "I'll talk to you at the hospital."

Anthony walked over to Leroy Dennis, who was finishing up with Laura. She joined Quinn in the back of the ambulance. When the ambulance drove away, Anthony said, "Let's talk to the man of the hour."

The detectives found James Allen in the sunroom.

"Mr. Allen?" Anthony said.

Allen looked up, but he seemed to have trouble focusing and he looked unstable.

"Do you remember me, sir?"

Allen made an almost imperceptible nod. Anthony sat across from him.

"I had to do it," he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper.

"I know, Mr. Allen," Dennis said. "She was going to kill them."

"How did you happen to come back to the house? I understand from the officer who talked to you that this was your night off."

"I didn't feel well, so I came home. I wanted to make myself some tea to calm my stomach before going to my quarters. I was going toward the kitchen when I heard them. Judge Quinn said he was going to the police. Then there was a gunshot."

Allen paused and shook his head in disbelief.

"I froze for a moment. Then I went into the den where the gun collection is kept. She was raising the gun to fire again when I reentered the hall. I ... I didn't feel that I had a choice."

Allen began to sob. Anthony watched helplessly. Dennis went into the hall and returned with a doctor. Then the detectives left.

"Let's take a walk," Anthony said. "I want to talk to you about something."

"Such as?"

"This blackmail business," Anthony told Dennis as they headed back toward the pool where the other policemen would not overhear them.

"We don't have any proof that Quinn fixed Crease's case. With Crease and Brademas dead, it doesn't look like we'll get any unless the judge confesses."

Anthony stood on the edge of the empty pool. Debris had settled on the bottom. Leaves mostly. Anthony figured the pool man would have cleaned it eventually, but he wondered what would happen now with everybody dead.

"Quinn's a good judge," Anthony said.

"If he fixed a case, he violated the law."

"I know that, but I'm wondering about the value of pursuing our investigation now that Crease is dead."

"Value? That's a funny word to use, Lou. We don't get paid to deal in values. That's for philosophers. We're lawmen. The senators and representatives write the laws, the governors sign them, we enforce them. Cops aren't supposed to think about whether the laws are good or bad."

Anthony walked away from the pool and into the garden. He could see the setting sun through the denuded tree limbs.

"Do you believe in second chances, Leroy?"

"That's what bleeding-heart defense lawyers are always whining for. Isn't that what you've told me?"

Anthony smiled. "You got me there. Well, I'm just one part of this team. You've got a vote, too, but I think that we should put this case to rest and leave Richard Quinn alone."

Dennis thought about Anthony's proposal for a moment. Then he shrugged.

"I'll go along with you for now. But I won't do it for nothing."

"What do you want, Leroy?"

"A Captain Neon burger and a pint of Terminator stout."

EPILOGUE:

[1]

"Are you all right?" Laura asked when Quinn stopped.

"I'm a little winded. Just let me rest for a moment."

Quinn was home from the hospital and trying to get some exercise by walking along the streets in Hereford Farms, but he did not have much stamina. Quinn leaned on his cane for a moment while Laura waited patiently. It was not hard to do. Balmy spring weather had suddenly appeared. Flowers were starting to show up, the temperature was perfect and the sky was children's-book blue.

"Okay," Quinn said. Laura took his arm and they started down Peacock Road toward the swimming pool and the tennis courts.

"Stanley Sax stopped me in the courthouse hallway," Laura told Quinn, introducing a subject they had avoided. "He wants to know when you'll be ready to go back to work."

Quinn looked straight ahead.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I said it's up to your doctors. Is that what I should have said?"

"Be honest with me, Laura. Do you think I deserve to be sitting as a judge?"

Laura stopped walking. She faced Quinn.

"I love the fact that you're so principled, Dick, but I wish you would recognize your humanity a little more often. You're going to make wrong choices. Don't punish yourself when you do because that's ego; that's crediting yourself with infallibility.

"You asked me if I think you should go back to the bench. I think you should do what makes you happy, and that's being a judge. I wouldn't tell you to go back if I didn't think it was right. The people of this state need good judges. If you leave the bench, you'll be letting them down so you can punish yourself."

Quinn and Laura walked in silence for a while. Finally, Quinn said, "I want to go back, I just ..."

"You just acted like a human being."

Quinn looked anguished. "You really think it's the right thing to do?"

"Yes, Dick."

"Then the next time you see Stan tell him I'm anxious to get back to work."

[2]

"Un autre, s'il vous plait," James Allen said.

"Immediatement, monsieur."

The waiter took Allen's empty cup and saucer and carried it inside the cafe. Allen smiled. He was especially pleased because the waiter was conversing in French. Allen had noticed that many of the waiters switched to English the moment an American tried to converse in French if the American's accent or grammar was not perfect.

While Allen waited for the waiter to return with his cappuccino, he looked across the waters of Lake Geneva to the French Alps. The mountaintops were dusted with snow even though the weather in Lausanne was balmy. Every year, James Allen took his vacation on the Continent. This was his second time in Switzerland and he was enjoying it very much. It was especially nice because the $50,000 he had received from Benjamin Gage and the money in Lamar Hoyt's bequest permitted him to travel in luxury for the first time.

As per his agreement with Ryan Clark, Allen had told the police nothing about the arrangement with Senator Gage that Allen had initiated soon after the hearing on the motion to suppress. It was the blood spatter evidence that had convinced Allen that Ellen Crease had been behind the murder of his employer. Allen had never liked the woman. She was too insensitive to Mr. Hoyt's needs, too domineering. If she had won election to the United States Senate, Mr. Hoyt would have been left alone for most of the year. He knew how much that would have upset Mr. Hoyt because he had overheard several arguments in which this matter was the main subject.

Just when Allen decided that Crease was guilty, Judge Quinn had destroyed the case against her. It was then that Allen decided to give campaign intelligence to Benjamin Gage in the hopes that his information would lead to Crease's defeat. When Ryan Clark supplied him with the bugging equipment, Allen secretly hoped that Crease would confess the murder on tape, but that had never happened. Still, it was the phone conversation between Crease and Judge Quinn that Allen had overheard that eventually put the houseman in a position to avenge his employer's murder. Allen had rigged the sunroom with a listening device and had acted as soon as Crease threatened to kill Laura and the judge.

Life had been hectic following the shooting. There were the police interrogations and the interviews with the press. Appearing distraught through it all drained him, but Allen knew enough about the authorities to understand that they would not have reacted favorably if he expressed the joy he felt when he ended the life of the woman who had taken Lamar Hoyt from him.

A ferry cruised by on the lake heading toward Montreaux. Tomorrow Allen was planning to travel by ferry a little farther to Chateau Chillon, the fortress where Lord Byron had set his famous poem. He was looking forward to the slow ride during which he planned to reread "The Prisoner of Chillon."

"Monsieur," the waiter said with a warm smile as he placed the cappuccino in front of Allen. Allen thanked him in fluent French perfected during years of night school study and trips to France and Switzerland.

A cloud slipped in front of the sun. For a moment, the air cooled. Allen sipped his drink. The hot liquid cut the chill. He checked the time. In four hours he would be dining in one of Europe's finest restaurants. He picked up the book he was reading and took another sip of his cappuccino.