To speak for the dead

20

The phone call came three days after we filed our discovery with the state. We listed our witnesses and physical evidence, including a certain "videotape portraying a prosecution witness, the decedent, the defendant, and an additional party." I wanted to see if it got a rise out of Socolow. I don't know if it did. But the widow surely noticed.

"Mr. Lassiter," she purred on the phone.

"Mrs. Corrigan," I said.

"You have something I would like very much."

"You want my 1954 Willie Mays baseball card?"

"Don't toy with me, Jake," she said, impatiently.

"So sorry, that's what I thought you wanted me to do."

"And don't flatter yourself."

"Okay, a business call, you want an appointment?"

"I want to tell you things that you will want to hear."

"Let me guess. My eyes remind you of the Mediterranean at sunset." My witty repartee will never get me a table at the Algonquin or a guest shot on Johnny Carson.

She was quiet a moment, probably deciding whether to tell me to screw off. But she was after something, so she kept going. "If you'd stop being such a smartass and listen, you'd know I'm trying to help your client."

"Like you helped him by planting the drug in his house."

"Maybe I was just returning it to the place I found it. I'll tell you everything. Just bring me the videotape."

"What if I've made copies? A year from now I could blackmail you."

She laughed softly. "You're not the type. Besides, we'll sign a contract. You draw it up, that you've turned over the only copy. If you're lying, you could be disbarred, right?"

Right. She'd thought of everything.

"Tell me," I said, giving it my best Cary Grant, "how does a girl like you get to be a girl like you?"

"Practice," she said.

And all this time I thought that's how you got to Carnegie Hall. "Okay," I said, "I'll bring the cassette. There's only one. You'll make a statement exonerating Salisbury. I'll call Socolow. We'll need him and a court reporter to take your statement."

"No! Just you. Bring a tape recorder if you want."

I thought about it. Socolow might muck it up, talk her out of it, delay until morning. She was giving me the case on a silver platter. Either that or handing me my head. "Okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Not here. I don't want you in the house. Sergio might come by. Someplace else. You know where Shark Valley is?"

"What, the Everglades? I'm not in the mood for mosquitoes. Besides, it'll be nearly dark by the time we get there."

"You're not afraid of me in the dark, are you?"

I didn't trust her at dawn, dusk, midnight, or any time in between. And she might bring friends. "It's just a strange place to execute a contract, that's all," I said.

"There'll be tourists around, just no one we'll know. Meet me there in two hours. You'll have to prepare the contract and get going. I'll be on top of the observation tower."

I said okay, but I didn't mean okay. It made no sense, a meeting at Shark Valley. And by the time we got there, the tourists would be back at their hotels sipping six-dollar pifia coladas. But if she gave me a statement, admitted planting the evidence, Roger's case was over.

I was dusting off a briefcase when Cindy buzzed. "Hey boss, now the other Corrigan babe wants you."

"Say what?"

"Mizz Corrigan," Cindy said, dragging out the name.

"What line?"

"No line. Here. The waiting room. Just dropping by, in a sweatsuit and black Reeboks, so says our sharp-eyed receptionist."

"Bring her back," I commanded.

"Black Reeboks," Cindy repeated. "Bet they're hightops, too."

When the oak door closed behind her, Susan gave me a 241 peck on the cheek. I grabbed her by both shoulders and brought her close. The kiss was straight on, slow and soft, and Susan half gasped and half sighed at the end of it.

"You charge by the hour for that?" she whispered.

"For you, a straight contingency fee."

She feigned anger. "You only want a third of my kisses?"

"No, I only want to spend a third of our time kissing."

"The rest talking?"

"That, too. It's good to see you, but I'm on my way out." I told her about the call from Melanie Corrigan, and she leaned against the windowsill frowning. Then she paced back and forth, her sneakers silent on the thick carpeting. Cindy was right. Hightops.

Finally she turned. "Don't go, Jake. It's a set-up."

"Maybe. And maybe I'll get a statement that will exonerate my client. I really don't have a choice."

"Then at least take the police along."

"The police work for Socolow."

"You're not going to give her the videotape." It was both a question and a plea.

"Tell me more about the tape."

"You've seen it," she said. "Nothing more to tell."

"When was it shot?"

"I don't know exactly. About two years before Dad died."

"Two years! What was it, a honeymoon cruise?"

"Actually it was right before Dad married her. Mom had just died. Dad took the Cory to the islands with Sergio as the captain, Roger and Melanie the guests."

"So much for a decent interval of mourning."

She turned away, an old memory dragging up the pain. "It's hard for me to be objective about Dad. He always cheated on Mom, and that last year or so, when she was sick and he took up with Melanie, it was very hard for her… how cruel he was at the end. I can never forgive him for that. Never."

I didn't expect that tone, the bitterness toward her father. But something else interrupted the thought, something that wasn't making sense. "Roger told me he first met your father after he married Melanie."

"No. Salisbury treated both Mom and Dad. He definitely knew Dad before he married that slut."

"Strange he would lie about that." I stored the knowledge for later use. My mind is a warehouse of information like that, bushels of scrap paper filled with notes.

I told Susan it was time to grab the mosquito spray and head for the Glades. She drifted toward the door, blocking my path like a linebacker filling the hole. "What about the tape?" she asked.

I looked around on my shelves and grabbed a small cardboard box. "Maybe Melanie would like to watch Cross-Exam-ining the Expert in a Product Liability Case."

"And you think that when she discovers what you've given her she'll consider it a big joke? She's dangerous, totally amoral, and capable of anything. She could seduce you or kill you. To her, it wouldn't make the slightest difference."

"Melanie? She wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Maybe not one that's zipped up. Jake, don't be foolish. You could get hurt, or worse."

"Would a hearse horse snicker hauling this lawyer away?"

"Tell me you won't go," she pleaded.

I didn't want to go. But I couldn't not go. I put some cowboy in my voice. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"Don't be a jerk. And that self-mockery doesn't sell with me. You really believe that tough-guy stuff."

"Just locker room bravado. Inside I'm quaking."

"There you go again. What do I have to say to you?"

"You could tell me how much you'd miss me if I end up sleeping with the alligators."

"I would miss you. I… I care for you."

"Care for me?"

Still blocking my path, she moved closer and gave me a wistful up-from-under look. I had to fight the urge to grab her. "I think I love you," she whispered. "Satisfied?"

"You bet."

She took a half step backwards. "Somehow I expected a more eloquent response."

"Haven't we had this conversation before? Haven't I already professed my… my you know."

"Jake Lassiter, how can a man be so articulate in a crowded courtroom and such a bungler one-on-one? Is it so hard to 9ay you love me?"

"Well, I do."

"Do what?"

"Do what you said."

"Jake!"

I threw up my arms. "Do love you, okay already?"

"Not okay. I forced you into it. You still can't express your feelings, and you treat me like some bimbo whose opinions aren't worth listening to."

Now it was my turn. I moved back a yard. "Did I say something wrong? I thought we were engaging in sweet talk, and all of a sudden, I'm not listening. What is it you want me to do?"

"It's what I don't want. I don't want you to prove how tough you are. And I don't want you to walk into a trap."

"Sorry. I have a duty to Roger."

"Why don't you respect me on this?"

"Hey Susan, I appreciate your opinion, but-I can take care of myself. I've been around this town a long time before I ever met you, and nobody's stolen my marbles yet."

Some color had crept into her dark complexion. "Maybe you ought to keep traveling solo, you're so good at it." She turned away, looked out the window over the Atlantic. The S. S. Norway was lugging its way out Government Cut, a thousand tourists headed to the Virgin Islands. "You don't take me seriously, Jake. You're a big, dumb jock like all the rest of them. I don't know what I ever saw in you."

With that, she pivoted on her black hightops and stormed out of the office, muttering "macho jerk" two or three times. Through my open door, I saw loyal Cindy shrug, as if to say, "What else is new?"