John Lescroart - The Suspect

Now Gina's alarm bells started to go off. The Hall of Justice meant a cold and threatening interrogation room off the homicide detail with both audio- and videotape running. But again, protocol and strategy demanded that she remain cool. "I think we'd all be more comfortable in my office, Inspector," she said. "Of course, you'd be welcome to record the interview. Or even videotape it, provided I get a copy immediately. You're not planning to arrest Mr. Gorman, I hope?"

"I haven't applied for a warrant, no."

"You and I both know you don't need a warrant to arrest him. My question is, are you planning to do that or not?"

"I'm trying to keep my options open. I've got to talk to your client, and I want it all by the book and on the record, which means you're there with us. Ten o'clock will be fine. At your place. If I don't hear back from you."

"All right. I'll see you there."

With a porcelain saucer resting on the arm of his chair in Dis-mas Hardy's office, Wyatt Hunt sat back comfortably and sipped from his cup of freshly brewed coffee. It was Tuesday morning, about a half hour before the offices officially opened. In spite of that, in the space behind them a dozen or more employees had already started their workday. Hardy's office door was still open, and outside from the lobby came the sounds of phones ringing, Xerox machines humming, random bits of conversation.

They were waiting for Gina. Across from Hunt by the well-equipped coffee counter, Hardy finished pouring his own cup and turned around. "So when you talked to Juhle, you didn't let on you were working for us?"

"I don't believe it came up, specifically." Hunt sipped again, broke a grin. "Besides, I thought it might make for a stilted conversation. He asked if I'd seen Gina, and I told him not since lunch, which was technically true. It's not my fault he didn't ask if I'd talked to her. And he seemed to be in the mood-he'd been on Gorman all day and

had nobody to talk to about it. This will shock you, but it seems his wife sometimes gets a little tired of cop talk at home." "How could that possibly be?"

"I know," Hunt said. "Weird, but there you go. Anyway, he really wanted to tell somebody about everything he'd found out, and I happened to call."

"Lucky break for the good guys."

"That's what I thought. Maybe not so lucky for the client, though, unless you consider an eyewitness lucky." "Sometimes it can be."

"I'm pretty sure this isn't one of those times, Diz." Hunt glanced toward the door. "Ah, the woman of the hour."

Gina stopped in the doorway. "Sorry I'm late, guys. Working the bugs out of what may be the new work schedule."

Hardy checked his watch. "I've got eight o'clock straight up, so you're on the dot. You want coffee?"

"As the predator wants the night."

Hardy gave her a look and said, "That'd be black, no sugar?"

"Sorry," Gina said. "I've been reading my client. The style rubs off. Sugar, please."

"How do you like him?" Hunt asked. "As a writer, I mean."

"He's okay. He says some good stuff. Kept me up till midnight last night."

"So I could've called you," Hunt said, "after my talk with Juhle."

Hardy handed her a cup and she turned to Wyatt. "So you got to him? What did he have to say?"

"I was just starting to tell Diz. He thinks he's got a case."

"With Stuart? How's he getting around the alibi?"

Hardy had crossed the room and propped himself against his cherry desk. Now he put in his two cents' worth. "Wyatt was just telling me about an eyewitness."

Gina slumped into a chair. "To what? The killing? He couldn't have killed her. He wasn't there."

"Well," Hunt said, "that may be a question." He placed his cup in his saucer and came forward on his chair. "Seems a neighborhood girl-lives right across the street, friends with his daughter-she saw him pull into his garage Sunday night. Then leave a couple of hours later."

"She saw him?"

"That's what Juhle says. His car." "Which was it? Him or his car?"

Hunt looked the question over to Hardy, who said, "Who else would have been in his car, Gina?"

Hunt picked it up. "His story doesn't have anybody else driving his car, does it?"

Gina sat back in her chair. "Shit."

"Yes, ma'am," Hunt said. "And that's not including a few other things Devin kind of wanted to brag about." "I'm listening," Gina said. "Two domestic disturbance calls."

"Two?"

Hunt nodded. "One this summer, and when Juhle ran it down on the computer, he got another hit about five years ago. Your new client got himself arrested on that second one."

"He told me they'd never had a physical fight. I asked him specifically."

At his desk, Hardy frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe he forgot."

"Did he also forget to mention the ticket he got last Friday night?"

Gina was sitting all the way back now, legs crossed. "Friday night?" she asked.

Another nod from Hunt. "Driving up to Echo Lake. Got pulled over by the Highway Patrol. Juhle found the officer and talked to him."

"He's been busy," Gina said.

Hunt agreed. "He thinks he's got a big, live one. They don't come around every day."

"So what'd the officer say? He remembered him?"

"Oh, yeah. No problem with that. He recognized the name. He's a fan too. Of Stuart's writing. Which is why he didn't arrest him."

"Oh, Lord." Gina shook her head in disbelief. "What was he going to arrest him for?"

"He told Juhle he would have thought of something. Disturbing the peace, resisting arrest, threatening a police officer…"

"He threatened him?"

"He swore at him. Close enough for most cops. But here's the bad part."

"That wasn't it?"

"Well, you decide. After the guy, the officer, recognized who Stuart was, he calmed down a little and told him about the awful fight he'd just had with his wife. That she'd told him she wanted to leave him. He told the guy he was heading up to the mountains because if he would have stayed down with her, he would have killed her."

"Those words?" Gina asked.

"According to Dev, pretty much verbatim," Hunt said.

Hardy broke in again. "And this guy Stuart, your client, Gina, he's coming up here when?"

Gina looked at her watch. "About an hour. Juhle's coming around at ten."

"Did Inspector Juhle mention anything about handcuffs?" Hardy asked.

"Last night he said he hadn't applied for a warrant." Gina's face was pure disgust. "Devin say anything about an arrest to you, Wyatt?"

"No. He wants more evidence. Apparently there are other issues?" A question.

"Oh, nothing important," Gina said with heavy sarcasm. "Only a three-million-dollar insurance policy, several more millions that he's going to get control over, to say nothing of a possible love affair with his dead wife's sister."

"You're kidding about that last one, right?" Hunt said.

She leveled her gaze at him. "Well, he denied it. And judging from what I've just learned since I got here this morning, that means it must be true."

When Phyllis buzzed into Gina's office and said that her client was out in the lobby, Gina said she'd be right out, but she didn't move right away. For the past quarter of an hour, ever since she'd come down from Hardy's office, she'd been sitting as far down as she could get in her deepest stuffed chair. Like Wes Farrell upstairs, she had no formal desk in her corner office. So she sat with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, trying to come to grips with the veritable tsunami of rage that had unexpectedly enveloped her in the wake of Wyatt Hunt's disclosures about her client and his rapidly deteriorating story.

She looked down at her hands. All of her knuckles were white, her joints stiff as she separated her hands and forced her fingers open. She brought her hands up to her face, pulled down on her cheeks. Finally, taking a deep breath, she whispered, "All right," and pushed herself up from her chair.