Дэвид Балдаччи - Absolute Power

Kate slowly opened her eyes. “He was in the house cleaning the damn carpets. He could’ve picked up the fibers then.”

“And then he took a run through the cornfield? Come on.”

“It could’ve been tracked in the house by somebody else and he stepped in it.”

“That’s what I would’ve argued except for one thing.”

She sat up. “Which is?”

“Along with the fiber and dirt, they found a petroleum-based solvent. The police pulled traces of it out of the carpet during their investigation. They think the perp tried to clean some blood away, his blood. I’m sure they’ve got a handful of witnesses ready to swear that there was no such thing used on that carpet prior to or at the time the carpets were cleaned. Therefore Luther could’ve picked up traces of the carpet cleaner only if he had been in the house after that. Soil, fibers and carpet cleaner. There’s your tie.”

Kate slumped back down.

“On top of that they traced the hotel where Luther was staying in town. They found a fake passport and through that tracked Luther to Barbados. Two days after the murder he flew to Texas, then Miami and then on to the island. Looks like a fleeing suspect doesn’t it? They’ve got a sworn statement from a cab driver down there who drove Luther to Sullivan’s place on the island. Luther made a reference to having been in Sullivan’s place in Virginia. On top of that they’ve got witnesses who will testify that Luther and Wanda Broome were seen together several times prior to the murder. One woman, a close friend of Wanda’s, will testify that Wanda told her she needed money, badly. And that Christine Sullivan had told her about the safe. Which shows Wanda Broome had lied to the police.”

“I can see why Gorelick was so free with the info. But it’s still all circumstantial.”

“No, Kate, it’s a perfect example of a case with no home-run direct evidence linking Luther to the crime, but enough indirect stuff to where the jury will be thinking ‘come on who are you kidding you did it you sonofabitch.’

“I’ll deflect everywhere I can, but they’ve got some pretty heavy stones to hit us with. And if Gorelick can get in your Dad’s priors, we might be finished.”

“They’re too old. Their prejudicial value far outweighs their probative. He’ll never get them in.” Kate’s words sounded more sure than she felt. After all, how could you be sure of anything?

The phone rang. She hesitated to answer it. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

Jack shook his head.

She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was crisp, professional. “Ms. Whitney, Robert Gavin with the Washington Post. I wonder if I could ask you some questions about your father? I’d prefer to see you in person if that could be arranged.”

“What do you want?”

“Come on, Ms. Whitney, your father is front-page news. You’re a state prosecutor. There’s a helluva story there if you ask me.”

Kate hung up. Jack looked at her.

“What?”

“A reporter.”

“Christ, they move fast.”

She sat down again with a weariness that startled him. He went to her, took her hand.

Suddenly, she turned his face toward hers. She looked frightened. “Jack, you can’t handle this case.”

“The hell I can’t. I’m an active member of the Virginia Bar. I’ve handled a half-dozen murder trials. I’m eminently qualified.”

“I don’t mean that. I know you’re qualified. But Patton, Shaw doesn’t do criminal defense work.”

“So? You have to start somewhere.”

“Jack, be serious. Sullivan is a huge client of theirs. You’ve worked for him. I read about it in Legal Times. ”

“There’s no conflict there. There’s nothing I’ve learned in my attorney-client relationship with Sullivan that could be used on this case. Besides, Sullivan’s not on trial here. It’s us against the state.”

“Jack, they’re not going to let you do this case.”

“Fine, then I’ll quit. Hang up my own shingle.”

“You can’t do that. You’ve got everything going for you right now. You can’t mess that up. Not for this.”

“Then for what? I know your old man didn’t beat up a woman and then calmly blow her head off. He probably went to that house to burgle it, but he didn’t kill anybody, that I know. But you want to know something else? I’m pretty damn sure he knows who killed her and that’s what’s got him scared to death. He saw something in that house, Kate. He saw someone. ”

Kate slowly let out her breath as the words sunk in.

Jack sighed and looked down at his feet.

He got up and put on his coat. He playfully pulled at her waistband. “When’s the last time you actually had a meal?”

“I can’t remember.”

“I recall when you filled out those jeans in a way that was a little more aesthetically pleasing to the male eye.”

She did smile that time. “Thanks a lot.”

“It’s not too late to work on it.”

She looked around the four corners of her apartment. It held no appeal whatsoever.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Ribs, slaw and something stronger than Coke. Game?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Let me get my coat.”

Downstairs, Jack held open the door of the Lexus. He saw her studying every detail of the luxury car.

“I took your advice. Thought I’d start spending some of my hard-earned money.” He had just climbed inside the car when the man appeared at the passenger door.

He wore a slouch hat and had a gray-trimmed beard and skinny mustache. His brown overcoat was buttoned up to his neck. He held a minicassette recorder in one hand, a press badge in the other.

“Bob Gavin, Ms. Whitney. I guess we got cut off before.”

He looked across at Jack. His brow furrowed. “You’re Jack Graham. Luther Whitney’s attorney. I saw you at the station.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Gavin, you’ve obviously got twenty-twenty vision and a very winning smile. Be seeing you.”

Gavin clung to the car. “Wait a minute, c’mon just a minute. The public is entitled to hear about this case.”

Jack started to say something, but Kate stopped him.

“They will, Mr. Gavin. That’s what trials are for. I’m sure you’ll have a front-row seat. Good-bye.”

The Lexus pulled away. Gavin thought about making a run for his car but then decided not to. At forty-six, he and his soft and abused body were clearly in heart attack country. It was early in the game yet. He’d get to them sooner or later. He pulled up his collar against the wind and stalked off.

It was nearing midnight when the Lexus pulled up in front of Kate’s apartment building.

“Are you really sure you want to do this, Jack?”

“Hell I never really liked the murals, Kate.”

“What?”

“Get some sleep. We’re both going to need it.”

She put her hand on the door and then hesitated. She turned back and looked at him, nervously flicked her hair behind her ear. This time there was no pain in her eyes. It was something else, Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe relief?

“Jack, the things you said the other night.”

He swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He had been wondering when this was going to surface. “Kate, I’ve been thinking about that—”

She put a hand to his mouth. A small breath floated from her lips. “You were right, Jack... about a lot of things.”

He watched her walk slowly inside and then he drove off.

When he got home his answering machine had run out of tape. The blinking message indicator was so full the light was reduced to one continuous crimson beacon. He decided to do the most sensible thing he could think of so he pretended they weren’t there. Jack unplugged the phone, turned out the lights and tried to go to sleep.