William Bernhardt - Murder One

“May I ask what you did?”

Andrea leaned back in her chair. “Hey, we’ve come this far together. I can’t leave you hanging.” She flashed a quick, if bitter, smile, and Christina got a brief taste of the luminescent beauty on which the papers had often remarked. “When Joe got home, I laid down the law. Told him I was going to talk to the lawyers and he was about to be divorced. He would be publicly branded an adulterer. Given the tender age of his chosen consort, he might even be kicked off the force. That was what did it, I think. That was when he caved.”

“He agreed not to see her anymore?”

“He did. And he went straight over to her place to give her the bad news. And—well, you know what she did next.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Christina said. She didn’t want to risk the relationship she was developing with this woman, but she had to be honest. “I’ve never been convinced by the so-called evidence the police had on Keri. I think she was just the obvious subject. The cops suspected her from the first and they trumped up some evidence to make it stick.”

“You’re wrong.” Andrea glanced over her shoulder, as if making sure no one was listening. “Absolutely wrong.”

“I know you think Ken is guilty, but—”

“I’m not talking about that. I mean about thinking Keri was the cops’ first suspect. She wasn’t. The obvious suspect was—me.”

Christina’s lips parted. This was the first she’d heard of this.

“I tried not to take it to heart. Any time a married person is killed, the cops’ initial suspect is the spouse. And for a good reason—most of the time the spouse is the one who did it. And of course adultery is one of the most common reasons these crimes happen. And the other most common motive is money—which I stood to get a lot of when Joe died. So in many respects, I was the perfect suspect. Perfectly easy, anyway.” She paused a moment. “But it still hurt, you know? To have this whole horrific event twisted around. To realize people who knew me thought I was capable of murder. That was painful.”

“They must’ve realized relatively quickly that you weren’t the killer.”

“They got a better suspect, if that’s what you mean. I think I might still be under investigation, if not in jail, if they hadn’t found all that incriminating evidence in your client’s apartment. Then she became Suspect Number One.”

“Keri thinks you sent the cops out to her place. She thinks you encouraged the police to go after her, to get revenge for the affair.”

“The girl is only nineteen. She thinks the whole world is one big soap opera.”

“I gather … you don’t care much for Keri?”

“Does it show?”

“Well, I saw you try to break her nose in the courtroom.”

“I guess that was telling, wasn’t it?” Andrea’s lips pressed together pensively. “I suppose I should be grateful she didn’t press charges.”

“Ben convinced her it was not in her best interests. You should be grateful to them both.”

“You’re right, of course. But I’m not. I’m not grateful at all. I hate her.” Her delicate neck stiffened. “Honestly, who wouldn’t? I mean, I know hate is a bad thing. I’ve talked to my priest about it, more than once. I’ve worried and I’ve prayed for help. But my God, if you can’t hate the woman who slept with your husband, then killed him, who the hell can you hate?”

A point Christina was not prepared to argue. “I understand your late husband was investigating the Catrona crime family. Did you know anything about that?”

“Not much. No details. I do know Joe got a phone call at home, a few days before he was killed, that disturbed him very much. He was agitated enough to slam the phone down. But he didn’t look angry. It was really more like he was—worried. Or scared.”

“Didn’t you ask what it was all about?”

“I did. But he didn’t tell me. He grunted out, ‘Catrona.’ And that was the end of it. I probably would’ve brought it up again, later. Except your client killed him before I got the chance.”

Christina folded up her legal pad. “I think that about covers it. Thank you very much for talking to me.”

Andrea waved her hand in the air. “Sure. It wasn’t that bad, actually. Not like some of them. You’re a good ear.”

Christina had been told this before, but it was still nice. “If I think of something else, may I call you?”

“Of course.” She fell silent for a moment, and the light in her eyes faded. “I did love Joe, you understand that, don’t you? We had our problems. We disagreed. We fought. Maybe I wasn’t the perfect wife, maybe I didn’t give him everything he wanted. Or even needed. Marriage is not a game of perfect. But even after I knew what Joe’d done, even after I knew I’d been betrayed—I still loved him. With all my heart. And I never wanted to see him come to any harm. Never. And certainly not”—she averted her eyes—“not, like it was. So gross and horrible and—public. No wife should have to endure that. No one should.”

Christina laid her hand on the bereaved woman’s shoulder and simply nodded. There was no arguing with that.

16

BEN HAD VISITED TULSA’S downtown police headquarters half a hundred times, but this was the first instance when he felt as if he were walking into enemy territory. Few times in his life had he had the opportunity to enter a building where he knew everyone present would view him as an absolute pariah. He had considered wearing some sort of disguise—dark glasses and a high collar, at least. But he knew that if he was spotted, that would only make matters worse. He passed on the disguise, but resolved to move as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.

He brushed down the fourth floor corridor till he found the cubicle belonging to Penelope, Mike’s secretary. He ducked inside, avoiding detection.

As usual, Penelope’s desk was piled high with paper and she appeared to be juggling three phone calls at once. As soon as she spotted Ben, however, she brought all conversations to an abrupt end.

“Ben!” It was almost like a hiss, because she was trying to be emphatic but to keep her voice down at the same time. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”

Ben stared down at a spot on the carpet. “I, uh, need to review a file.”

“Ben, you know I can’t let you do that.”

“I’m not talking about my case,” Ben said hastily. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything inappropriate. This is something entirely unrelated. Something, uh… something Mike and I were working on. Before he had to go out of town.” Not entirely true, of course. In fact, one might say it was totally false. But he felt certain Mike wouldn’t object to the unauthorized use of his name and authority. Not too much, anyway.

“Mike didn’t say anything to me,” she said. Penelope had wide eyes and big brown frizzy hair that might make her seem ditzy and comical if you didn’t know she was one of the most efficient and capable assistants who ever lived. “He didn’t leave any instructions.”

“He probably forgot. He had to disappear in a hurry.”

“That’s true enough.” She gave Ben a long look. Her eyes seemed to soften. “What file do you need?”

“The file on the Catrona crime family.”

Penelope winced. “Geez, Ben. You really know how to pick ’em, don’t you? Haven’t you got enough people who want to kill you already?”

Ben gave a small shrug. “It’s … for a case.” Well, that much was true, anyway.

“I didn’t figure you wanted it for bedtime reading.” She drummed her fingers for a moment. “Well, Mike has always told me to cooperate with you in the past.”

“That’s right.”