Phillip Margolin - Ties That Bind

"We aim to please."

"You're not really going to argue that Dupre killed Wendell Hayes in self-defense, are you?"

"We'll see."

"Good luck."

Amanda was stuffing her file into her attache case when Grace Reynolds, a reporter from the Oregonian , walked up to the low fence that separated the front row of the spectator section from the counsel tables. Grace was a slender brunette in her late twenties. She'd interviewed Amanda on two occasions for feature stories and had once double-dated with Amanda when they were both going out with attorneys from the same firm.

"Hi," Grace said. "You certainly wowed the judge. I haven't seen Ivan the Terrible smile that much since he imposed his last death sentence."

"Are we off the record, Grace?"

"You're not going to be Amanda 'No Comment' Jaffe with your old drinking buddy, are you?"

"Afraid so."

"I was hoping you'd give me an exclusive on the homicidal pimp."

Amanda winced. "You're not going to call him that, are you?"

"We're taking it up at the editorial meeting. Of course I might argue against it if you gave me some reason to believe that I'd be committing libel. And don't try to sell me on the cockamamie story you gave the judge."

"I must be losing my debating skills."

"Or your mind. That was the most outrageous argument I've heard since the Twinkie Defense."

"Didn't that win?"

"I don't remember. So, do I get my exclusive?"

"No can do, right now. But I'll promise to think of you when the time is right, if you'll answer a question for me."

"Ask."

"You were at the jail when Hayes was killed, right?"

"Down in Reception." She shook her head. "What a bummer."

"I checked with Harvey Grant's clerk. Grant appointed Wendell Hayes to represent Jon Dupre a little before one on the day that Hayes was killed. He made the appointment in his chambers, not in open court, and the press wasn't invited. Hayes walked over to the Justice Center half an hour after he was appointed. How did you and the other reporters know that Hayes was going to be at the jail?"

"We got a tip."

"From who?"

"Mr. Anonymous."

"Do you know if the tip was anonymous for everyone?"

"I didn't ask."

"Okay, thanks."

"What's going on, Amanda?"

"I promise you'll be the first to know when I figure it out."

"Lets get together for a beer or a movie sometime," Grace said. "No business."

"Sounds good."

Kate had watched the exchange. "Why the question?" she asked once Grace left the courtroom.

"Only Judge Grant, Wendell Hayes, and Grant's clerk knew that the judge was going to appoint Hayes. If Hayes wanted to distract the guard at the desk so he could smuggle in the shiv, it would help to have a pack of howling journalists flashing lights in Larry McKenzie's eyes and causing their usual havoc."

twenty- Seven

The reporters were waiting when Tim Kerrigan and Maria Lopez left the courtroom. Most of the spectators were gone, but Kerrigan noticed a young blond woman with sunglasses, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket, leaning against a marble pillar and studying him with intense concentration. A cameraman moved and blocked his view. When the cameraman moved again, she was gone.

As soon as the press conference was over, Stan Gregaros and Sean McCarthy joined the prosecutors.

"What did you think about the hearing?" Kerrigan asked the detectives.

"Slam dunk," Gregaros answered. "You're gonna have a ball at the trial if Jaffe sticks with her bullshit theory that Dupre acted in self-defense."

"We've got some more evidence to use against Dupre," McCarthy said. "Remember Rittenhouse telling us that Travis said that 'Jon' was going to make everything okay on the night of the murder?"

Kerrigan nodded.

"I had Dupre's phone records sent over. A call was made from his house to Travis's place in Dunthorpe on the evening Travis was killed."

"Another nail in Johnny boy's coffin," Gregaros said.

The detectives and the prosecutors conferred for a few more minutes before Tim and Maria took the elevator to the district attorney's office.

"I've actually got some work to do in another case, Maria," Kerrigan said. "Why don't you do some research on the evidentiary issues we talked about and we'll touch base tomorrow."

"I'll get right on it."

Maria walked away and Kerrigan entered his office. He dumped his files onto his desk and hung his jacket on a hook, closing the door behind him. As he was loosening his tie, he found himself remembering the blonde he'd seen briefly in the courthouse. Something about her seemed familiar.

Kerrigan's intercom buzzed.

"There's a Miss Jasmine on line two," his secretary said.

Kerrigan froze, and in that second he pictured the blonde again and knew for a fact that she was Ally Bennett.

Kerrigan lifted the receiver.

"Hello, Frank," a husky and familiar voice said.

"I think you've got the wrong person," he said carefully.

"Do I, Frank ? Should I go to the press and let them sort it out?"

"I don't think you'd get very far."

"You don't think they'd be interested in a story about a DA who is prosecuting a pimp while having very raunchy sex with one of his whores?"

Tim closed his eyes and forced himself to stay calm. "What do you want?"

"Let's meet where we did the last time and I'll tell you in person. Eight o'clock. Don't be late, Frank, or Jasmine will be very angry."

Kerrigan felt himself begin to grow hard as an image from their last meeting was triggered by her words. An insane desire to have sex with Jasmine again welled up in Kerrigan, despite the knowledge that meeting with her could only lead to his destruction.

Then he thought about Cindy. Something was going on between them that he hadn't anticipated. They had grown closer since she'd comforted him after his return from Senator Travis's crime scene. When he made love to his wife, there was none of the energy he'd felt with Bennett, when lust and shame had combined to produce a cocktail of illicit pleasure, but he'd felt dirty when he left the motel and he'd felt at peace when he was in Cindy's arms.

For a moment, Kerrigan thought about defying Ally, but he didn't have the courage. There were so many things she could do to hurt him; she could go to the press, to Jack Stamm, or, worst of all, she could go to Cindy. Tim felt defeated. Ally Bennett had ordered him to return to the motel and he was too weak and afraid to disobey.

Part Four

THE VAUGHN STREET GLEE CLUB

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

Joyce Hamada wasn't hard to spot in the crowd of students that surged out of Smith Hall shortly after three. Kate Ross had found her picture in the case file Oscar Baron had given to Amanda, but the picture did not do her justice. Baggy jeans and a loose-fitting Portland State sweatshirt could not conceal her voluptuous figure. Jet-black hair hung to Hamada's waist and gleamed in the afternoon sun as if it had been polished. Her almond-shaped eyes were wide and alive, the highlight of a face that would have looked great on the cover of a fashion magazine.

Kate followed the nineteen-year-old sophomore across the street to the parking garage. She lagged behind when Hamada walked up a flight of stairs to the third floor, and closed the gap while she was tossing her books into the back of a beat-up Mazda.

"Miss Hamada?"

The woman spun in panic, her eyes wide. Kate held out her credentials.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. My name is Kate Ross. I'm an investigator working for the lawyer who's defending Jon Dupre. Do you have a minute?"

"You've got the wrong person. I don't know this man."

"I'm talking to you here, Miss Hamada, because I don't want to embarrass you in a more public setting."