Beyond Suspicion

“Last night.”

“What time?”

“Around midnight.”

“Where’d you two meet up?”

“She was waiting for me.”

“Where?”

“The parking lot.”

“You go anywhere?”

“No. We talked in my car.”

He raised an eyebrow, and Jack immediately regretted that answer.

“Interesting,” he said. “What did you two talk about?”

“That’s when we had the conversation I just told you about. When she told me she thought the investors might kill her.”

“Is that when she told you she’d scammed the investors?”

“I didn’t say there was a scam. I told you twice already, I can’t talk about that.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I’m not being coy. I may end up telling you everything. Just let me do my job as a lawyer and sort out the privilege issue with her heirs, whoever they might be.”

“Take your time. Get your story straight.”

“It’s not a matter of getting my story straight. It’s a thorny legal and ethical issue.”

“Right. So, other than this sacred attorney-client relationship that you’ve chosen to carry into eternity, did you have any other kind of relationship with Ms. Merrill?”

“We dated before I met my wife.”

“Interesting.”

It was about his fifth “interesting” remark. It was getting a

He glanced at his notes once more and said, “Just a few more questions. Some mop-up stuff. Ever hear her threaten to kill herself?”

“No.”

“She ever make any utterances of farewell or final good-byes-like, those bastards won’t have me to kick around anymore?”

“No.”

“Ever hear her say she can’t go on anymore, that life isn’t worth living?”

“No.”

“Did she have any kind of physical pain that she couldn’t deal with?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Were you fucking her?”

“Huh?”

He seemed pleased to have set up the question so nicely, having caught Jack off-guard. “You heard me.”

“The answer is no.”

“Other than those viatical investors you mentioned, can you think of anyone else who’d want her dead?”

“From the looks of things, maybe she wanted herself dead.”

He nodded, as if he’d already considered Jack’s theory. “Breaks and enters through the French door, grabs a bottle of vodka from the liquor cabinet, goes upstairs, slits her wrist. Which leaves one gaping question: Why would she kill herself in your house?”

“Who knows? Maybe to make some kind of statement.”

“Exactly what kind of statement do you think she was trying to make?”

“I can only guess. I was her lawyer. Maybe she didn’t like the job I did.”

“You’d just won her a million and a half dollars.”

“That’s a complicated situation. I already told you, I need to sort out some privilege issues before I can talk freely.”

“Ah, yes. The scam.”

“I never said there was a scam.”

The prosecutor’s nose was back in his notes. The silence lasted only a minute or two, but it seemed longer. “Lots of nice pictures in your house,” he said finally. “I like that black-and-white stuff.”

Jack had no idea where he was headed. “Thanks. My wife took them.”

“She’s good with the camera, is she?”

“She’s a professional photographer.”

“That what she does for a living?”

“Partly. She’s gotten into design work lately. Graphic arts. She’s really good on the computer.”

“Pretty busy lady, I would imagine.”

“It’s a full-time commitment.”

“And your job? Hell, that’s more than a full-time commitment.”

“I’m busy, yeah. We’re both busy people.”

Jancowitz glanced toward the house and then back. “How are things with you and your wife?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He felt a bit like a liar, but his marriage was no one’s business. Jancowitz didn’t seem to believe him anyway.

The prosecutor said, “I couldn’t help noticing earlier. You seemed pretty eager to get her in the car, off to the sidelines, as soon as the police started showing up here tonight.”

“Cindy was attacked by a man five years ago. Turning her house into a crime scene is a pretty upsetting experience for her.”

Again, Jancowitz offered that long, slow nod of skepticism.

“What are you trying to say, Be

He gnawed his pencil. “Well, so far we got a gorgeous young woman, who used to be your lover, dead and naked in your bathtub. Blood is dry, body’s still not at room temperature, rigor mortis is fading, but the larger muscle groups haven’t completely relaxed. Medical examiner will pin it down better, but I’d guess she’s been dead no more than twenty-four hours.”

“Which means?”

“Which means that the little talk you had in your car last night certainly puts you in contention for the last person to see her alive. And we’ve already established that you were the first person to see her dead.”

“You’re ignoring the empty bottle of vodka, the slit wrist. I told you about those viatical investors just to give you the whole picture. It could be just me, but this maybe, kind-of, sort-of, looks a little like suicide, don’t you think?”

“One thing I’ve learned after twenty-two years. Looks can be deceiving.”

He gave Jack the kind of penetrating look that prosecutors laid only on suspects. Jack didn’t blink. “Sorry. I don’t scare easy. Especially when I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Jancowitz closed his notebook, rose slowly, shook Jack’s hand, and said, “I just love a challenge. I’ll be in touch.”

“Anytime.”

He crossed the patio and walked back inside the house. Through the bay window Jack saw him stop in the family room to admire a long wall that was lined with Cindy’s photographs. He turned, gri

“Twit,” Jack said quietly as he returned the phony smile.

Jack waited for him to disappear into the living room, and then he took out his cell phone and dialed.

It was late, but somehow he sensed he was going to need a lawyer. A good one.

15

•

Jack had a noon meeting with Rosa Tomayo at his office. It was literally a matter of walking across the hall. Her office suite was on the same floor, same building as his.

Rosa’s firm was three times bigger than Jack’s, which meant that besides herself she had two much younger partners to help carry the workload. Not that she needed much help. Rosa was a bona fide multitasker, someone who felt hopelessly underutilized if she wasn’t doing at least eight different things at once, all with the finesse of a symphonic conductor. Jack had personally engaged her in spirited debates over lunch only to have her later recount conversations she’d simultaneously overheard at nearby tables. That kind of energy and brain power had landed her among Miami’s legal elite, though some would say her reputation was equally attributable to the quick wit and enduring good looks she employed with great flair and frequency on television talk shows. She definitely had style. But she wasn’t the typical showboat criminal defense lawyer who proclaimed her client’s i

When he needed representation, Rosa was the obvious choice.

Calling her from the crime scene last night had turned out to be the right thing to do. Even though he’d walked hundreds of his own clients through similar situations, the perils of a lawyer representing himself were endless. Rosa helped him focus objectively. They’d agreed that, first thing in the morning, she would meet with the prosecutor assigned to the case.

At 12:15 Jack began to pace. Rosa, where are you?

The wait was only made worse by the barrage of calls from the media. Jack dodged them all. As a lawyer he didn’t normally shy away from reporters, but in this case Jack was avoiding any public statements at least until Rosa confirmed one way or the other if he was a suspect.