Guardian of Lies by Steve Martini Page B

out in front. I threw it into some bushes off the road. We can find it,” she says. “It will prove that I went to the garage, into the car.”
    “Even if we could find it, all that proves is that you left by the gate,” says Harry. Harry knows, as I do, that the state’s theory of events following the murders will be highly malleable, sufficiently pliable to embrace a number of different avenues of escape. They will have already identified several problems with the evidence. Not only was the murder weapon, the knife from the kitchen, cleaned and lying on the counter for the world to find, but no fingerprints were found on the front door, just smears of blood around the doorknob. This is in fact not uncommon at bloody crime scenes. In a frantic headlong escape a clear, readable print is more often the exception rather than the rule.
    And it gets worse. Emerson Pike’s body was found with two major wounds, one in the back that was by all accounts fatal, causing shock and massive bleeding. The second wound is the problem. Harry tries to explain this to Katia, who seems dazed by the details, all of which seem to drift in a vicious circle ultimately coming back to point at her.
    “The second wound,” says Harry, “was postmortem, inflicted, done after Pike was already dead. The police are saying this second wound was the result of anger on the part of the killer.”
    “I don’t understand,” she says.
    “They have to explain to the jury why anyone would bother to stab a person who is already dead,” I tell her.
    “It’s sick,” she says. “A person who would do that es loco, crazy.”
    “We can hope but I don’t think the DA will go quite that far,” says Harry. “They might go as far as angry, maybe mad as hell, but crazy is one we’d have to prove ourselves. What is more likely is that their shrink is going to say the killer was trying to send a message to the dead by leaving one of Pike’s expensive toys sticking out of his chest.”
    Harry gives her a moment. He stands there watching her, waiting to see, if given this mental image, she might suddenly crack and come clean.
    She shakes her head, shrugs a shoulder. “
Cómo se dice
‘shrink’?” she says.
    “A psychiatrist,” I tell her.
    “Ah.”
    “Head doctor,” says Harry. “You understand that the police will put one on the stand to testify?”
    “I see. Yes.”
    “Well. He may tell the jury that in his opinion the second wound was intended as an angry message to Emerson Pike after he was dead that he had too much money. That perhaps he wasn’t sharing enough of it with his killer.”
    She sits there, eyebrows furrowed and a puzzled expression. If Harry is touching any sensitive nerves, you wouldn’t know it.
    “There is nothing you want to tell us?” says Harry.
    She shakes her head, looks at me.
    “Okay.” Harry expels a big sigh. “The weapon the police found sticking out of Emerson Pike’s chest was a very expensive dagger,” says Harry. “Word is, he used it as a letter opener.”
    With this Katia’s face lights up like a lantern. “Yes, I remember it,” she says. “It was on his desk.”
    “Is that where it was the last time you saw it?” I ask. “On the desk?”
    “Yes.” But as she says this, a dark expression crosses her face.
    “The police found a set of latent fingerprints on the dagger’s handle,” says Harry. “Guess who they belong to?”
    “No. No. No—no.” Frantic eyes, Katia looking first at Harry, then back to me. “No.” As if by saying it enough times she can make the dagger and the prints vanish. For several seconds she seems to struggle for breath. One hand to her stomach, as if Harry’s words have squeezed every ounce of air from her lungs, like a bellows.
    “Are you all right?” I ask.
    “Please. I can esplain.” She reaches out and touches Harry’s arm. He steps back, away from the chair. “You misunderstand. Listen to me, please.”
    In thirty years of practicing law, Harry has