affair and she was crying sexual harassment. Why? A woman scorned? “How did the affair end?”
“She ended it.”
“ She did?”
He watched the rain. “I wouldn’t leave Kate, Patricia knew that from the outset. I told her. So she ended it, one day. She’s like that. An artist. Impulsive, unpredictable. Passionate.” His voice sounded far away. “It was for the best. I had Kate.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Didn’t you think I’d find out? A first-year law student—”
“Is she really gone?”
“Patricia? Of course.”
He winced in the semi-darkness. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
Get a grip, pal. “It’s more than possible. It happened.”
“I saw the ambulance, the police cars. I couldn’t believe it. There were so many.” He shook his head slowly.
“What police cars? Where?”
“Out in front, on the lawn.”
“In front of what?”
“In front of her carriage house.”
“When did you see cars in front of her house?”
“Patricia wouldn’t have liked that, right on the lawn. It was unnecessary.”
I touched the wet sleeve of his trench coat. “Fiske, look at me. Are you telling me you were at Patricia’s carriage house?”
He faced me, in a kind of shock. “I didn’t kill her, Rita. You must believe that.”
Jesus. Bullets of rain hit the roof. The car grew hotter, the windshield fogged with steam. “When did you go to the carriage house?”
“I stopped by on the way home, after you and I spoke on the telephone. After the deposition.”
“Why did you go there?”
“To convince Patricia to drop the lawsuit. Our affair would come out, everything would come out. There was no other way to solve the problem.”
I recoiled, letting go of his arm, and searched his face in the dark. “And when she wouldn’t drop it, you killed her?”
“No! When I got there, police cars were everywhere. The neighbors were out. I knew something terrible had happened. I kept driving.”
“Where did you drive? Did you go home?”
“No, I just drove around.”
“Where?”
“Around. I don’t remember exactly. Just driving, trying to figure out what had happened to Patricia. I was a little late to dinner. Kate got to dinner in her car, with Paul.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t process it all fast enough.
“You know I didn’t do it, Rita.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because you know I love Patricia. Loved her. Only you know that. You know about the spider mums. Why would I kill her, if I loved her?”
“Pick a motive, any motive.”
“Don’t be so glib.”
Fuck you. “Because she ended the affair.”
“But I knew it would end. I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I’m not a child.”
“Because she was trying to ruin you, then.”
“No, she wasn’t.”
“Of course she was! Why would she sue you?”
“I don’t know. She is … was a very complicated woman.”
“Oh, please.” When will men stop calling manipulative women complicated ?
“You don’t think so? You met her.”
“It’s not as if Patricia and I had lunch, Fiske. I took her deposition because she was suing you. She had your name and photo in every newspaper in three states. You need to think in realistic terms. Patricia’s been murdered and you could end up a suspect. You have a big-time motive and a see-through alibi.”
“You think I’m a suspect?”
Hello? Anybody home? “Yes. I would say the prime suspect, if I practiced criminal law, which I don’t. You need a criminal lawyer, Fiske. You must know some, the best.”
“You’re my lawyer.”
“Not anymore.”
He looked angry. “You won’t represent me? Why not?”
“You lied to me, for starters.”
“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t explain the whole … I didn’t think it would all come out. I’m sorry. But I want you to represent me.”
“It isn’t my field. I hate criminal law, it’s dirty work. You want Leslie Abramson, not Rita Morrone.”
“I want Rita Morrone.” He shifted toward
“She ended it.”
“ She did?”
He watched the rain. “I wouldn’t leave Kate, Patricia knew that from the outset. I told her. So she ended it, one day. She’s like that. An artist. Impulsive, unpredictable. Passionate.” His voice sounded far away. “It was for the best. I had Kate.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Didn’t you think I’d find out? A first-year law student—”
“Is she really gone?”
“Patricia? Of course.”
He winced in the semi-darkness. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
Get a grip, pal. “It’s more than possible. It happened.”
“I saw the ambulance, the police cars. I couldn’t believe it. There were so many.” He shook his head slowly.
“What police cars? Where?”
“Out in front, on the lawn.”
“In front of what?”
“In front of her carriage house.”
“When did you see cars in front of her house?”
“Patricia wouldn’t have liked that, right on the lawn. It was unnecessary.”
I touched the wet sleeve of his trench coat. “Fiske, look at me. Are you telling me you were at Patricia’s carriage house?”
He faced me, in a kind of shock. “I didn’t kill her, Rita. You must believe that.”
Jesus. Bullets of rain hit the roof. The car grew hotter, the windshield fogged with steam. “When did you go to the carriage house?”
“I stopped by on the way home, after you and I spoke on the telephone. After the deposition.”
“Why did you go there?”
“To convince Patricia to drop the lawsuit. Our affair would come out, everything would come out. There was no other way to solve the problem.”
I recoiled, letting go of his arm, and searched his face in the dark. “And when she wouldn’t drop it, you killed her?”
“No! When I got there, police cars were everywhere. The neighbors were out. I knew something terrible had happened. I kept driving.”
“Where did you drive? Did you go home?”
“No, I just drove around.”
“Where?”
“Around. I don’t remember exactly. Just driving, trying to figure out what had happened to Patricia. I was a little late to dinner. Kate got to dinner in her car, with Paul.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t process it all fast enough.
“You know I didn’t do it, Rita.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because you know I love Patricia. Loved her. Only you know that. You know about the spider mums. Why would I kill her, if I loved her?”
“Pick a motive, any motive.”
“Don’t be so glib.”
Fuck you. “Because she ended the affair.”
“But I knew it would end. I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I’m not a child.”
“Because she was trying to ruin you, then.”
“No, she wasn’t.”
“Of course she was! Why would she sue you?”
“I don’t know. She is … was a very complicated woman.”
“Oh, please.” When will men stop calling manipulative women complicated ?
“You don’t think so? You met her.”
“It’s not as if Patricia and I had lunch, Fiske. I took her deposition because she was suing you. She had your name and photo in every newspaper in three states. You need to think in realistic terms. Patricia’s been murdered and you could end up a suspect. You have a big-time motive and a see-through alibi.”
“You think I’m a suspect?”
Hello? Anybody home? “Yes. I would say the prime suspect, if I practiced criminal law, which I don’t. You need a criminal lawyer, Fiske. You must know some, the best.”
“You’re my lawyer.”
“Not anymore.”
He looked angry. “You won’t represent me? Why not?”
“You lied to me, for starters.”
“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t explain the whole … I didn’t think it would all come out. I’m sorry. But I want you to represent me.”
“It isn’t my field. I hate criminal law, it’s dirty work. You want Leslie Abramson, not Rita Morrone.”
“I want Rita Morrone.” He shifted toward
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