me, his shoulders bulky in the leather bucket seat. “We have time. I’m a judge, a prominent member of the legal community. They won’t indict me unless they have their ducks in a row.”
“What ducks, if you’re innocent?”
“The same circumstantial evidence you have.”
“You mean the paintings, the florist?”
“Yes.”
“Are there hotel bills?”
“Never a hotel.”
Like a judge’s chambers is better? Your tax dollars.
“I went to her house, once or twice, at night,” he said. “But she was never at my house. Our house.”
What a guy. “How about your phone bills?”
“I don’t think they show calls to her, but I didn’t call her often in any event. She asked me not to, and I respected her time. She had to paint when she wasn’t working.” He paused. “But I did call before I left my chambers tonight. Before I went over.”
“Why?”
“To ask if she would see me. I told you, I respected her independence.”
Terrific. “That call will show up on a bill, now that the suburbs have a new area code.”
“Yes.”
“It won’t look good, Fiske. A call right before she was murdered.”
“I didn’t know she’d be murdered! If I were going to drive to her house and kill her, would I have called first?”
I considered this, and evidently so had he, about ten steps before me. Fiske was a chess player, nationally ranked. He even played by mail, sending postcards that bore gobbledy-gook like Be3 and Bg7. Suddenly, something fell into place and I turned cold. “Fiske, you know what I think? I think you knew all of this was going to happen.”
He turned toward me in the shadows. “I knew Patricia was going to be killed?”
“No, you knew that I would find out about you and her.”
“I didn’t plan for this to happen.”
“Maybe not, but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Look, nobody in the family knows about the affair, do they?”
“No. Kate doesn’t suspect anything. She thinks Patricia was an opportunist.”
“And Paul?”
“Of course not.”
“So you kept it from the family. But when you had a chance to hire a lawyer, you chose a lawyer close to the family. Practically in the family.”
“Well, yes.” Fiske acted only vaguely aware of his own mind, but I didn’t believe it for a minute. My father had been right, which annoyed me no end.
“You hired me to use me, Fiske. You used me then and you’re using me now.”
“That’s not true!”
“Then why let me be the one to find out about your affair? Because you thought I’d keep it secret?”
“Any lawyer would have done that. It would be privileged.”
“You thought I’d be loyal to you no matter what, even to the point of keeping quiet about a murder. What other lawyer could you ask to do that?”
“I didn’t murder Patricia!”
“Then why me?”
“I didn’t think it would turn out like this, I tell you.”
Liar. Cheater. Bastard. I reached for the ignition, but Fiske gripped my forearm.
“Wait. Maybe … part of me did. Part of me must have wanted you to find out. So that it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”
“Bullshit. Two-bit psychology.” I turned on the ignition despite his grip. “You wanted to destroy your life? Screw up your marriage?”
“I … think I must have,” he said, his tone anguished. “Yes.”
I looked at him while the engine rumbled. His face was obscured and he made no sound, but I had the sense he was about to cry.
“I think … I wanted to tell Kate,” he continued, almost thinking out loud. “I wanted her to know. It just … got out of control. I loved Patricia, Rita, and somebody killed her. I want to know who.”
It rang true. He sounded determined and bewildered, both at once. A natural reaction given the circumstances. Maybe he was innocent. Wrongly accused, or about to be. If so, his world was on the brink of falling to pieces, at his own hand. He slumped forward and rested his temple in his hand, inadvertently reminding me of a face card again. Not
“What ducks, if you’re innocent?”
“The same circumstantial evidence you have.”
“You mean the paintings, the florist?”
“Yes.”
“Are there hotel bills?”
“Never a hotel.”
Like a judge’s chambers is better? Your tax dollars.
“I went to her house, once or twice, at night,” he said. “But she was never at my house. Our house.”
What a guy. “How about your phone bills?”
“I don’t think they show calls to her, but I didn’t call her often in any event. She asked me not to, and I respected her time. She had to paint when she wasn’t working.” He paused. “But I did call before I left my chambers tonight. Before I went over.”
“Why?”
“To ask if she would see me. I told you, I respected her independence.”
Terrific. “That call will show up on a bill, now that the suburbs have a new area code.”
“Yes.”
“It won’t look good, Fiske. A call right before she was murdered.”
“I didn’t know she’d be murdered! If I were going to drive to her house and kill her, would I have called first?”
I considered this, and evidently so had he, about ten steps before me. Fiske was a chess player, nationally ranked. He even played by mail, sending postcards that bore gobbledy-gook like Be3 and Bg7. Suddenly, something fell into place and I turned cold. “Fiske, you know what I think? I think you knew all of this was going to happen.”
He turned toward me in the shadows. “I knew Patricia was going to be killed?”
“No, you knew that I would find out about you and her.”
“I didn’t plan for this to happen.”
“Maybe not, but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Look, nobody in the family knows about the affair, do they?”
“No. Kate doesn’t suspect anything. She thinks Patricia was an opportunist.”
“And Paul?”
“Of course not.”
“So you kept it from the family. But when you had a chance to hire a lawyer, you chose a lawyer close to the family. Practically in the family.”
“Well, yes.” Fiske acted only vaguely aware of his own mind, but I didn’t believe it for a minute. My father had been right, which annoyed me no end.
“You hired me to use me, Fiske. You used me then and you’re using me now.”
“That’s not true!”
“Then why let me be the one to find out about your affair? Because you thought I’d keep it secret?”
“Any lawyer would have done that. It would be privileged.”
“You thought I’d be loyal to you no matter what, even to the point of keeping quiet about a murder. What other lawyer could you ask to do that?”
“I didn’t murder Patricia!”
“Then why me?”
“I didn’t think it would turn out like this, I tell you.”
Liar. Cheater. Bastard. I reached for the ignition, but Fiske gripped my forearm.
“Wait. Maybe … part of me did. Part of me must have wanted you to find out. So that it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”
“Bullshit. Two-bit psychology.” I turned on the ignition despite his grip. “You wanted to destroy your life? Screw up your marriage?”
“I … think I must have,” he said, his tone anguished. “Yes.”
I looked at him while the engine rumbled. His face was obscured and he made no sound, but I had the sense he was about to cry.
“I think … I wanted to tell Kate,” he continued, almost thinking out loud. “I wanted her to know. It just … got out of control. I loved Patricia, Rita, and somebody killed her. I want to know who.”
It rang true. He sounded determined and bewildered, both at once. A natural reaction given the circumstances. Maybe he was innocent. Wrongly accused, or about to be. If so, his world was on the brink of falling to pieces, at his own hand. He slumped forward and rested his temple in his hand, inadvertently reminding me of a face card again. Not
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