The Final Judgment by Richard North Patterson Page B

perceived the working premises of Caroline Masters the defense lawyer. That Brett was guilty. That she would lie. That Caroline’s job was not to learn the truth but to keep it from the prosecution. “The truth is often useful,” Caroline said gently. “But what you told the police is unavoidable. And they do seem to have questions.” Brett swallowed. Gazing back at her, Caroline suddenly imagined a child beneath the woman, frightened and alone. And then Brett Allen reached slowly across Caroline’s silence and touched her hand. “Just believe in me,” she said. “Please.” Caroline looked down at Brett’s fingers, white against the tan of her own skin. She felt the lightness of Brett’s fingertips. By impulse, in the face of years of training, Caroline nodded. “All right,” she said. “Tell me everything.”
    It was dusk when Brett had finished; the quiet room seemed twilit, a filtered gray that soon would fade to darkness. Caroline felt exhausted. Softly, she asked, “Did anyone know you’d be at the lake?”
    “No one.” Brett still seemed lost in memory; her response was slow in coming. “It was a last-minute thing. So we could talk in private.”
    “Because you were worried about being overheard?” A short nod. “I thought I heard someone picking up another phone. Maybe I just imagined it.”
    “Someone?” Brett’s voice was toneless. “My mother.” Caroline watched her face. “Not your father? Or your grandfather?” Brett shook her head. “My dad wasn’t home. And
    Grandfather has his own phone line to his room. That’s not something he’d ever do.” Caroline was quiet for a moment. “But your mother would.”
    “Because of James.” Brett turned to the window, added in a lower voice, “My mother hated him. She knew he was dealing.”
    “You told her.”?”
    “Of course not. But my dad heard rumors, from the campus police.” She looked at Caroline again, paused. “You know he teaches there.” Of course, Caroline thought. That was how he lured them back here—a .job for a struggling graduate student, a home for his family, a granddaughter to fill the void. And all that Larry had to lose was himself. “Then your father,” Caroline said, “must have had some feelings about James.”
    “Not like my mom.” Anger crossed Brett’s face, and vanished, as if she was too weary to sustain it. She finished in a tired monotone. “Mom wanted to give me a perfect world, as if that were even possible. So she was afraid of anyone who threatened that. Even now ...” Caroline sat back. In a few concise words, this girl had described the Betty she had known. There was a quick, bitter memory—two decades old—and then Caroline repressed it. She could deal with her private Betty on her own time; Caroline the lawyer had more practical reasons for drawing Brett’s attention from her mother. “This drug dealer,” she said. “The one who threatened James. Do you know who he is, or where to find him?” Brett shook her head. “James knew I hated what he was doing.” There was another change in Brett’s expression, to stubborn loyalty. “He said he was getting out of it. That he only did it because he had nothing. God knows I wanted to believe it. To believe in him.” Silent, Caroline sorted through her thoughts. The way Brett spoke of James did not suggest murder. Unless, of course, she was a gifted actress. “Did James have room-
    mates.”?” Caroline asked. “Or friends who might know this dealer’?.” “No roommates. Except for me, James pretty much liked being alone.” “Any neighbors?” Brett hesitated. “I met a guy named Daniel Suarez,” she said at length. “He seemed like a good person. But I don’t think he and James were close.”
    “What about women?” Brett looked startled, then defensive. With an edge, she answered, “We were together.” Pausing, Caroline wondered what had unsettled her: doubts; some problem with James; the need to sanctify a dead lover; or anger that Caroline might question a relationship that had been so sullied by his