Tell No Lies Read online

  Earl smiled a bit and nodded. "Okay." Then: "Jack, I meant it when I said you handled it well."

  "I know." He unbuttoned his shirt halfway and rubbed the towel down his chest. "Hey, do you think I'd be able to get showers put in if I win the election?"

  Earl laughed. "You could always try, I suppose."

  "What would you have done differently?"

  "Huh?" The question seemed to have caught Earl off guard, and Jack realized he thought he was referring to Earl's time as DA. Jack leaned against the sink, facing Earl.

  "My response to the reporter's questions. Would you have handled it any differently?"

  "You were perfect, Jack. Keep it up and before you know it you'll be moving your junk into my office."

  November seemed a long way away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ON THE THURSDAY afternoon before the weekend of the state bar's annual Bench & Bar Conference, Earl called Jack into his office. Jack was certain he wanted to discuss Barnard; for anything else he would have just stopped him in the hall. Jack wondered if Frank Mann had been invited to the meeting, too.

  He found Earl sitting behind his desk, his feet propped on the corner. A stapled packet of papers rested on his lap but he wasn't reading. His eyes were closed, and Jack thought maybe he'd dozed off, although that would have been very uncharacteristic. He rapped softly on the door.

  "Close the door behind you," Earl said, skipping any greeting.

  Jack motioned to the papers in Earl's lap. "Pleasure reading?"

  "Psychological report."

  "Barnard?"

  Earl nodded.

  "Why isn't Mann in here for this meeting?" Jack asked.

  Frank had been ecstatic when Jeff McCarthy accepted Jack's invitation to be his campaign manager. Earl had pulled Jeff off the Barnard case as second chair and Frank figured he wouldn't have to share the glory. Jack knew Frank wouldn't appreciate a meeting about the case in his absence.

  "Because right now this has to do with your campaign. I'll invite him to join us in a few minutes."

  Jack sat across from him and waited.

  Earl brought his feet to the floor and leaned forward over his desk, hands clasped. "I want you to try it."

  Jack shifted in his seat. All the reasons he shouldn't try it began to explode like fireworks in his mind, but he was determined to stay calm.

  "More importantly," Earl continued, "Dunne wants you to try it. He thinks it's a ready-made publicity opportunity we can't squander."

  Jack nodded slowly. They both knew he wasn't agreeing to anything; he was merely indicating he understood Dunne's position. He motioned again at the report. "Did you make any decisions yet?"

  "Yes. But I want to know if you'll try it regardless of my decision."

  At that moment Jack knew Earl intended to ask for death.

  "And if I say no?"

  Earl shrugged. "Then I guess perhaps you will have given Steve Schafer quite a gift."

  Jack looked away at the mention of his Republican opponent. Steve Schafer was an older trial lawyer, the founder of a small defense firm with an excellent reputation. Schafer himself had forged a Perry Mason-like persona over the years; even as he represented defendants, he always appeared to be on the good side of the law: "Of course I'm in favor of putting the bad guys behind bars, but my client's not the bad guy" seemed to be his motto. In line with this philosophy was his expressed support for the death penalty, when appropriate. Jack thought it all seemed a bit too convenient.

  "Look," Earl said. "I'm not asking you to decide whether this should be a capital case. I'm merely asking you to take my decision and run with it. Win the case. Someone in this office is going to; it might as well be you, since you're the one trying to get elected."

  "What happened to 'the man who makes the decision should be the one to try it'?"

  "I'm making an exception." Earl stared hard at Jack, reminding him that the exception was being made for his benefit.

  Jack tried to imagine Claire's reaction if he agreed to do it. Would it matter to her that the decision had been Earl's? Was it enough of a distinction for Jack, even? Could he live with himself, knowing he'd played a part in the outcome, even if the choice of outcomes hadn't been his?

  "The slippery slope just keeps getting steeper, doesn't it?" Jack tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but he didn't succeed. He took a deep breath. "The answer's no. I won't try it regardless. I'll try it only if you're asking for life." With a raise of his eyebrows, he added, "Can I see the report?"

  Earl sighed, though he didn't seem too surprised by Jack's response, and tossed the papers across the desk.

  Jack picked up the packet and flipped to the back page for the summary of findings. He scanned the last paragraph of the report. Someone, Earl perhaps, had highlighted the defendant's IQ score with yellow marker. It bordered on mental retardation.

  "When did you get this?" he asked Earl.

  "Late last week."

  Jack stared at Earl angrily, the sense of having almost been tricked growing larger with each minute. "Isn't this what the defense has been saying all along? The guy's not all there. No one seems to care. Obviously you don't."

  "It's the first bit of real evidence to back them up. So what do you think?"

  "Does it matter what I think?"

  "I won't be the last to want to know."

  Jack threw the report on Earl's desk. "Earl, it's no mystery what I'd do if I was in your shoes. Yes, I'd use this as my hook. So what?"

  "Is that what you want me to do?"

  "It doesn't seem to matter what I want. You said yourself you've already made your decision."

  "True, although you've been making a lot of assumptions about what that decision is." Earl stood and came around to the front of the desk, near Jack. "Everyone's expecting me to ask for death in this case. If I don't, you'll be the one to take most of the heat. You realize that."

  "Of course I do." Jack grunted. "What? You think I'd rather you go for it just so that I can breeze through to November? That's insulting." Jack had to look up to meet Earl's gaze. "Well, are you going to let me in on your big secret?"

  "I am."

  "And?"

  "And I'm going to ask for life with no parole."

  The case was Jack's.

  Jack had to admire Earl. He'd timed his decision on Barnard just right. He called the defense attorney, Millie Rubin, on Friday morning to advise him of his decision, and within the hour he began taking calls from reporters. Most of the attorneys in the DA's office, including Earl, were scheduled to leave for the Lake of the Ozarks that same morning to attend the Bench & Bar Conference. Although neither Jack nor Earl would be able to avoid the press completely even at the lake, the pressure on them would be substantially less. And by the time Jack returned to St. Louis for a fundraiser on Sunday afternoon, the story would be approaching old age.

  With Earl's blessing, Jack left town early and was halfway to the lake before the onslaught began. He'd invited Jenny to ride along with him, but a nine o'clock hearing in court prevented her from leaving any earlier than noon. She'd originally planned to skip the conference; attendees were overwhelmingly state-court practitioners and judges, and her practice was almost exclusively in federal court. But Earl—against his better judgment, Jack suspected—insisted that Jack's entire campaign team be there to meet and greet some of the state bigwigs. Jack readily agreed. Jenny had always been better than Jack at schmoozing, anyway; he knew the older men would love making fools of themselves over a cocktail with her.

  Later that night, after the welcome dinner and a short swim with other attorneys, Jack returned to his room and left the rest to continue the partying. It was only eleven, but he could tell they were poised to stay up into the wee hours of the night, drinking on the deck and taking turns in the cool water of the kidney-shaped pool and the steaming froth of the hot spa.

  The room was too cold, so after turning off the air-conditioning, he opened the slider to the small ceme
nt balcony overlooking the pool. His room was only four floors up. When he stepped outside he must have been visible, because someone in the pool, Jeff maybe, called his name, and then the rest of them began to hoot and holler for him to come back down. Their voices and laughter echoed off the green, illuminated water.

  He ignored their playful heckling and went back inside. He turned out the light and watched their antics in the pool as he called Claire. Her voice was slow when she answered and he feared he had woken her. She denied it and claimed she was reading in bed while she waited up for his call.

  "I was afraid it was another reporter," she said.

  "They've been calling our house?" he asked. "I wonder how they got our number." It had been unlisted since he'd started at the DA's office.

  "I don't know, but they're anxious to talk to you."

  "What'd you tell them?"

  "The truth. That you were at Bench and Bar and wouldn't be home till Sunday. I didn't want them bugging me all weekend."

  He watched Jeff, Andy Rinehart and Jerry Clark lift Maria Catalona from the spa and carry her, kicking and screaming, to the pool. Jenny was still in the spa with another lawyer from Newman. She leaned her back against the edge, her arms outstretched on the deck behind her and her long legs floating in the water. One hand held a beer bottle. Maria's screaming rose a few decibels as they swung her by her arms and legs, threatening to toss her in. Jenny laughed, seemingly unaware that she would probably be next.

  "Where are you?" Claire asked. "What's all that noise?"

  "I'm in my room, but the door to the balcony's open and there's a bunch of them getting a little rowdy down at the pool."

  "Yeah, that sounds like the Bench and Bar I remember." She laughed. "So what are you doing in the room?"

  "My youth is probably already a concern for some in November. I don't need to add immaturity to the mix."

  "Ah, yes, but sometimes the immature get to have more fun."

  "That is true."

  "Where's Earl?"

  "We had dinner with some politicians and a few judges. They were talking about a poker game in one of the judge's suites, I think."

  "You should go join them."

  "Nah. It's all the old guys."

  "No, I mean in the pool. Don't worry about November. Go have some fun."

  "Maybe. I'll see."

  Jack turned away from the open balcony door and lay down on the hard bed. The beer that made them rowdy had made him sleepy. "I'm tired," he whispered into the phone to Claire. "Tomorrow's gonna be a long day, and this bed sucks."

  "Okay. Go to bed, sleepyhead." It was the phrase she always used with the kids.

  He wanted to say something to let her know he appreciated her not bringing up why the reporters called. Since their spat earlier in the week, he could tell she'd tried to ease up on him. She'd even commented that night at dinner that she'd seen the courthouse interview on the news and she thought he'd handled the questions well. She didn't mention the taunt from the protester, and he realized later when he saw the tape that the news station cut it, or else the cameras hadn't been rolling when the woman made her accusation.

  "I wish you were here with me."

  "Me too." Her voice was barely audible.

  After they hung up, he undressed and lay back down on the bed. He realized he'd forgotten to brush his teeth but figured it wouldn't hurt to skip one night. The room had warmed up, but he didn't feel like getting up to shut the door. It sounded as though all of them were in the pool now. Their voices mingled with splashes and ripples as they played in the water. He thought about what Claire had said and considered going back down.

  He must have dozed off, because he jerked awake when he thought he heard a soft tap on the door. He'd been having a dream, one of those panicky dreams similar to the ones he'd had when he was still in law school. In it, he sat in one of the big lecture rooms with a bluebook on the table in front of him, trying futilely to answer questions on a test for which he hadn't studied, for a class he hadn't attended in weeks.

  Another knock and the panic he'd felt from the dream came back. It was ridiculous, but he imagined a reporter on the other side of the door.

  He searched on the floor for something to put on, but came up with only his damp swim trunks. He grabbed the trousers he'd worn to dinner from the chair.

  Another knock. "Jeez, give me a minute," he mumbled.

  He tried to look out the peephole, but either it was broken or whoever stood outside his door had covered it. He left the chain on as he cracked open the door, but released it once he recognized the person on the other side.

  "Hi, Mr. Hilliard." She gave him a slow, lazy, lopsided smile. "Hope I didn't wake you."

  "Jenny." She stood in the threshold, her arms folded, shivering from the chill of the air-conditioning. Her hair was wet, she still had her bathing suit on, although she'd pulled on a pair of cutoffs over it, and a white hotel towel hung around her neck. Goose bumps dotted the length of her arms. The way she leaned against the doorjamb so nonchalantly reminded him of the first night they'd met, when she'd stood in his office doorway the same way. Except now, he was sure she was slightly under the influence. "What are you doing?"

  She reached up and tousled his hair. "You look pretty cute with bed head, Jack."

  "Jenny . . ."

  "Relax. I'm here with a completely innocent proposal."

  "What happened to the others?"

  She gave a little wave of her hand, dismissing them. "They're no fun."

  Again she touched his hair. "This little piece, though, just doesn't want to stay put." He smelled the chlorine on her skin as her arm neared his face.

  "What is it? If someone sees you standing in my door at this time of night, I'm toast."

  She moved forward, causing him to back up, and then shut the door behind her. "There. Problem solved."

  His survival instincts had kicked in the minute he saw her standing at his door, and now they switched into high gear. He could barely see her in the dark, but he knew her charcoal eyes stared at him, unwavering, while she waited for his reaction. He felt on the wall next to the door and turned on the light.

  "Is that what you sleep in?" she asked, pointing at his pants.

  "No, this is what I answer the door in at three in the morning."

  "For your information, Jack, it's only one or so."

  He wondered if she was right.

  "Jenny, morning is going to come sooner than you think. Go get some sleep." He began to open the door. She stopped him, her hand covering his on the doorknob.

  "Come to the lake with me."

  "What?" He pulled his hand away.

  "You heard me. Come to the lake with me. I rented a boat when I got in this afternoon. I want to go out on the lake."

  He couldn't help but laugh. Only Jenny would have thought to rent a boat.

  "You're something."

  "I know." She took a step closer; he took a step back. "Come on. It'll be fun."

  "What kind of boat?" Why was he asking her this? He had no intentions of going out on a boat alone with Jenny Dodson at one in the morning.

  "A pontoon boat. I thought it'd make a good party boat, but no one wants to party."

  "Somehow I would have taken you for a speedboat type of gal."

  "Yeah, well, some other weekend, maybe." She shrugged. "Come on, Jack. I never came here as a kid, like I'm sure you did. My parents were dead, remember? I want to get out on the water. Please."

  He was taken aback by the blasé comment about her parents. He didn't remember, because she'd never told him when they'd died, or how. Just that she was an orphan. He wondered what else she hadn't told him.

  "Jenny, I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "Do you need me to spell it out?"

  She lowered her eyes, and he worried he'd been too blunt. Then she looked straight at him, her expression solemn. "I'll be good, I swear." She gave him the slightest grin. "Scout's honor." She raised one hand in the air as s
he tried to figure out how many fingers to put up. He reached over and arranged her fingers in the right configuration. Her hand was cold.

  "Three fingers," he said.

  "I knew you must have been a Boy Scout."

  "I wasn't."

  "If you won't come with me, I'll go alone."

  "No, you won't."

  "I will, and I've been drinking."

  "Really? Who would've guessed?"

  "Okay, Jack," she said with exaggerated resignation. She turned and gripped the doorknob. "I'll wave to you from the middle of the lake, under the glittering stars."

  Something in her tone convinced him she was going, with or without him. What would be worse? His treasurer found drowned in the lake, or the two of them being seen together in a boat in the middle of the night? She'd backed him into a corner, and she knew it.

  He sighed and touched her shoulder to stop her. "Give me a minute to get dressed."

  He searched in his suitcase for dry shorts. "Here, put this on," he said, tossing her a sweatshirt. "Your skin's like ice."

  He went into the bathroom to change. He kept telling himself, This is crazy, this is crazy, even as he pulled on his shorts and T-shirt. He could just walk her to her room and stay there until he was sure she'd fallen asleep, but that option posed problems of its own. The two of them in a wide-open boat was preferable to the two of them in the privacy of her room. Both of them alone in their own rooms would have been best, but that scenario didn't seem likely. God, when had it become such a dilemma just to be alone with her?

  When he came out of the bathroom, he found her lying on his bed, on her stomach, surfing through the TV channels with the remote in her hand. She'd put on his sweatshirt.

  "Ready?" she chirped.

  At the door, he stopped. "Wait," he said, slipping into the bathroom one more time.

  He remembered that he still hadn't brushed his teeth.

  They crept down the back stairs because he was afraid they'd run into someone in the lobby. Outside, in the muggy air, they scurried to the docks like teenagers sneaking out after curfew, Jenny trying not to giggle after he admonished her for making so much noise.