Keep No Secrets Read online

  But he still has to traverse the lobby from the parking garage elevator to the separate banks that take him to Earl's firm on the twenty-eighth floor. If he's not fast, they'll attack him in the lobby.

  The last thing he needs is to get stuck talking to Harley while they claim their stakeout.

  "I gotta go," he says again. The words come out a little too loudly now that he left the battering rain behind.

  "Your ticket, Jack. You're gonna lose your ticket this time. Your ticket and your family."

  Jack drops the phone onto the

  passenger seat and searches for Earl's parking spot, all the while trying to convince himself that Harley's threats haven't shaken him.

  Four or five reporters ambush him as soon as he steps off the parking garage elevator. But it's Jim Wolfe, the legal reporter for the Post-Dispatch, whom Jack sees first. He leans calmly against a marble column in the center of the lobby.

  As the one who first suspected Jack of being Jenny's alibi, Wolfe worries Jack more than the rabid bunch at his side.

  You've done this hundreds of times, he tells himself. You've crossed this same stream before without drowning. You can do it now.

  "Mr. Hilliard!" the reporter standing directly next to Jack shouts. "Do you have a comment about the charges brought against you?"

  Jack keeps walking but says, "I'll have a statement for all of you later this afternoon."

  "Are you guilty of the charges?"

  "Of course not."

  Earl will murder Jack when he finds out he engaged them in any conversation at all, but it's not Jack's style to ignore questions with easy answers.

  "How do you intend to effectively represent the city on other matters if you're busy fighting these charges?" says another.

  A short blonde in bright red pumps gets more specific: "Will your being a defendant in this case affect your handling of the Bedford case?"

  He can't help but glare at the woman who asked that question, and yet they've only just begun. The questions get more personal as he approaches the sanctuary of the elevator.

  "Is it true your accuser is your son's girlfriend?"

  "What is your wife's reaction to these charges?"

  But it's Wolfe who's done his research, who knows Jack's true weakness. His matter-of-fact voice reaches Jack's ears above the din of the others.

  "Can you tell us, Mr. Hilliard, is it true the victim could be Jennifer Dodson's twin?"

  Earl, who waits in the elevator, hears the last question. Once the doors close, sealing them in silence, he drops his game face. "You okay?"

  "I'm okay." It's a lie, and Earl knows it, but they both pretend otherwise as the small cage whisks them to the top floor of the building.

  The long walk down the corridor to Earl's corner office is only slightly less painful than the interrogation downstairs.

  Secretaries stare over the tops of their cubicles at Jack, then quickly avert their eyes when he attempts to greet them.

  Young associates traversing between offices nod and say, simply, "Mr.

  Hilliard." He returns the gesture, but he hears them congregating after he passes, waiting until he disappears into their boss' office to start their gossip. His suspicions are confirmed when Earl stops at his secretary's desk. "Tell them to get their asses back to work or they'll be writing research memos for the next five years," he orders brusquely.

  In Earl's office, the first thing Jack sees is the morning's newspaper resting on the coffee table in front of the leather couch.

  He reads the large headline as he removes his coat. The bold black letters ask: ST.

  LOUIS DA: GOLDEN BOY OR

  SEXUAL PREDATOR? Underneath, a

  subtitle reads: IS SEXUAL

  MISBEHAVIOR ‘ALL IN A DAY’S

  WORK’ FOR MODERN DAY

  POLITICIANS?

  He knew it would turn into this—the last time taught him that—and he knows it will get worse. Earls waves it off as he takes a seat behind his desk. "Yellow journalism. Ignore it."

  That would be easier if it wasn't staring me in the face. Jack turns the paper over. To his relief, national news takes up the bottom half of the front page.

  "First things first." Earl opens a small refrigerator behind his chair, pulls out a Michelob, and offers it to Jack. If someone had told him that the man who was his boss at the DA's office all those years now kept a refrigerator full of beer in his office, he wouldn't have believed it.

  Earl winks, and Jack understands then that he's joking, trying to help Jack relax.

  "It's a little early and I didn't get much sleep last night. I think I'd prefer coffee."

  Jack pulls out the chair in front of the desk and falls into it. "But feel free to have one yourself."

  Earl laughs. "I'm working," he says, replacing the beer and retrieving a can of Coke for himself. He picks up his phone and asks his secretary to bring a coffee for Jack.

  "So am I," Jack says when Earl hangs up.

  "We'll get to that, but there are few other things I want to talk to you about first." Earl swivels around once more to grab a book from the shelf next to the refrigerator. Jack recognizes it: the Missouri Rules of Professional Conduct.

  Get to what? he thinks. His gut tightens as he remembers Harley's threat. You're gonna lose your ticket this time.

  "I heard you chewed out the Chief,"

  Earl says as he leafs through the pages.

  Jack stares at him blankly. "When you got home from the jail."

  "Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. The press had camped out on my lawn. I could barely get into my garage."

  Earl looks up from the book for a moment and nods slowly, as if he's absorbing Jack's answer. After knocking, Earl's secretary enters with the coffee.

  Jack thanks her, but she won't look him in the eye, either. I'm not a rapist, he wants to shout at her.

  Earl asks her to close the door behind her.

  "How can that be?" he says. "He claims he gave you plenty of lead time to get home before logging the charges."

  "He did. I wasn't ready to go home yet, though. I wasn't ready to deal with Claire." Jack sips the coffee but it's much too hot and burns his lip.

  "Where'd you go?" As Earl talks, he continues to flip the pages.

  "Nowhere, really. I drove around."

  Earl looks up, his finger holding his spot. "Were you with Dodson?"

  He wasn't, of course, but that Earl asked the question disturbs Jack. Have Celeste’s allegations already destroyed the trust he's spent the last four years rebuilding?

  "No. I simply drove around, tried to clear my head before going home." When Earl seems to accept his answer, Jack goes on quietly, "Let's move on. What else do we need to talk about?"

  Resigned, Earl tosses the book onto his desk and drags his hand over the top of his stubby gray hair, a habit when he's faced with an unpleasant task. He stares at the discarded book.

  "What is it? Just tell me."

  "Do you wonder how I knew you chewed out Gunner?"

  "You obviously talked to him."

  "Right." Earl finally pops the tab on his soda can. "He called me."

  "Why?"

  "He wants to talk to you, but felt he should run it by me first."

  Every nerve warns Jack to be alert. "He wants to talk to me about what? About Celeste? I'm not talking to any of them.

  Why would you even think I might?"

  "Whoa, hold on a second. First, stop jumping to conclusions. It's not like you.

  Second, remember they're not enjoying this, either, okay? Gunner and his crew are not out to get you, Jack. The only one out to get you is Celeste, and we need to find out why. I suspect it's not personal."

  It sure feels personal. "Then what does he want to talk to me about?"

  "He thinks your personal issues will impair your decision-making. Especially with the Bedford case. He thinks there’s a conflict of interest. That you might identify with the victim a bit too much to prosecute the case fairly."

&n
bsp; "I like to think I identify a little bit with all the victims in the cases I prosecute. It's sort of what motivates me, you know?" What do they want him to do, stop working altogether? "He thinks I should take myself off the case?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, if he wants me off the case, he'll have to ask the judge to order it."

  "Jack—"

  "It's not open for discussion. I refuse to constantly justify every move I make because of something stupid I did four years ago. Or because some girl now decides to accuse me of something I didn't do. If I have to argue my position, I'll argue it to the judge."

  A slight grin grows on Earl's face. For the first time since Jack arrived, his former boss relaxes. He sinks into his high-back leather chair that would swallow another man of his height and rests his hands, fingers interlaced, over his belly. "Okay, point taken," he says. Jack is surprised by his sudden acquiescence. He has the sense he was just tested.

  "Will you at least tell me how you and Claire are doing, then?"

  "About as good as can be expected. I think she believes I'm innocent. I mean, she's hasn't said that outright, she won't give me that, not yet, but I think she knows. If this had happened in a vacuum, and the girl had been any other girl, well .

  . . it still would have been difficult, but . .

  . I don't know."

  "But it wasn't any other girl. And it's happened right about the time Jenny showed up."

  "Right."

  "Has it occurred to you there might be a connection?"

  "I've considered it, but there's no way.

  Jenny didn’t contact me until the night after I drove Celeste home. Whatever game she’s playing, it doesn't involve Celeste. I'm certain of it."

  Earl sucks in a deep breath, blows it out. Jack knows he wants to argue. "You have to know how difficult this must be for Claire right now."

  "I do."

  The phone on his desk buzzes. "Excuse me. I was hoping to hear about the test results while you're here. This could be Gunner now."

  Jack rises and goes over to stand at the two walls of glass that meet in the southeast corner. The hard rain falls at an angle and attacks the floor-to-ceiling panes. Yet even through the deluge he sees the Arch and, below that, the Mississippi. The red light at the top of the Arch blinks intermittently to warn errant air traffic; its lazy rhythm captivates him.

  He closes his eyes and makes a conscious effort to relax the tightness in his shoulders. It's not just his shoulders, though. Every muscle in his body is tense.

  He's carried the tension with him ever since his trip in the car to Celeste's house.

  Jenny's reappearance, and now his arrest, have made it exponentially worse.

  With some effort he opens his eyes and watches a tugboat pushing a long barge north up the river, against the current. He imagines returning to his office, closing the door, and slipping into the chair behind his desk for a nap. The chair once belonged to Earl and still bears the indentations from years of his use. It's the most comfortable desk chair Jack has ever sat in. It wouldn't be the first time he's napped there.

  "Gunner says the tests show the hair in her bra was yours."

  Jack surprises himself by laughing. Of course they do. "They were fooling around on our couch, where I sit almost every day of my life. This is evidence?"

  "You'd use it."

  Earl is right. Jack would use it. The presence of his hair supports one side of the story, Celeste's. The State's. He's not sure how he ended up on the opposite side.

  Frustrated, he takes his chair again.

  "There's another problem, too," Earl says. "They ran tests for other hairs collected in the car. Some they thought belonged to Celeste don't match."

  "So?"

  "So who do they belong to, Jack?"

  "You know who they belong to."

  "Is Claire aware that she's been in your car?"

  "Yes."

  Earl regards Jack skeptically.

  " Yes. She knows."

  "Are you prepared to explain from a witness stand why Jenny's hairs are in your car?"

  "Why would I have to do that?"

  "Because if Gunner or someone else at the station puts two and two together, they'll suspect who those hairs belong to.

  When they do, they'll run the results against Dodson's records." He turns to the computer on his side desk and begins tapping at the keyboard. "You know as well as I do that they'd want to question her if they knew she was back."

  "To my knowledge, there's no outstanding warrant. I'm not harboring her."

  "No one said you were. But have you considered, as DA, you might have a higher ethical duty?"

  Since the night Jenny appeared in the tunnel, Jack has asked himself repeatedly whether he needs to report her return to town, as he threatened he would. He hasn't answered the question for himself satisfactorily. He does know, by not doing anything—not even bothering to research the issue—he's done something. He made a decision by his failure to act.

  Earl sighs. "Look, in any other circumstance, your relationship with another woman might not be anyone's business except yours and Claire's. But

  —"

  "There is no relationship."

  "Like hell there isn't."

  "I haven’t seen her since before my arrest."

  "Good. Keep it that way. Stay away from her while all this is going on."

  "Or what?"

  "Or I won't represent you. I can try to protect you from the state, but I refuse to spend the next several months trying to protect you from yourself."

  Jack knows he's bluffing. "Like you said at the jail, I can't afford you anyway."

  "God dammit, Jack." Earl slams his fist on the desk. Jack starts from the surprise of it. "Why are you being so stubborn about this? Are you trying to get locked up? You heard Wolfe's question

  downstairs in the lobby. What do you think he'll start asking if he finds out she's in town and you're in contact with her?"

  "Frankly, I think it might help my cause."

  "And why's that?"

  "If you accept their logic, that I simply couldn't help myself because of Celeste's resemblance to Jenny, well, that logic crumbles, doesn't it, if Jenny's readily available? I mean, think about it. If I want to betray Claire again, then isn't it more likely I'll do so in a way that doesn't land me in prison?"

  Earl shakes his head in disgust. It's obvious he can't believe he's having this conversation. But Jack thinks that Earl is the one who isn't looking at things with clear eyes. He's worried about Jack and Claire just as much as he's worried about a conviction. Probably more.

  "Earl, listen. Claire knows, okay? She understands the position Jenny's put me in. She doesn't like it, but she knows why I just can't let it go. If the threats are legitimate, and I ignored them, then—"

  "Tell her to call the police."

  Jack simply rolls his eyes at that.

  "What if they're not legitimate? What if she's just playing you?"

  "I'm well aware she might be doing that." Jack grabs his coffee and settles back into the chair, a signal to Earl that he wants to drop the topic. "You just need to trust me, okay? I won't agree not to see her, but I'll guarantee that no one will know about it for now. If I learn something that needs to go public, I'll come to you first. Will that satisfy you?"

  Earl grunts and closes whatever he'd pulled up online. Jack wonders if he found what he was looking for. He's struck by what he sees on Earl's face, the burden of what he's trying to hide: he's too close to the case; he cares too much what happens.

  Jack wants to remind Earl how difficult all of this is for him, too. He wants to confess his profound fear of being convicted, of losing his freedom to a prison cell. He wants to explain to Earl that the only fear greater than his fear of being convicted is his fear of losing his family for good.

  But he knows Earl needs to hear

  something else, so he says none of this.

  "Look, I do know how hard it is for Claire." Grinning ju
st a bit for Earl's benefit, he thinks of Claire's comment the other day and adds, "We've survived much worse. We'll be okay."

  Now, if only he could convince

  himself.

  Once Earl drops the topic of Jenny, they spend another hour planning the next steps of Jack's defense. Earl focuses on Celeste's allegations—a subject upon which Jack is unequivocal. He takes Earl one more time though the events of the night, step-by-step, word-by-word. They agree to meet again once Earl has made his formal discovery requests and the state has responded. Meanwhile, Earl will hire a private investigator to work Jack's case.

  Earl escorts him out and offers one more piece of advice.

  "Whatever you do, talk to your staff about the charges. You need them to be on your side, and if you handle it right, they will be. Most of them look up to you, Jack. And they're smart enough to see through the rhetoric. But don't wait. The longer you wait to address it with them, the less they'll trust what you tell them."

  As they stand in the reception area waiting for the elevator to arrive, he also reminds Jack not to speak to the Chief about his case. "It's business as usual on other cases, but you can't talk to him about—"

  "I know that."

  "And Celeste. Don't try to speak to her, either, not even indirectly via Michael. You have to be careful. Your communications with him have no

  privilege, and any prosecutor worth his salt would be able to spin anything you say in the worst direction."

  Jack nods and steps into the open elevator. He presses the button for the lobby.

  "Don't try to solve this case on your own, you hear me? Let our PI do that."

  "We'll talk later," Jack says. As the doors close, Earl inserts his arm to stop them.

  " Jack, you hear me?"

  "I hear you."

  The lies aren't what he says; they're what he doesn't say.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE RAIN DRENCHES Jack on the

  way from his own parking garage to the court building. He can't help but notice the difference between the benefits of a job at a silk stocking firm versus the DA's office. Even as the head of that all-important office, the public employee's equivalent to a firm's managing partner, he still parks in an off-site garage. Even a lowly first year associate at Earl's firm gets a spot in the building's garage, not to mention a salary that probably surpasses Jack's. He's never cared about any of this