“This isn’t going to work out,” Sam said, sitting behind hisdesk at the capital, a hand on his forehead, looking into Allison’s eyes.
“Mat-Mat’s a friend. You know this is crazy. It always was.”
McGaffrey puts on his reading glasses and looks over somenotes on a pad, undoubtedly notes from the transcript of the preliminaryhearing, the testimony of the aide who overheard part of their conversation. “‘Itisn’t going to work out. Mat’s a friend. This is crazy. You know that.’ ”McGaffrey looks at Allison. “These are words susceptible to more than onemeaning.”
“Okay,” Allison says. “Good.”
“A silver Lexus sport utility vehicle drove to Dillon’shouse after one in the morning,” he continues. “The witness didn’t see theplates. I would expect that Lexus sells quite a lot of those in these parts.”
“I would think so.”
“Who has keys to your car, Allison?”
“Just me.”
“Not your ex-husband?”
Allison shakes her head. “I bought it after we separated.”
“What about your daughter?”
“No, Ron. Just me. But like you said, there are lots ofLexus SUVs out there.”
He nods, but he was hoping for something better. “And that’stheir case.” The lawyer tosses the transcript on the couch. “At least so far.They have no murder weapon. They have no eyewitness. And there’s some questionabout time of death.”
“Not in the state’s opinion, there isn’t.”
“No, that’s right. They have him getting food delivery atsix-twenty or so, and partial digestion suggests he died about forty-fiveminutes later. Assuming he ate the food when it arrived, that means seveno’clock, more or less. They have the clock used to hit Dillon over the headthat broke, that was frozen at 7:06 p.m. And the rate of decomp suggests aroundseven, too.”
“I can say I was home at seven,” she says.
“Right. And then there’s this whole thing about the trip toDillon’s house at one in the morning. The e-mail sent from his computer. Ane-mail sent to you, by the way. That’s a wild card.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asks.
“Well.” He opens his sizable hands. “If Dillon sends ane-mail at one in the morning, it means he’s alive. That doesn’t square withtime of death, six hours earlier. They’ve got to be wondering about that. Ifthey have you as the suspect, then they figure you went back there, too, andyou sent the e-mail. But why? It doesn’t make sense. You have an alibi forseven. You were home. Not that anyone can corroborate that.”
“No.”
“But still. It’s not a bad alibi. So why go back? And whysend the e-mail to yourself? You’re putting up a red flag. You’re saying,‘Hey, look at me.’ If you’re smart enough-diabolical enough-to make apremeditated trip back to his house, why leave a calling card?”
She was lucky, she thought, though lucky hardly seemed theword, that Sam did not use a password to protect his screen saver, because shecertainly couldn’t ask him for the password now. The screen was black withasteroids and stars moving about, probably the standard screen saver-Sam barelyhad learned how to use his computer, he surely hadn’t formatted his own screensaver-but with one push of the computer mouse, the screen returned to hise-mail in-box. She hit the “compose” icon and pulled up a blank mail message.She typed in the words and addressed the message to her own webaddress,[email protected]:
Need to discuss further. Getting worried. Many would beunhappy with my info. Need advice ASAP.
She sent the e-mail and checked her watch. It was close totwenty after one. Having sat down for even a minute, she felt intenseexhaustion sweep over her. But she resisted. Now was no time to get weary. Sheonly had to get back home now-yes, that included having to pass Sam’s bodydownstairs one more time-and she would be safe.
“The problem, of course,” McGaffrey says, “is that yourdaughter was home when you arrived back at your house from wherever you hadbeen.”
Allison nods along.
“Mother-what did you do?” Jessica had cried. “Whathappened?”
“Tell me, Mother. Tell me what happened.”
“So some time after seven,” her lawyer says, “certainlybefore eight-thirty, when Jessica arrived, until about two in the morning-let’scall it from eight to two, those six hours-the question is where you were. Aquestion for another time,” he adds.
He is merely going over everything. He won’t spend his firstmeeting with her interrogating her on details. He’ll probably suggest somethinglater. She could have been at a movie, perhaps, or two movies, something thatstarted at eight o’clock that evening and went into the early morning. Thisthought has already occurred to Allison. You pay for a movie in cash, usually,and then you sit in a dark theater where no one sees you. Two movies, almostback-to-back, could take over five hours. How she had managed to get dirt allover her hands and face, of course, would be another matter altogether.
“All of this is circumstantial,” he summarizes. “And theone-in-the-morning e-mail, quite honestly, is weird. I can’t think of arational reason. Neither can they.”
“Criminals make mistakes,” Allison says. “That’s why theyget caught.”
McGaffrey smiles. He takes her statement as a generalproposition, not a specific indictment of Allison herself. “Do you mind myasking, Allison, why the change in lawyers?”
“You’re the best,” she says quickly. “I have a lot ofrespect for Paul Riley-”
“Oh, yes.”
“-but I think his forte these days is more of thewhite-collar variety. You’re the best at what you do.”
Her words could not have been more soothing, Allison issure, if she had uttered them naked, rubbing his body with lotion on a Hawaiianbeach. She has never known a profession that breeds more self-importance andegotism than the practice of law.
Except maybe politics.
“Paul Riley wanted me to cut a deal,” she adds. “I’m notcutting a deal. I want a fighter, and that’s your reputation.”
“You know, I like and respect Paul a great deal,” he says,though Allison senses this is the kind of prelude you typically hear before theknife goes in the back. “But I’ve always felt that people who used toprosecute-they like their adversaries. They sympathize with them. They usuallyseek compromise.”
“And you?” she asks.
“I don’t cut deals with prosecutors,” he says, his chestheaving a bit. “I don’t like them. Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he adds, leaningforward in his chair. “Personally, they may be the nicest people on the planet.But they are too absolute. Once they make the decision to prosecute, they don’tlet anything get in their way. Then they overcharge the crime to scare the shitout of people and force them to plead out. They forget that their job is to befair, to seek justice. They just want to win. They stop looking around, as soonas they decide to indict. They get tunnel vision. Anything that suggests adefendant’s innocence, at that point, must be discredited. They’re neverwrong.”
Allison smiles. This is the kind of outrage you want in anattorney, or at least most people would want.
“This case, perfect example,” McGaffrey says. “I can see howthis happened. They have circumstantial evidence that is decent, but not great.Maybe you’re their suspect, maybe not. But then they think you’re lying to themabout being romantically involved with Sam Dillon. They put circumstantialevidence together with a lie, and they charge you. They give almost no thoughtto the fact that Sam Dillon has this big federal bribery probe swirling aroundhim.”
McGaffrey needs to check his dates. The prosecutors didn’teven know about the bribery scandal until after they arrested her.
McGaffrey continues, undeterred. “Sam Dillon, a guy whomight have some very incriminating information about this bribery, suddenlyturns up dead, but they charge you because they can put you at his house atsome point and you lied-in their opinion-about being Dillon’s girlfriend. I’lltell you what, Allison. We’re going to show them a thing or two about due diligence.We’re going to turn this bribery thing upside down. Sam Dillon had skeletons,or
