in Nash’s office, he noticed a resemblance but wrote it off as a coincidence and matter of style.
“Let’s see another,” Andrews said.
Teddy eyed the district attorney, then looked back at the monitor. The snake was still rattling its tail. It hadn’t struck yet.
A second black and white image appeared on the screen. Within a few moments, another pastoral setting gave way to a second nude. Teddy noted the blond hair, the common bone structure, and realized it was the same model. She was wilted on the floor, the melancholy as overwhelming as the first painting they’d seen. But the work was also beautiful, like the warmth of a fire burning under the mantel on a string of rainy-day afternoons.
“I believe there’s a third,” Andrews said. “This one in particular caught my eye.”
Teddy winced at the district attorney’s smooth delivery. Andrews was enjoying the moment, his slickness coming off like grease. Teddy tried to get a grip on himself, but it didn’t work. As an image of a slow moving river painted in moonlight began to fade, he recognized the face, the body, even the tattoos rising to the surface.
It was another nude. But this time he knew the model. It was Darlene Lewis.
Teddy staggered back as if he’d been hit, and everyone turned. He looked away, moved to the light tables, took in the sheets of X-ray film as he caught his breath. He tried to remember what Holmes had said the first night they met. Darlene Lewis used to let him look at her. But it hadn’t been about sex. Holmes had been studying her body for his painting.
“I’d like to thank you,” Andrews said in a quiet voice.
Teddy could feel the district attorney standing right behind him now. He held a file in his hand. He opened it and tossed it on the light table.
“I spoke with your client last night,” Andrews said. “He confessed to the murders of Darlene Lewis, Valerie Kram, and ten other women. This is a copy of his statement. You’ll notice his signature on page ten.”
Teddy felt the snake’s teeth pierce his skin, the venom freely entering his bloodstream. “You can’t talk to Holmes without permission from his attorney,” he said. “You broke the law, Andrews. This paper isn’t worth shit.”
“But I did have permission from his attorney,” Andrews said. “Not you, Teddy Mack. Holmes’s lead attorney. Barnett offered his advice and consent. He listened to the confession over the telephone.”
It felt like a knockout punch. Like he’d been tossed from a moving car and dragged over the concrete at high speed. Teddy paged through Holmes’s statement, unable to read it. When he turned the statement over, he froze. On the bottom of the file was a copy of their profile. The profile he’d sent to Barnett in his hospital room. Teddy’s note to the man was still attached.
“Apparently you thought the killer was an artist,” Andrews said. “Thanks for making my case.”
“He is an artist, Andrews. He’s just not this artist. You’ve bungled another one. You’ve got the wrong man.”
The district attorney chuckled. “You’re young, Teddy Mack. You’ve got a lot to learn. Better luck next time. Barnett needs verification that the x-rays exist. Next time you talk to him, tell him what you’ve seen.”
Teddy felt the poison enter his heart and shoot through his body. He flashed a hard look at Andrews, hoping he had enough inner strength not to strike the man. The district attorney couldn’t hold his gaze and stepped back. Teddy shook his head, still stunned. He thought of Holmes’s fragile mental state and knew his client would’ve agreed to anything if he was told it might stop his nightmares. He thought of Barnett selling them out and betraying them in order to make the deal. When he glanced at Powell, he saw her wipe something away from beneath her eye and turn away.
FORTY-EIGHT
Teddy sat in the museum coffee shop, mulling over the aftermath of the explosion and filled with self-doubt. Andrews had a complete case now. He had the physical evidence linking Holmes to two murders. A witness who saw Holmes running away from the Lewis house. A painting of Darlene Lewis in the nude. And now he had a confession. Alan Andrews was a slime bag, but he had everything he needed to put Holmes away for the rest of the man’s life.
Barnett’s betrayal was a different story.
Teddy still couldn’t believe what Barnett had done. He thought he knew the man. He thought he’d been a good judge of character his entire life. Yet there it was in Holmes’s statement. Teddy looked away from the file Andrews had given him, wondering what kind of man would sell out his own brother-in-law. A member of his family who needed him.
He felt sick.
Powell entered the coffee shop and gazed at him from the doorway. After a moment, she stepped up to the counter, ordered a cup of decaf, and sat down on the other side of the table.
“You okay?” she asked.
Teddy nodded even though he wasn’t. He wasn’t sure who was worse, Andrews or Barnett.
“I didn’t know about this, Teddy. Not until this morning. Alan wanted to keep it a surprise.”
He gave her a look. He believed her.
Still, the implications of the deal between Andrews and Barnett stabbed at his soul. The confession meant that the FBI would be out before they even got in. He could see Rosemary Gibb modeling for the painter with bad teeth who liked to order caffe lattes. The girl trying to hold on with no one looking for her. Time running out, and Rosemary not making it. The killer having his way with her, doing things to her with the knife, her lifeless body submerged in water when he was through.
“What about the manager at the coffee house?” he said. “He wasn’t describing Holmes.”
“No, he wasn’t,” she said. “But Holmes was in prison when Rosemary turned up missing.”
“Did you mention that to Andrews?”
She nodded. “He doesn’t think they’re related. People turn up missing every day. Besides, the confession changes everything.”
Teddy lowered his eyes.
“I know it’s hard,” she said. “You gave it a good shot. I’ve gotta get back to the office. But think it over, Teddy. The evidence is overwhelming. Read your client’s statement. I’ll give you a call this afternoon. Maybe we can meet somewhere and talk.”
She hadn’t touched her coffee. She started to get up, then sat down again.
“I did a little checking on my own,” she said. “The night Barnett was run over, Andrews attended a fund- raiser.”
Teddy came up for air. “What about Michael Jackson?”
“He went with him,” she said. “He likes free food.”
FORTY-NINE
Teddy pushed the doctor out of the room, slammed the door shut and flipped the lock. When he heard the doctor start pounding with his fists from the other side, he ignored it and turned to face Barnett. The window curtains were drawn, and Barnett was still confined to his bed in the darkness. He looked frightened, but he couldn’t move-his legs held together by that array of metal pins and hardware.
Teddy knew he should have gone straight to Nash and told him about Holmes’s confession. But Barnett had acted something like a father toward him ever since Teddy joined the firm. A mentor. Barnett had taken a special interest in his career, guiding him through his introduction to the legal profession. Teddy had trusted the man and admired him and made the mistake of emulating him. Now he was nowhere.
The banging stopped, followed by shouting from the hallway. Teddy moved to the window, jerking the curtain open and flooding the room with light.
“What are you gonna do?” Barnett said, shaking.
