were they splitting up.') It had to be sex. Either she was cheating on him or he was cheating on her. That's when I got my idea.'
Geddes paused dramatically. Christenson was used to his boss's theatrics and he endured them stoically.
'Laura Rizzatti, Neil. Laura Rizzatti. It was under our noses all the time.'
Now Geddes had his investigator's attention.
'Did you ever see her, Neil? I have. The Supreme Court clerks use the cafeteria in the basement of the Justice building all the time. I once had lunch with her and Justice Griffen. That's what gave me the idea.
Seeing them together.
'She was attractive. Very attractive. One of those full-bodied Italian girls with pale skin and beautiful eyes. I think the judge noticed just how good-looking she was.' Geddes paused. 'I think the good judge was fucking her.'
'Now, wait a minute . . .' Neil started.
Geddes held up a hand. 'Hear me out. It's just a theory, but it makes sense. Abbie Griffen's a good-looking woman, but she might be as cold in bed as she is in the courtroom. Suppose the judge got frustrated and started hitting on his clerk. The next thing you know, they're in the sack together.'
'We don't know that.'
'Don't we?' Geddes answered smugly. 'I've already done a little investigating on my own. Before I buzzed you, I talked to Ruth McKenzie at the Supreme Court. She was Justice Griffen's secretary. I asked her if she was aware of any unusual occurrences involving Rizzatti and the judge around the time Laura was killed. Do you know what she told me? On the very day she was murdered, Laura came to the judge's office in a highly emotional state. Mrs. McKenzie couldn't hear what they talked about, but Laura looked like she had been crying and the judge was very upset.
Christenson thought about Geddes's theory and had to admit that there might be something to it.
'First Griffen's clerk is murdered, then Griffen,' Geddes said.
'It's too big a coincidence, Neil. I think Abbie Griffen found out that her husband and Laura Rizzatti were having an affair and killed them both.'
As soon as Matthew Reynolds hung up on Chuck Geddes he told his secretary to hold his calls, then he went upstairs to his living quarters. Dreams come true, he thought as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. Sometimes we do have our greatest wish fulfilled.
Matthew entered his study without even glancing at his chessboard and locked the door. The bright midday light illuminated the room. Motes of dust floated on the sunbeams. He took the manila envelope from the bottom drawer and spread the photographs of Abigail Griffen across his desk. The photos did not capture her essence. How much more beautiful she was in person. How perfect. And she was his now.
Chapter FOURTEEN
'You're awfully quiet, Barry Frame said as Tracy Cavanaugh turned off Macadam Boulevard onto the side street that led to the house where Robert Griffen died. It was a beautiful day and the top was down on Tracy's convertible, but Tracy was off in a world of her own.
'I knew him, Barry, and I liked him. He went out of his way to be nice to me after Laura was killed.'
'And it bothers you to work for a woman who might have murdered him.
Tracy didn't answer.
'What if Mrs. Griffen is innocent? Matthew believes in her. If she's innocent and she goes to prison that's worse than dying.
When you're dead, you don't feel anything. If you're alive and living in a cage for a crime you didn't commit, you suffer every second of every interminable day.'
'What are we supposed to be doing?' Tracy asked, intentionally changing the subject. Barry was tempted to push her, but decided against it.
'Now that the police have released the crime scene, Matt wants us to go through the house to see if we can find anything that might help Mrs.
Griffen.'
'Didn't the police search the house after the explosion?'
'Sure, but they might have missed something.'
'It sounds like a waste of time.'
Barry turned toward Tracy.
'Matt doesn't consider any time spent on a case a waste of time. If we don't turn up anything, we can move on to something else. But Matt always asks, 'What if we didn't search and there was something?' I've seen some good results in situations where I didn't think a job was worth the effort and Matt made me do it anyway.'
Tracy turned into the driveway. Matthew's car was parked in front of the house. He was sitting on the ground, his back against an old shade tree, his knees bent and almost touching his chin, looking impossibly out of place on the wide green lawn in his black suit, thin tie and white shirt.
Abigail Griffen drove up as Tracy was parking. Tracy studied their new client as Griffen got out of her car. She was dressed in a blue sleeveless blouse and a tan skirt, looking regal and selfassured in spite of the strain Tracy knew she had to be under. A woman who could take care of herself in any situation, a woman who was always in control. Tracy wondered how far this woman would go if she was threatened. Would Abigail Griffen kill if that was the only way to end the threat?
Griffen ignored Tracy and Barry Frame and walked over to Reynolds.
'Have you been waiting long, Matt?'
'I've been enjoying the solitude,' Reynolds said as he stood up awkwardly while brushing dirt and blades of grass from his pants. 'I'd like you to meet Tracy Cavanaugh, my associate. She'll be working with us. And this is Barry Frame, my investigator.'
Abbie acknowledged them with a nod, but didn't offer to shake hands.
'Let's go in,' she said.
The Griffen house had the musty smell of a summer home on the first day of the season. The doors and windows had been closed since the murder, trapping the stifling summer heat. Tracy felt queasy, as if there was insufficient air.
All the curtains were drawn and only a hint of sunlight filtered through them, giving the living room a pale yellow cast.
Abbie went from window to window pulling back the curtains to let in the light. Tracy stood to one side near the entrance and watched Abbie move around her domain. The living room was spacious with a high ceiling. A white couch and several highbacked armchairs faced a stone fireplace. To one side of the grate, a set of wrought- iron fire-placetools hung on a long, twisted black metal hook. As Abbie opened the last curtain, a ray of sunlight illuminated the rich greens and browns of a forest scene portrayed in an oil painting that hung above an oak sideboard. Then Abbie threw open a set of French windows. A fresh breeze rushed into the room. Just outside the doors were a patio and a circular metal table shaded by an umbrella. Beyond the patio was a rambling lawn with several large trees and a pool. The property ended where woods began.
'That's better,' Abbie said. She turned slowly, taking in the room.
'Where would Justice Griffen have kept his personal papers?'
Matthew asked. 'In here.'
Abbie entered the den through a door at the far end of the living room and the others followed her. The room was windowless with dark wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with a combination of classics, popular fiction, history books, law books and legal periodicals. There was a Persian rug on the hardwood floor and a desk against one wall. A computer took up one side of the desk.
Abbie opened the desk drawers, but they were empty.
'It looks like the police were already here,' Abbie said.
'I assumed they had been,' Matthew answered as he looked around. 'Do you have a safe? Something the police wouldn't have been able to get into, where Justice Griffen might have put something he didn't want anyone to see?'
Abbie walked over to a small portrait that hung in a space between two bookshelves and lifted it off, revealing a wall safe.
