'If you tell Judge Baldwin what I've done, you'll be signing the death warrant of an innocent woman.'
The climb up the three-hundred-foot rock wall had been slow and relatively uneventful until Tracy reached a narrow ledge that stretched horizontally across the cliff face for sixty feet. The ledge was three quarters of an inch at its widest point, fading into nonexistence in spots.
Tracy had missed the sloping overhang that jutted out ten feet above the ledge and forty feet below the summit, because, from the base of the cliff, looking up, the overhang appeared to be the summit. Tracy stood delicately on tiptoes with her body braced against the rock and carefully studied the overhang. It covered the ledge like a canopy and the rock on either side of the overhang was too smooth for Tracy to work around it. It would be maddening to come this far and be this close to the top without being able to finish the climb.
Tracy had been studying the underside of the overhang inch by inch for several minutes when her foot dislodged a small rock.
She paid no attention as it plummeted down, smashing into fragments at the end of its flight, because her concentration was riveted on a crack that ran through the middle of the overhang.
The crack appeared to be wide enough to let her insert her hand, if her hand was open and rigid. Tracy thought about the crack and what it might let her do. Her plan would depend on split second timing and the chance that the crack would widen as it worked its way into the rock.
But Tracy's situation left her no choice. Her only alternative was to admit defeat and descend the cliff.
Tracy was dressed in a loose-fitting, long-sleeved white top and baggy black spider pants that zipped over her form-fitting rock shoes. The day was dry and cold. If it had rained, she would not have attempted the ascent. The solo climb was dangerous enough in good weather.
The maneuver she was contemplating was risky, but Tracy could not let herself think about the danger. Nervous tension is a climber's worst enemy, because it can make a climber's hands sweat and jeopardize the security of a good handhold. While she thought through her plan, Tracy dipped both hands into the chalk in a fat purple bag fastened behind her at her waist. The chalk would keep her hands dry.
Tracy stared at the crack and relaxed her breathing. Behind her, the wilderness spread out like a green carpet, but Tracy saw only the gray uneven surface of the rock wall. She scanned the area above her for handholds. When she was rested, Tracy worked her way up the rockface until she was just under the overhang.
Tracy turned and balanced on her foothold, then she extended her right arm slowly until her hand was in the crack.
Please, please, please, she whispered to herself as her fingers inched upward. She breathed out slowly as she felt the narrow crack widen to form a pocket in the rock.
Up this high the air was as blue as the sky in a fairy tale and the clouds were pillows of white. To succeed, Tracy would have to float on the air. She watched the clouds until her body grew as light as one of them. She was gossamer, butterfly wings, puffballs blown from a dandelion.
Tracy made a fist with her right hand, increasing its width until it was wedged into the crack. She breathed in, then expelled violently, pushing out from the cliff with an explosive thrust. Her right hand was a ball of iron. For a moment it was her only contact with the world.
Then she pivoted on it, swinging upward past the outer rim of the overhang. Her free hand reached high. It would only have, a moment of contact in which to grip tight enough to support her body.
Tracy twisted and the fingers of her left hand found a hold just as the force of the swing wrenched her fist from the crack.
For a second, she dangled in space, halfway between safety and oblivion.
Then her fingers tightened and she drew her body upward in a one-armed pull-up. The right hand arced over the lip of the overhang and gripped.
A moment later, Tracy was over the top, stretched out on her stomach, adrenaline coursing through her as she trembled with elation.
The summit was now an easy climb, not worth more than a casual thought.
When she reached the top, Tracy turned slowly, looking across the evergreen forest at the peaks of rugged, snowdusted mountains all covered by a sky of the clearest blue. This was the world the way an eagle saw it. Tracy inhaled the sweet mountain air. Then she sat on the edge of the cliff, unhooked her water bottle and took a drink.
The climb had forced Tracy to forget about everything except the rock.
Now that the climb was over, there was no way to avoid thinking about the conflict that dominated her every waking moment the way the Cascade Mountains dominated the skyline.
Matthew Reynolds's life was an inspiration to every attorney who undertook a death penalty case. If Tracy did what the law and the Canon of Ethics required, she would bring him down. All of Matthew's good deeds would be forgotten, because of a single act committed for love.
Tracy had decided that she would never reveal the truth behind the photograph if she knew for certain that Abigail Griffen was innocent, because a jury that learned about the photograph would convict Abbie and probably sentence her to death. It was the possibility that Griffen was guilty that made Tracy's predicament so difficult.
Matthew was convinced that someone was framing Abbie.
There was certainly enough evidence to support that conclusion.
Griffen was brilliant. She would never use the same type of bomb Deems had used in the Hollins murder, knowing it would make her a suspect. If she. did use a bomb, she wouldn't be stupid enough to leave a piece of it in her garage. The strip of metal Torino had found in the garage was not even from the bomb, making it likely that it had been planted to frame Griffen. Then there was Deems. If the $100,000 was a payoff for perjury, Abbie was innocent.
Which brought Tracy to the next question. If Abbie was innocent, who was guilty? Deems was the easy answer But someone paid Deems $100,000 for something. Whether it was to kill Justice Griffen, frame Abbie, or both, there still had to be someone else involved. But who? And what motive did they have?
Suddenly a thought occurred to her. She had been assuming that either Abbie murdered the judge and Laura because they were lovers or the two murders were unconnected. What if Laura's murder and the murder of Justice Griffen were connected, but someone else killed them? That would put a whole new slant on the case.
Justice Kelly was a possible suspect. Had she lied when she said that her sexual relationship with Justice Griffen meant little to her? What if she was insanely jealous and killed the judge and Laura because Griffen had taken Laura as his lover?
Then Tracy remembered the transcripts and the cases on the sheet of legal paper. Laura had been upset about something for weeks before her death. It would have been natural for Laura to tell Justice Griffen what was bothering her, especially if, in addition to being his law clerk, she was also his lover. What if the transcript and the cases were evidence of something illegal? Were they what the murderer was looking for when he ransacked Laura's office and cottage?
The transcript was a public record that anyone could get, but Tracy had read the transcript and had no idea why it was important. It was the same with the cases. Nothing she had read in them had alerted her.
Having the transcript and the list was meaningless unless you knew what to look for. If Laura's killer learned that Justice Griffen had the transcript and the list of cases, and suspected that the judge knew why they were important, he would have a motive to kill Justice Griffen. But how could she possibly figure out why the cases and the transcript were important or if they even had any significance?
Tracy wished that she could forget about the case and stay forever on this perch where she could be above it all, but she had to descend to earth. She felt defeated by the case but she had to keep going. She had no choice. If she could not solve the murders, she would have to tell Judge Baldwin about the fake photograph. Tracy sighed and took a mixture of nuts and dried fruit from a plastic bag in her side pocket.
She chewed slowly and took another drink of water. Then she carefully checked her climbing gear and started her descent.
Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
As soon as she woke up Friday morning, Tracy slipped into a heavy sweater and jeans and carried a bran muffin and a mug of black coffee onto her terrace. As she ate, Tracy watched the drawbridges rise to accommodate a rusted tanker with a Spanish name and a Liberian flag. She wished Barry was sitting beside her. Tracy missed him. He was a kind and considerate lover.
More important, he was a kind and considerate man. She understood why Barry wasn't with her. She admired
