“Just over a year.”
“How did you meet?”
“I was teaching school with Miriam Holt, Charlie’s wife. She introduced us. Larry and Charlie play a lot of handball together.”
“How long after that were you married?”
“A few months. Four.”
It came out as an apology, and David looked down at his notes, sensing her embarrassment. Whether the jury found Larry innocent or guilty, this would be an ordeal for her. And it would never really stop. If Larry was convicted, she would be the wife of the young lawyer who had killed a policewoman he thought was a prostitute. Why had he needed a prostitute? They would look at her and wonder. What was wrong with her that she had driven him to that?
And if he was acquitted? Well, you never were, really. The jury might say you were not guilty, but the doubts always remained.
“Where do you teach?”
“Palisades Elementary School.”
“How long have you been teaching?”
She smiled and relaxed a little.
“It seems like forever.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Yes. I’ve always liked kids. I don’t know. It can be hard at times, but I really feel it’s worthwhile. Larry wanted me to stop teaching after we were married, but I told him I wanted to keep on.”
“Why did he want you to stop?”
Jennifer blushed and looked down at her hands. “You have to understand Larry. He’s very tied up in this manhood trip. It’s just the way he is.”
“Has Larry ever cheated on you?”
There was a sharp intake of breath, and Jennifer looked directly at David.
“No,” she said firmly. “And I think I would have known.”
“Has he ever struck you?”
“No,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.
“Has he or hasn’t he?”
“Well, we’ve quarreled, but he’s never…No.”
“Do you consider Larry to be normal sexually?”
“What do you mean, ‘normal’?” she asked hesitantly.
David felt uneasy and unsure of himself. He had asked this type of question often enough in the past, but it had always been strictly for professional reasons. He was asking now as a professional, but there was something more. He wanted to know what the relationship between Larry Stafford and his wife was really like. He wanted to know how he stacked up sexually to the man he was representing. He wanted to know if Jennifer responded to her husband with the passion she had exhibited during their lovemaking.
“Are his sexual preferences unusual? Does he have any peculiarities?”
“I don’t see why, what that would…Can’t we talk about something else? This is very hard for me.”
“I know it’s hard for you, but this case is heavily concerned with sex, and I want you prepared for the questions the district attorney is going to ask you in open court.”
“I’ll have to…? I couldn’t…”
Jennifer took a deep breath, and David let her compose herself.
“Our sexual relationship is…just normal.”
Her voice caught, and David again watched her hands, tense and entwined, clasp each other rigidly.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said so softly that he had to strain to hear her.
“David, that evening you and I…It is true that Larry and I were having problems, but they had to do with his work, not our sexual relationship. He was working very hard. He didn’t make partner last year and it deflated him. At first he just gave up. It was right after we got married, and he was talking about leaving the firm and trying something else: government work or going out on his own. Then he changed his mind and decided that he would be accepted if he just worked harder. Even harder than before. He was leaving early and coming home late. He was drinking, too. I hardly saw him at all, even on the weekends. And when I did see him, it seemed we were always quarreling.
“The evening I met you…I just blew up at him. Called him at the office. He came home all upset. I’d interfered with his work. Couldn’t I understand? I told him I did understand. That I thought he considered his work more important than me. I walked out. Then I met you and…and it just happened. I wanted to hurt him, I guess. But it isn’t…wasn’t sex. We were…all right.”
She stopped, out of words, her energy spent. David didn’t know what to say. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew he couldn’t.
“Besides,” she said, “I don’t see what any of this has to do with Larry’s case. I told Charlie, Larry couldn’t have killed that girl. He was home with me on that evening.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. I would know. I mean, if he was out with another woman…He was with me.”
“You would swear to that in court?”
“Yes. I don’t want Larry to go to prison. He couldn’t take it, David. He couldn’t take the pressure.”
“He seems to be holding up pretty well.”
“You don’t know him like I do. He puts up a good front, but he’s a little boy underneath. He’s very good at seeming to be in one piece, but I know him well enough to see the cracks beneath the surface.”
David put down his notepad. The short interview had taken its emotional toll on both of them.
“I guess that’s enough for now. I’m going to visit the motel after work and try to talk to the desk clerk. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything.”
She stood, and he walked her to the door.
“I want to thank you for taking the case. I know it was a hard decision for you. And I know that Larry will be safe with you.”
He didn’t know what to say. She solved the problem by leaving quickly. He watched her walk away, hoping that she would turn and give him some sign, but she didn’t and he returned to his desk, more confused than ever about their relationship.
There was a glass and a bottle of good bourbon in David’s bottom drawer. He took his bourbon neat. It was some time since he had felt the need for a midday drink, but he had the feeling that there would be many more before he was through with the Stafford case.
Terry Conklin was medium height, a bit chubby, and had a wide and continuous smile. He looked like the least dangerous person in any gathering, and people trusted and talked to him. That’s what made him so valuable as an investigator.
Terry turned his Dodge station wagon into the parking lot at the Raleigh Motel. The wagon was strewn with debris left by Conklin’s five children. It was a far cry from the flashy sports cars James Bond drove, and Terry liked to joke that it was part of his cover.
Terry had spent some time that afternoon in the morgue at theOregonian reading everything he could find about the Hersch case. He had photocopied the clippings for David, who was finishing the last one as they pulled up in front of the motel office.
“Any help?” Conklin asked as he shut off the engine.
“They don’t give me much more than I already know. Say, before I forget, the bail hearing’s tomorrow and they’ll probably put Ortiz on. Can you make it?”
“No problem,” Terry said as they headed toward the motel office.
Merton Grimes was an old man, stooped and slow to move. The cold weather was still holding off, but Grimes had on a heavy plaid shirt, buttoned to the neck, and a pair of soiled gray slacks. He was standing over a pot of coffee when David entered, and David had to cough to get his attention. Grimes looked put out and took his time shuffling across the room. David could see a section of the back room through a half-open door. There was a small
