she had refused to be more specific. His first thought was that she had found out about his arrangement with T.V. Johnson, and he had given a great deal of thought to what he would say if Monica accused him of setting up the pimp. Then, when he’d arrived, he was surprised to see David.
“I’ll keep what he says secret,” Ortiz agreed. He sat in an armchair opposite David, and Monica sat beside David on the couch.
Ortiz listened as David repeated what he had told Monica.
“What do you think?” Monica asked when David finished.
“I don’t know,” Ortiz answered cautiously. He couldn’t believe his luck, but he did not want to appear overexcited. “This is all so sudden. I’m pretty positive about Stafford, but…What do you think, Monica?”
“I don’t know either, Bert. But I think you should look into the possibility that we were mistaken.”
“How do we know this isn’t another one of Gault’s pranks? After all, you’re the guy who says he’s unbalanced,” Ortiz asked.
David shook his head. “It could be, but I think we have to operate on the assumption that it isn’t.”
“Okay. That leaves us with the problem of proving Gault killed Darlene and Conklin. How do we do that?”
David shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure out the answer to that question all day.”
“We can try to establish where he was the night Darlene died,” Monica said. She turned toward David.
“Didn’t he tell you he tried to get some action at a few bars earlier in the evening?”
“He did,” David answered. “We could circulate a picture and see if anyone recognizes him.”
“That was months ago,” Ortiz said. “No one is going to remember Gault after all this time, especially if he was in disguise. And we don’t even know what bars he went to. It could be any bar in Portland.”
“You’re right,” Monica agreed.
“What about the wig?” Ortiz asked David suddenly. “You said he showed you the wig. That means he kept it all this time, even though it could tie him into the murder.”
“That’s right,” David said. “He probably still has it.”
“Monica, let’s write out an affidavit for a warrant to search Gault’s house,” Ortiz said, excited by the prospect.
“We can’t, Bert. That wig was shown to David as part of a confidential communication. He’s the only one who’s seen it, and he can’t violate the confidence.”
“Shit.”
Ortiz stood up and began pacing.
“How about putting a tap on his phone or wiring David, then putting the two in contact?” he suggested.
“We have the same problem. It would be an invasion of the attorney-client privilege,” David said. “Besides, I doubt that Gault will discuss this over the phone. He’s too smart. He’d suspect something was up.”
The three were silent for several minutes. Finally, Monica said, “Look, I have a trial tomorrow, and I have to get some sleep. Why don’t we think about the problem and get back in touch after five?”
“I agree,” David said. “I’m exhausted. We might get some ideas after a night’s sleep. I’ll call in the late afternoon, Monica, and we can arrange a place to meet.”
“How does it feel to be working for the good guys?” Ortiz asked when they were alone in the elevator.
David blushed. He hadn’t quite thought of it in those terms, but there was a good feeling in trying to keep someone from hurting others, instead of trying to make a shambles of conscientious police work.
“I never felt I was working for the bad guys,” David answered defensively.
“Yeah, well,” Ortiz answered with a grin.
As it turned out, Stafford had been a “good guy,” David thought. Gregory had been right, after all. You couldn’t have one system of justice for the guilty and one for the innocent. If David had defended Stafford instead of judging him, Stafford might be free now.
Ortiz was thinking about Thomas Gault as he walked to his car. How could they trap him? There had to be a way. He heard David’s car door open and shut. His car was nearby in the apartment parking lot. He unlocked the door and sat behind the wheel.
David drove by and Ortiz lit up a cigarette. He felt sorry for Nash. The guy looked awful. He wondered how he would feel carrying around the burden of Gault’s confession and not being able to do anything about it. Then he realized that that was exactly what he was doing.
Ortiz started his car. He was bushed. He’d sleep tonight. No alarms, either. He glanced out the window at nothing in particular as he neared the exit to the street. David’s car was half a block away, headed east. Across the street, to the west, a car turned on its lights and attracted Ortiz’s attention. His heart stopped. He slowed and pulled into an empty parking space after shutting off his lights. The car across the street pulled into traffic, keeping some distance behind David’s car. Ortiz backed out of the space and started to follow. The car was a beige Mercedes.
7
David noticed the headlights in his rearview mirror as soon as he turned off the highway, but he was too lost in thought to pay any attention to them until he saw them follow him up Jennifer’s driveway. He parked and stared back at the car behind him, trying to see who was driving. The glare of the headlights made him shade his eyes. Then the car stopped, and he saw that it was Gault’s Mercedes.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded when Gault got out of the car.
“Hi, Dave,” Gault replied cheerfully. He had a gun in his hand. “Why don’t you shut up and ring the doorbell? It looks like your lady friend is waiting up for you.”
“What is this?” David asked, frightened by the contrast between Gault’s nonchalance and the gun he was holding.
“The denouement, old buddy,” Gault replied. “Now, do as I say and ring for your honey.”
As soon as the door opened, Gault pushed David into the entranceway.
“Good evening, Mrs. Stafford,” Gault said, shutting the door behind him.
“What’s going on, David?” Jenny asked, looking from the gun in Gault’s hand to her lover.
“I don’t know what he wants, Jenny,” David answered.
David moved beside Jenny and took her hand. Gault looked around the entrance hall and into the living room.
“I’m going to ask you some questions, sweets,” Gault told Jenny, “and I want straight answers. If I don’t get them, I’m going to shoot your kneecap off, and, believe me, that is the most painful injury you can imagine. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Jenny answered, her voice trembling.
“Is there anyone else in this house?”
“No,” Jenny answered quickly.
“Good. Now here’s question number two: are you expecting anyone besides David to visit tonight?”
“No.”
Gault smiled. “That makes it cozy, then, doesn’t it? Just our little menage a trois and no one to disturb us. Why don’t we step into the living room,” Gault said, motioning with the gun. He followed David and Jenny.
David knew he had to stall for time. Gault was crazy, and if he didn’t keep him talking, the writer might shoot them where they stood.
“If this is another practical joke,” he said, trying to sound calm, “why don’t you drop it? You’re scaring the hell out of Jenny-and me, too.”
“Not trying to humor me, are you, old buddy? Fess up, now. You know this isn’t a joke, don’t ya?”
David didn’t answer and Gault shook his head sadly from side to side.
“You let me down, Dave. You really destroyed my faith in human nature.”
“What do you mean?”
