'It was a tough call,' Quinn said.
'A good result, though. I've never been able to stomach lawyers and judges who break the law. They always have an excuse.'
Quinn shrugged. He still felt lousy about what he had done, even though he felt that his sentence could not be avoided.
Price returned to the living room, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. Quinn was sitting on the couch in front of a low table. Price set one mug in front of him and took a seat in an antique wooden rocker.
'I bet you feel like shit.'
Quinn smiled wearily. Frank had always been able to read his mind.
'It'll pass. Come this time next week, you'll be feeling a whole lot better. Know why? By next week, you'll have figured out that you did the right thing.'
'I don't know--' Quinn started, but Price cut him off impatiently.
'Of course, you know. Gideon is a crook and a disgrace to the bench. He knew what he was doing when he took that money and he deserves every day of the sentence you imposed on him.
'Besides, if it's any comfort, you can count on the Parole Board cutting him loose inside of six months.'
Quinn looked up.
'You don't think a man with that many friends is going to do hard time, do you?'
Quinn didn't answer.
'You're thinking of Gideon's wife and kids, right? Gideon didn't think about what would happen to them if he got caught. Why should you? He's an adult, Dick. He was a judge. The son of a bitch knew right from wrong and he chose to do wrong. Don't forget that. This was the sentence he knew he could get, but he probably convinced himself that he would skate if he was caught because he was a judge with friends in high places.
Maybe the next judge who is tempted to cross the line will think twice because you hammered Gideon. Have you considered that?' 'No.'
'Well, stop feeling sorry for yourself and think about it.'
'I will.'
Quinn took a sip of coffee. Then he said, 'Stan Sax came to my chambers today. He wants me to go on the homicide rotation. What do you think?'
'It sounds interesting.'
'I'm not that experienced in criminal law.'
'You're a quick study, Dick. Stan wouldn't have asked if he didn't think you could handle the job.'
'Yeah.' Quinn smiled. 'I've already made up my mind to do it.'
'Good. Say hello to Stan for me, the next time you see him.'
'I will. Say, did I tell you that I've been asked to speak at the National Association of Litigators' annual convention on St. Jerome next month?'
'No.'
'Laura's coming with me. We'll go a few days early. It will be good for her to get away and just relax.'
'St. Jerome should be beautiful this time of year. I'm jealous.'
Quinn grinned. 'I'll be thinking of you as I lie on the beach. The paper said it was eighty-four and sunny today.'
Price laughed. 'Go ahead, rub it in, you ingrate. I hope you get hit by a hurricane.'
Chapter 5.
Shortly after noon, one week after the Hoyt homicide, Lou Anthony returned to the Homicide Bureau and found two messages from Gary Yoshida, the lead forensic expert on the case. Anthony found the criminalist bent over a microscope in the crime lab.
'Lou,' Yoshida said with a smile. He swiveled the stool on which he was perched. Anthony leaned against the counter. Around them, other forensic experts were testing drugs, examining objects under microscopes and recording observations on reports that were often the difference between a guilty and not guilty verdict.
'You called twice,' Anthony said, and Yoshida's smile faded.
'Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.'
Anthony shrugged. 'What's up?'
'Has the Hoyt crime scene been turned back to Senator Crease?'
'Yeah. We released it two days ago.'
'Damn.'
'What's the matter?'
'I'd really like to look it over again.'
'Why?'
Yoshida walked over to his desk and picked up a stack of photographs that had been taken in Lamar Hoyt's bedroom. When he found the two that he wanted, Yoshida brought them over to Anthony.
'I was going through the evidence again when I was writing my report and I spotted this,' Yoshida said, pointing to a section of each photo that showed the armoire that held the television.
''Is that blood spatter?'
''Yeah. And it's got me concerned. I don't like to screw up, but I may have, big-time.''
'1 don't get it.'
Yoshida explained the problem to Anthony. When he was finished, the detective looked upset.
''How certain about this are you?'
'I've got to see the scene in three dimensions to be sure. That's why I want to look at the bedroom again.'
'Shit.' Anthony took a deep breath. 44Okay. Look, two days isn't that long, and I don't imagine Crease is staying in the bedroom. Maybe the scene hasn't been altered yet. We could take a drive out to the estate. Can you go now?'
'You bet.'
'Then let's head out.'
'Great.'
'Not if you find what you're looking for,' Anthony answered grimly.
Days of biting cold followed the heavy rains that had disrupted the commerce of the city. Low gray clouds drifted in an iron sky and threatened more rain. The winding country roads that led to the Hoyt estate were clear of debris, but the landscape looked bedraggled and grimy.
Anthony rolled down his window so he could use the speakerphone at the front gate. A gust of cold wind rushed into the police car. After a brief wait, James Allen buzzed Anthony and Yoshida through the gate. The estate grounds had been hard hit by the weather. The colors had been leeched out of the hedges and the lawn by the pale light, and the foliage bowed down, cowed by the cold and the threat of rain. The house looked deserted and dispirited as if it were in mourning.
Anthony circled the turnaround and parked near the front door. The houseman was waiting for them. He had the door open as soon as Anthony and Yoshida were out of their car. The men hunched their shoulders and walked with speed into the entry hall.
'Good afternoon, Mr. Allen,' Anthony said. 'Is Senator Crease in?'
'No, sir. She's campaigning in eastern Oregon. I don't expect her back until Monday. Is there something I can do for you?'
'Yeah. It's actually better if we don't have to bother the senator. This is Gary Yoshida from our crime lab. We want to take another look at the bedroom.'
'I'm not sure I can let you do that. Ms. Crease left me strict orders that no one but the cleaning people were to be allowed in the bedroom.'
'Has the bedroom been cleaned up already?' Anthony asked, trying hard to hide his concern.
'No, sir. A crew is coming tomorrow morning.'
'Senator Crease probably wanted to keep reporters out of the house. She wouldn't want to interfere with our investigation.'
'I'm sure you're right, but I can't let you in the room without talking to her.'
