lighting conditions, there’s no way Ortiz could have seen the killer’s face.”
Gregory leaned back and puffed on his cigar. It was quiet on the terrace. The breeze was cool, and the lights from the houseboats across the way appeared to wink on and off as the boats twisted with the current.
“What do you know about Ortiz, Dave?” Gregory asked after a while.
“Why?” David asked. He felt dreamy, fatigued by too much food and too much wine and lulled by the sounds of the river.
“I don’t know. It just seems strange that he would be so certain, if those pictures are accurate.”
“The mind plays strange tricks sometimes. Don’t forget, he’d just been struck on the head, and he was coming into a darkened room from the outside. There are probably a hundred explanations a psychiatrist could give you.”
“You’re right. Anyway, if it helps you lock this up, I don’t care what he saw.”
“Confusion to our enemies,” David toasted, taking a sip from the wineglass he had carried with him. Gregory raised his cigar.
“If nothing else, this case has at least raised your spirits.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were a pain in the butt to have around the office for a while. I guess I can say it now, because you seem to be over your blue period.”
“I don’t…Oh, you mean that Seals business.”
“And a few others.”
“Was I bitching and moaning that much?”
“Enough so that I was getting a little worried about you. What you need to do is settle down. Find a good woman.”
“Like Helen?”
Greg nodded.
“They don’t make ’em like that anymore,” David said lightly, picturing what it would be like to see Jenny every morning when he woke up, and to kiss her every evening.
“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” Gregory said. “Save my place, will ya?”
“My pleasure,” David said, sipping some more wine. Somewhere up the river a tanker’s horn sounded. For a brief moment David felt disoriented, then recognized the unsettling feeling created by a sense of deja vu. The night seemed to belong to two times, and he struggled with his memory to fit the past into the present. Softly, like the night breeze, it came to him. The evening he first met Jenny had been an evening like this. A still river, night sounds, the breeze. Even the air had smelled the same. It was a vivid memory now, warm and real, as if David had been transported back in time and Jenny would soon appear on the terrace, profiled against the sky. He smiled. It was a good memory, a calming thought.
David recalled the first time he had seen Jenny on the fringe of the small group. He remembered his impressions. How beautiful she had seemed.
Then, like the last piece in a Chinese puzzle box, a new thought slipped into place, and David’s inner peace shattered. Something else had happened that day. The interview with the young girl who had been the victim in the Seals case. David sat up. His heart was beating rapidly.
“Coffee’s on,” Helen Banks called from the doorway.
David did not answer. He was thinking back. Trying to be sure and hoping he was wrong.
“Did you hear me, Dave?”
David stood up. He felt sick at heart.
“Is something wrong?” Helen asked.
“I just remembered something I must do. I’m afraid I’ll have to skip coffee.”
“Oh, Dave. Can’t you just take a day off and relax?”
David touched her shoulder and tried to gather his thoughts. He could be wrong. He prayed he was wrong.
“If I don’t check on this,” he said, managing a smile, “I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
“If you’re determined…” Helen said with a sigh.
“Determined to what?” Gregory asked.
“I’ve got to leave, Greg. Something I just remembered, and it can’t wait.”
Gregory looked at him hard. He discerned the lines of worry on his young friend’s face and knew that whatever was bothering David was serious.
“Can I help?”
“No. Thanks. This is something I have to do alone.”
And he was alone. More alone than he had ever been.
THE SECURITY GUARDin the lobby signed him in, and David took the only working elevator to the thirty-second floor. He used his key to unlock the door to the firm offices and walked rapidly down the corridor to the file room, flicking light switches as he went. Darkened corridors were suddenly bathed in light as he advanced.
The file was in the Closed section. It was thick and intact. The audiocassette was tucked into a small manila envelope that had been taped to the inside of the folder. David carried the file to his office and closed the door. He took a tape recorder from his bottom drawer and fitted the cassette into it. He pushed a button and the tape began to unwind. David leaned back and listened, praying that he was wrong. Hoping that he would not hear what he knew he would.
It was there. The very first thing on the tape. He pushed the Stop button, then Rewind, and played it again to be sure.
“This is Detective Leon Stahlheimer,” the voice on the tape said. “It’s Thursday, June sixteenth…”
David switched off the recorder.
All lies. She had lied on the stand and she had lied to him. Used him. Had it all been a play to her? A carefully rehearsed role? Had any of the emotions been real? What did it matter? How could he ever love her again?
David switched off the office lights. It was better in the dark. Not seeing enabled him to direct himself inward. What should he do? What could he do? He felt powerless, defeated. He had built a dream on Jennifer’s love and Larry Stafford’s innocence, and the dream had crumbled, breaking him under the debris.
All the despair he had felt months before flooded back, drowning him in a sea of self-pity and disgust. The dead feeling he thought he had conquered returned to gnaw at him, leaving only the bones of a sorry, tired, and aging man.
David looked at the desk clock. It was midnight. Not too late for a confrontation. Not too late to put an end to something that had been so good.
DAVID REMEMBERED LITTLEof the mad drive to Newgate Terrace. There were occasional lights on the early-morning freeway, then a winding country road and the crunch of gravel under his tires. House lights came on after his second knock, and the first thing he recalled clearly was Jenny’s face, pale from sleep.
“You lied,” he said, forcing her back into the hallway. The darkened surrounding rooms gave him the feeling of being in a miniature theater.
“What?” she asked, still groggy from sleep. He grasped her shoulders and made her look at his eyes, fierce now with the pain of knowing.
“I want the truth. Now. Everything.”
“I don’t-” she started, then twisted painfully in his grasp as his strong fingers dug into the soft flesh of her shoulders.
“I’ll make it easy for you, Jenny,” he said, making the name he had once loved to hear sound like a curse. “We met that evening at Greg’s house. Senator Bauer’s fundraiser. You remember? The first night we made love.”
She flinched. The way he had said “love’ made it sound sordid, like copulation with a whore in a wino hotel room.
“I interviewed a girl that morning at the juvenile home. We recorded the conversation. The date was on the tape. June sixteenth. The day Darlene Hersch was murdered. You couldn’t have been with Larry that evening, Jenny. You were fucking me. Remember?”
Her head snapped sideways as if she had been slapped. He shook her to make her look at him.
