Kerry laughed with him, then explained the arrangement she had made for Robin for the night. “I’m working late right here. When I start home I’ll let the Hohokus cops know I’m on the way.
It’s all set.”
“Now be sure you do.” His voice became firm. “The more I’ve thought about you going into Smith’s house alone last night, the more I realize what a lousy idea it was. You could have been there when he was shot, just the way Mark Young was gunned down with Haskell.”
Geoff signed off after promising to call and report to Kerry after he had seen Arnott.
It was eight o’clock before Kerry had finished the work she needed to do in preparing for an upcoming case. Then once again she reached for the voluminous Reardon file.
She looked closely at the pictures of the death scene. In his letter, Dr. Smith had described entering the house that night and finding Suzanne’s body. Kerry closed her eyes at the awful prospect of ever finding Robin like that. Smith said he had deliberately removed the “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” card because he was so sure Skip had murdered Suzanne in a fit of jealous rage, and he didn’t want him to escape maximum punishment, to get off with a reduced sentence.
She believed what Smith had written-most people don’t lie when they plan to kill themselves, she reasoned. And what Dr. Smith had written also supports Skip Reardon’s story. So now, Kerry thought, the murderer is the man who visited that house between the time Skip left at around six-thirty, and when the doctor arrived at around nine o’clock.
Jason Arnott? Jimmy Weeks? Which one had killed Suzanne? she wondered.
At nine-thirty Kerry dosed the file. She hadn’t come up with any new angles in her plan to question Arnott tomorrow. If I were in his boots, she thought, I’d claim that Suzanne gave me the picture frame that last day because she was afraid a couple of pearls were getting loose and wanted me to have it fixed. Then, when she was found dead, I didn’t want to become involved in a murder investigation, so I kept the frame.
A story like that could easily hold up in court because it was entirely plausible. The jewelry, however, was a different story. It all came back to the jewelry. It she could prove that Arnott gave Suzanne those valuable antique pieces, there was no way he could get away with saying it was a gift of pure friendship.
At ten o’clock she left the now-quiet office and went into the parking lot. Realizing suddenly that she was starving, she drove to the Arena diner around the corner and had a hamburger, french fries and coffee.
Substitute a cola for the coffee, and you have Robin’s favorite meal, she thought, sighing inwardly. I have to say I miss my baby.
The momma and the baby…
The momma and the baby…
Why did that singsong phrase keep echoing in her head? she wondered again. Something about it seemed wrong, so terribly wrong. But what was it?
She should have called and said good night to Robin before she left her office, she realized suddenly. Why hadn’t she? Kerry ate quickly and got back in the car. It was twenty of eleven, much too late to call. She was just pulling out of the lot when the car phone rang. It was Jonathan.
“Kerry,” he said, his voice low and taut, “Robin is in with Grace. She doesn’t know I’m calling. She didn’t want me to worry you. But after she fell asleep she had a terrible nightmare. I really think you should come over. So much has been going on. She needs you.”
“I’ll be right there.” Kerry switched the turn signal from the right to the left one, pressed her foot on the accelerator and rushed to get to her child.
95
It was a long and miserable ride from New Jersey up the thruway to the Catskills. An icy rain began falling around Middletown, and traffic slowed to a crawl. An overturned tractor trailer that blocked all lanes caused an extra hour to be added to the already torturous trip.
It was a quarter of ten before a tired and hungry Geoff Dorso arrived at the Ellenville police headquarters, where Jason Arnott was being held. A team of FBI agents was waiting to question Arnott as soon as he had had the chance to speak to Geoff.
“You’re wasting your time waiting for me,” Geoff had told them. “I can’t be his lawyer. Didn’t he tell you that?”
A handcuffed Arnott was escorted into the conference room. Geoff had not seen the man in the nearly eleven years since Suzanne’s death. At that time, he had been considered to have a relationship with Suzanne Reardon that combined friendship and business. No one, including Skip, ever suspected that he had any other interest in her.
Now Geoff studied the man closely. Arnott was somewhat more full-faced than Geoff remembered, but he still had that same urbane, world-weary expression. The lines around his eyes suggested deep fatigue, but the turtleneck cashmere shirt still looked fresh under his tweed jacket. Country gentleman, cultivated connoisseur, Geoff thought. Even in these circumstances, he certainly looks the part.
“It’s good of you to come, Geoff,” Arnott said amiably.
“I really don’t know why I’m here,” Geoff replied. “As I warned you on the phone, you are now connected to the Reardon case. My client is Skip Reardon. I can tell you that nothing you may say to me is a privileged communication. You’ve had your Miranda warning. I am not your lawyer. I will repeat anything you say to the prosecutor, because I intend to try to place you in the Reardon house the night of Suzanne’s death.”
“Oh, I was there. That’s why I sent for you. Don’t worry. That isn’t privileged information. I intend to admit it. I asked you here because I can be a witness for Skip. But in exchange, once he is cleared, I want you to represent me. There won’t be any conflict of interest then.”
“Look, I’m not going to represent you,” Geoff said flatly. “I’ve spent ten years of my life representing an innocent man who got sent to prison. If you either killed Suzanne, or know who did, and you let Skip rot in that cell all this time, I’d burn in hell before I would raise a finger to help you.”
“You see, now that’s the kind of determination I want to hire.” Arnott sighed. “Very well. Let’s try it this way. You’re a criminal defense attorney. You know who the good ones are whether they’re from New Jersey or elsewhere. You promise to find me the best attorney money can buy, and I’ll tell you what I know of Suzanne Reardon’s death-which, incidentally, I am not responsible for.”
Geoff stared at the man for a moment, considering his offer. “Okay, but before we say another word, I want to have a signed and witnessed statement that any information you give me will not be privileged, and that I can use it in whatever way I see fit to assist Skip Reardon.”
“Of course.”
The FBI agents had a stenotypist with them. She took down Arnott’s brief statement. When he and a couple of witnesses had signed it, he said, “It is late and it has been a long day. Have you been thinking about what lawyer I should have?”
“Yes,” Geoff said. “George Symonds, from Trenton. He’s an excellent trial lawyer and a superb negotiator.”
“They’re going to try to convict me of deliberate murder in the death of Mrs. Peale. I swear it was an accident.”
“If there’s a way to get it down to felony murder, he’ll find it.
At least you wouldn’t face the death penalty.”
“Call him now.”
Geoff knew that Symonds lived in Princeton, having once been invited to dinner at his home. He also remembered that the Symonds phone was listed in his wife’s name. Using his cellular phone, he made the call in Arnott’s presence. It was ten-thirty.
Ten minutes later, Geoff put the phone back. “All right, you’ve got a top-drawer lawyer. Now talk.”
“I had the misfortune to be in the Reardon house at the time Suzanne died,” Arnott said, his manner suddenly grave. “Suzanne was so wildly careless of her jewelry, some of which was quite beautiful, that the temptation
