mind game, trying to screw with the mind of the opposition? It wasn’t clear.
His stepmother hugged him as he reached the stage. Jack hugged her back, but he turned her body just so, allowing himself one last glimpse of Hector Torres amid a jubilant crowd.
The man still wasn’t smiling.
9
Jack met Lindsey for breakfast at Deli Lane, a popular sidewalk cafe in South Miami. The street and sidewalk were paved with Chicago brick, and a tidy row of young oaks, each of identical height and limb span, planted at regular-spaced intervals, lent a Disney-like precision to the thoroughfare. The humidity had driven most customers inside, but they chose an outdoor table beneath the shade of a broad umbrella. Every few minutes, an exercise enthusiast jogged or walked past them, while a hungry stray terrier sniffed around for fallen scraps of bacon or French toast. Jack couldn’t help overhearing the cosmetically enhanced supermoms at the next table, one of whom wanted to sue her plastic surgeon for making her a full cup size larger than she’d requested, and she was just, like, so totally pissed, darling, because her husband had blown her entire malpractice claim by sending the doc a two- page thank-you letter and a bottle of Dom.
The women finally finished off their three hundred calories for the day, divided the bill down to the last penny, and sped away in their respective gas-guzzling SUVs, leaving Jack and Lindsey in sufficient isolation to talk privately. Over coffee, Jack laid his concerns on the table.
“Everyone tells me you’re guilty.”
“I told you they would,” said Lindsey. “It’s because they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“Oscar’s father got pretty specific.”
“Pardon my language, but Oscar’s father is an asshole.”
“I don’t know enough about him to debate you on that point. But he does know some influential people. And he doesn’t want me representing you.”
“Of course not. He never fights fair.”
“He did lose his son, which can skew your perception of fairness. I’m not saying he’s in the right, but he does seem genuinely concerned about his grandson.”
Her voice shook as she said, “He’s evil, Jack. I don’t think Alejandro has come right out and told him that I did it, but it seems like every time he sees Brian, I end up having to explain to my own child why so many people are saying that I killed his father.”
Jack drew a breath, reminding himself that every homicide was really about the innocent victims. And there was always more than one victim. “How is Brian doing?”
“Brian is a great kid. He’s like his dad. He’ll be fine.”
For a split second, Jack thought she was paying him a compliment, but then he realized that she’d meant Oscar. Or had she?
“Has to be tough on him,” said Jack.
“More than you know. Not only did he lose his dad, but then Guantanamo gave us the boot. Bad for morale to have a homicidal wife on the base, you know. So Brian doesn’t even have any friends to lean on.”
“Have you found a place to live yet?”
“Yeah. I got a month-to-month rental in Kendall. Brian will be starting middle school next week. We even went to Disney World a couple days ago. Thought that might help take his mind off things.”
“How did he like it?”
“He loved it. I survived it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but in certain respects I think that’s the one place on earth that’s actually better if you’re deaf.”
“I know what you’re saying.” He started humming “It’s a Small World After All.”
She actually smiled, and Jack noticed a little sparkle to her personality that, to this point, had been nonexistent. It suited her well.
Jack said, “Now that you’ve brought it up, I guess we’ll need someone to sign when I speak with Brian.”
“I can do it. I did it when the military police questioned him.”
“I’d rather meet with him out of your presence.”
She did a quick double take. “Why?”
“Getting a child out from under the influence of his mother is just a sensible interview strategy. It has nothing to do with you or me or our circumstances. It’s the way I’d do it in any case.”
She didn’t immediately take to the suggestion, but his point slowly seemed to register. “Okay, but…”
“But what?”
“Give me a day or so to sort some things out.”
“What things?”
“Look in the mirror, Jack. I showed you his photograph at our first meeting. Brian is bound to see the resemblance. And then he’s going to start asking questions.”
“Does he have any idea that he was adopted?”
“No. Oscar and I never told him. I think I should have a long talk with him before he meets you and figures it out for himself.”
“Okay. It’s not my place to tell you how to handle that. But it is my job to tell you that we have to move fast. I think an indictment is coming down soon, so I need to make a decision about representing you.”
She pushed aside her egg-white omelet. She hadn’t taken a bite. “Which way are you leaning?”
“Brian is the only person who was in the house at the alleged time of your husband’s death. So I need to talk to him.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Jack surrendered his last piece of toast to a golden retriever that had been staring at him for the past five minutes with the eyes of a starving child. The dog left, and Lindsey was still locked onto him like radar from across the table, waiting for her answer. “Lindsey, I told you at the outset: I don’t want to represent Brian’s mother if it looks like she killed Brian’s father.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to represent me?”
“Your father-in-law gave me some troubling information. Seems Oscar had a trust fund worth seven figures. It kicked in when he was thirty-five, but he was career military. He thinks you killed him to get off the base and get your hands on the money.”
“That is so typical of him,” she said, her voice taking on an edge.
“Did Oscar leave you his trust money in his will?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Two million and change.”
“So it’s in your name now?”
“No. The estate won’t release the funds to me. Not until it’s established that I didn’t kill him.”
“Damn it, Lindsey. Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“Because I didn’t want you to take on my criminal case just to get a big fat contingency fee in the probate matter. I’m more than happy to pay your usual criminal retainer, but mostly I want you to do this for Brian.”
“Oh, come off it. This is crucial to your criminal case. Two million dollars is plenty motivation for you to kill your husband.”
“Sure it is. If I’d known about it. But I didn’t know anything about it until after Oscar was dead.”
“Oscar never told you?”
“No.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. The Pintado family is a strange one. They are very, very protective of their own. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m Lindsey Hart. Not Lindsey Pintado. Do you know why? Because Alejandro Pintado wouldn’t let his son give me his name. That man never liked me, and for one reason: I’m not Cuban. And when I couldn’t get pregnant and at the very least give him a half-Cuban grandchild, well, then I was truly worthless.”
