the back. Call me. Anytime.”
“Thank you.”
“You bet.”
They shook hands, and Cindy raised the passenger-side window. She watched from behind tinted glass as Officer Wellens cut through the chaos in the front yard and returned to the scene of the crime.
14
•
It was the most unpleasant evening Jack had ever spent on his patio.
Assistant state attorney Benno Jancowitz was bathed in moonlight, seated on the opposite side of the round, cast-aluminum table. Between his chain-smoking and the burning citronella candle, it was olfactory overload. Yet at times Jack could still almost smell Jessie’s blood in the air, his mind playing tricks on the senses.
“Just a few more questions, Mr. Swyteck.” Smoke poured from his nostrils as he spoke, his eyes glued to his notes, as if the answers to the world’s problems were somewhere in that dog-eared notepad. So far he’d spent almost the entire interview combing over the civil trial Jack had won for Jessie.
Finally he looked up and said, “Know anybody who’d want Jessie Merrill dead?”
“I might.”
“Who?”
“The viatical investors who I beat at trial.”
“What makes you think they’d want to kill her?”
“She told me in those exact words. She thought they were out to kill her.”
“Pretty sore losers.”
“They apparently thought she’d cheated them.”
“Did she? Cheat them, I mean.”
Jack paused, not wanting to dive headlong into the matter of a possible scam. “I can’t really answer that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re getting into an area protected by the attorney-client privilege.”
“What privilege? She’s dead.”
“The privilege survives her death. You know that.”
“If there was foul play, I’m sure your late client would excuse your divulgence of privileged information.”
“She might, but her heirs will probably sue me.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Right now, Jessie’s estate has at least a million and a half dollars in it. Hypothetically, let’s say I breach the attorney-client privilege and tell you she scammed the investors out of that money. Her estate just lost a million and a half bucks. Her heirs could have my ass in a sling.”
“You want to talk off the record?”
“I’ve said enough. If something happened to Jessie, I want to help punish the people who did it. But there are some things I can’t speak freely about. At least not until I’ve talked to her heirs.”
The prosecutor smiled thinly, as if he enjoyed having to pry information loose. “Did Ms. Merrill call the police about this alleged threat on her life?”
“No.”
“Did she tell anyone else about it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So she was in mortal fear for her life, and the only person she told was her lawyer?”
“Don’t taunt me, Benno. I’m trying to help, and I’ve told you as much as I can.”
“If you’re implying there’s a possible homicide here, it would help for me to understand the motive.”
“The investors reached a viatical settlement thinking Jessie would be dead in two years. It turns out they might have to wait around for Willard Scott and Smucker’s to wish her a happy hundredth birthday. In and of itself, that’s pretty strong motive.”
He wrote something in his pad but showed no expression. “Answer me this, please. When’s the last time you saw Ms. Merrill?”
“Last night.”
“What time?”
“Around midnight.”
“Where’d you two meet up?”
“She was waiting for me.”
“Where?”
“The parking lot.”
“You go anywhere?”
“No. We talked in my car.”
He raised an eyebrow, and Jack immediately regretted that answer.
“Interesting,” he said. “What did you two talk about?”
“That’s when we had the conversation I just told you about. When she told me she thought the investors might kill her.”
“Is that when she told you she’d scammed the investors?”
“I didn’t say there was a scam. I told you twice already, I can’t talk about that.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I’m not being coy. I may end up telling you everything. Just let me do my job as a lawyer and sort out the privilege issue with her heirs, whoever they might be.”
“Take your time. Get your story straight.”
“It’s not a matter of getting my story straight. It’s a thorny legal and ethical issue.”
“Right. So, other than this sacred attorney-client relationship that you’ve chosen to carry into eternity, did you have any other kind of relationship with Ms. Merrill?”
“We dated before I met my wife.”
“Interesting.”
It was about his fifth “interesting” remark. It was getting annoying.
He glanced at his notes once more and said, “Just a few more questions. Some mop-up stuff. Ever hear her threaten to kill herself?”
“No.”
“She ever make any utterances of farewell or final good-byes-like, those bastards won’t have me to kick around anymore?”
“No.”
“Ever hear her say she can’t go on anymore, that life isn’t worth living?”
“No.”
“Did she have any kind of physical pain that she couldn’t deal with?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Were you fucking her?”
“Huh?”
He seemed pleased to have set up the question so nicely, having caught Jack off-guard. “You heard me.”
“The answer is no.”
“Other than those viatical investors you mentioned, can you think of anyone else who’d want her dead?”
“From the looks of things, maybe she wanted herself dead.”
He nodded, as if he’d already considered Jack’s theory. “Breaks and enters through the French door, grabs a bottle of vodka from the liquor cabinet, goes upstairs, slits her wrist. Which leaves one gaping question: Why would she kill herself in your house?”
“Who knows? Maybe to make some kind of statement.”
