Me neither. On the other hand, according to everyone who knew him, the
pathetic guy we'd been talking to the past week wasn't the same man
Clarissa Easterbrook had married.
We talked it through but kept going around in circles.
When I finally retrieved my gym bag from under the desk, Russ handed me
my briefcase. 'So where are you going, if you don't mind me asking?'
I wasn't ready to answer that question yet. 'Sounded like Duncan was
going to steer the meeting toward a holding pattern. Let the news sink
in and the personalities calm down.'
'I know,' he said. 'I was there, remember?'
'It may have been a mistake to drag Gunderson into the murder case, but
now he knows we're looking at him on the bribery. Not the best
situation for the preservation of inculpatory evidence.'
'You mean Slip's mistake,' he said.
'Right.'
'Well, you heard the boss: Nothing's happening until decisions get made
at the highest level,' he said, like we were still shooting the
breeze.
'But maybe someone could poke around a little on the side. Just to see
what falls loose,' I said.
'Maybe.'
'You mind if I take the rest of the day as personal time?'
'Not if you need it,' he said. 'Just tell me what you find out.'
9R9
Fourteen.
By the time I got to Metro Council headquarters, Terrence Caffrey's
office was already locked down. Metro was probably only a part-time
legislative gig.
I took a chance and drove past the address I had copied from the
mailing envelope Slip had found in Clarissa's safe deposit box. T. J.
Caffrey and his family lived in a brick colonial just a couple of
houses south of Reed College. A woman probably Caffrey's wife was
planting bulbs along the front walk. A mini-van and a Toyota Avalon
were parked in the driveway.
Two cars hopefully meant two drivers.
I wanted to talk to Caffrey alone, but I was willing to do it the hard
way if necessary. I parked my Jetta around the corner on Woodstock
Boulevard, confident that it blended in among the students' cars across
from the library.
I looked at my watch. I'd give it an hour before I knocked on the
front door.
Fifty-five minutes later, the front yard was empty, my stomach was in
knots, and my self-imposed boldness deadline was preparing to bend.
Chuck had been paging me, and I hadn't called him back out of fear that
he'd convince me to take the night off and abandon my stakeout. Then I
got lucky.
The gardener walked out the front door holding a toddler and a Meier &
Frank shopping bag, yelling back to someone inside. A little boy
probably four years old followed her. She strapped them both into the
minivan, threw the bags in front, and drove off.
I didn't know how many kids Caffrey had, but most folks stop at two
nowadays. Then it dawned on me he might not even be there. What woman
in her right mind takes her children on a mall run when she could leave
them at home with their dad?
There was only one way to find out. I mustered my courage, got out of
the car, marched to the front door, and panicked.
Just when I was about to bail, Caffrey opened the door. 'I thought I
saw someone. Can I help? Oh, Ms. Kincaid. It's you.'
He looked down the street, no doubt to make sure the missus had left.
'I'm not trying to cause you any problems.'
'As I know you're aware, my lawyer quashed that subpoena.'
'Well, that's just it. The subpoena was served by the defense to
require you to testify under oath at the preliminary hearing. I just
want to talk to you, but I need to know if you're still represented.'
'Ronald Fish is my lawyer. I'm sure you remember the very
uncomfortable meeting we had Friday morning.'
Of course I did, but that wasn't what I was getting at.
'I guess what I'm asking you, Mr. Caffrey, is whether you hired an
