"Great." Jonathan eyed Reed darkly. "You're hardly biased in my favor."
"That's irrelevant. I don't need to like you. I don't even need to believe you're innocent. I need to represent you. And I need you to give me the facts so I can protect your interests. This is business, Jonathan, not personal. You could be in a lot of trouble. You need a good criminal attorney. So either
you trust my legal abilities or you don't."
"You arrogant bastard, you know you're the best." Jonathan rose, rubbing the back of his neck and
pacing around. Emotionally, he looked like he was hanging on by a thread. "I still can't believe they're dead," he muttered.
Reed watched him carefully. He was definitely in shock. But was it from finding out about the murders
or committing them?
"Jonathan, before you say another word, I need your answer. Am I representing you or not?"
"Yeah. You're representing me."
"Fine. Then sit down." Reed pointed to the chair. At the same time, he rose, walked over, and poured Jonathan a glass of water, which he shoved in his hand. "Drink this. And try to relax. We're due over at the Nineteenth Precinct shortly. We don't have the luxury of time. So let's start with the basics. How do you want to plead?"
"Not guilty." Jonathan shot him a scathing look. "Which happens to be the truth. I did not kill Douglas
and Adrienne."
"Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts between one and six a.m. ?"
"Unfortunately not. I was home, in bed, the way most people are in the middle of the night."
"Did anyone see you arrive at your apartment—the doorman, a neighbor, anyone?"
A slow exhale. "The doorman. We said a few words before I went upstairs."
"What kind of words?"
"I asked him to keep the media away. There were a couple of obnoxious reporters who'd followed
me home."
"Good. Then you have several people to attest to your whereabouts at..." A questioning look. "What
time did you get home?"
"Around midnight. And I stayed there, all night," he added emphatically.
"What about Douglas and Adrienne—did they leave Le Cirque the same time as you did?"
"No. They were still there, saying good night to the last guests."
"Right." Reed jotted something down, his expression unchanged. "And they sent you home early
because you were drunk, pissing them off, and starting to become noticeably embarrassing."
Jonathan's jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it. "Something like that, yes."
Reed put down his pen, met Jonathan's gaze head-on. "I don't have the official police report yet. So
tell me what you know. I don't want any surprises. I know how they were killed. Douglas's neck was snapped and Adrienne was choked and raped. Evidently, there was semen present. What else should I know?"
A hard swallow. "When I got there, the crime-scene investigators were dusting for fingerprints, looking
for clothing fibers, footprints, all that forensics stuff. I wasn't allowed in. When they carried out the body bags, they unzipped them just long enough for me to identify Douglas and Adrienne. Then they took the bodies to the medical examiner's office. The cops said they won't have any more details until autopsies are performed."
"What kinds of questions did the detectives ask you?"
Jonathan took a gulp of water. "When was the last time I saw Douglas and Adrienne alive, did I know
of anyone who'd want them dead, and what were my whereabouts between one and six a.m. They
asked about the party at Le Cirque, and about the added benefits and responsibilities that would fall in
my lap with both Douglas and Adrienne gone."
"To which you said?"
"Nothing coherent. I was in shock. But when they asked if I'd be willing to provide a routine DNA sample, it suddenly clicked in my head that I was a suspect. So I agreed to the DNA test, but said
I wanted my attorney present."
"Anything else I should know about the crime scene?"
Grimly, Jonathan nodded. "One of the things I saw them bag was an empty old-fashioned they found
on the coffee table. If it's the glass I think it is, the prints on it will turn out to be mine."
"And why is that?"
"Because I was at the brownstone yesterday prior to the party."
"To visit Douglas?"
"No—Adrienne."
"Adrienne? Why in God's name would you go see her?"
"She's my father's wife."
"Cut the crap, Jonathan. You hated Adrienne's guts. She hated you, too."
"She was handling it."
"Yeah, right. Adrienne didn't just handle anything—except Douglas. He would have acknowledged you and Gordon years ago if it hadn't been for her pressuring him not to. That pissed the hell out of you."
"Not enough to kill her. And you know how much I respected Douglas. He was my father, for God's sake. Okay, so he didn't make that public until now. But he still provided for me—a home, a top-notch education, important business contacts. He gave me everything."
"True. But you'll have a whole lot more with him and his wife out of the way."
Jonathan slammed down his glass. "Goddammit, Reed, I didn't kill them."
Reed pursed his lips. "Okay, let's say for the moment I believe you. We'll bypass the circumstantial evidence, the motive, everything. Be aware that the police won't be so generous."
"I'm sure not."
"Let's move on. Let's talk about your state of mind. You're one screwed-up guy these days. And you're
a suspect in more than just last night's tragedies."
Jonathan tensed. "You're talking about the situation with Taylor."
"Yes. And we are going to talk about her. Not with emotion or threats, but with facts and truth. I need
to know just how irrational you are. It could sway the police."
"You're going to tell them that Taylor thinks I'm stalking her?" Jonathan asked incredulously.
"Of course not. But she was at the party last night. They're bound to question all the guests. And when they get to her ..."
"Jesus Christ." Jonathan dropped his head in his hands. "This is an endless, fucking nightmare. I'm not only going to be painted as a greedy, violent, homicidal maniac, but a psychotic stalker, too. They might as well shove me in a cell and throw away the key."
"Don't let your mind go down that road," Reed advised, scrutinizing every last detail of Jonathan's reaction. More and more, he was sure the guy was innocent. "I don't want you losing it on me. No
matter what, you've got to keep it together. Remember, if you didn't commit last night's crimes, the
DNA will prove it. Lots of people hate their families. Some even come into a lot of money when their families die. But very few people snap their father's neck or rape and choke their stepmother just to
come into their own." Reed's eyes narrowed. "We have two major unanswered questions to explore before we leave this office. One—why did you go to see Adrienne? And, two—what's your agenda
with regard to Taylor?"
"You know my agenda," Jonathan replied, addressing the second question first. "I was very up-front
with you about it. I think Taylor's the right woman for me. I plan to win her over."
"You've got a strange way of showing it. That was one weird conversation you had with her last night."
"She told you what I said?" Jonathan blew out his breath. "Of course she did. I must have sounded like
a drunken lunatic. Maybe I am a lunatic. God knows, I have reason to be. That's what I wanted to share with her and what I meant about her not having all the facts. I would have told her there and then, but it wasn't the time or the place. But, yeah, I believe that once she knew everything, it would have made all the difference. Taylor's an emotional healer. She would have understood who I am, and why. And she'd have helped me find the peace I've been searching for."
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Reed's forehead creased. "I'm not following."
"How could you?" Jonathan rose again, crossing over to the sideboard. He ignored the water and poured himself a Scotch.
"Easy," Reed cautioned. "You want to be sober when we talk to the police."
"I will be." Jonathan took a healthy swallow. "Believe me, it'll take more than one Scotch to dull my mental faculties. And a hell of a lot more to erase my demons."
He turned, his expression stony, almost removed, as he spoke. "You asked why I went to see Adrienne.
I went to let her know that I have some ugly evidence against her—evidence that would have knocked Douglas's socks off if I'd shared it with him."
"So you blackmailed her?"
A shrug. "It depends on what you call blackmail. I told her to stop interfering with my relationship with Douglas and my career at Berkley and Company. That's it. I told her she could have all the money, prestige, and notoriety she wanted. Just so long as she let me do my thing. I would make Douglas an
even bigger fortune than he already had. I guess Adrienne knew it, because she didn't fight me on it.
She said that if I did as I promised, she wouldn't throw any obstacles in my path."
Reed leaned forward. "What was this evidence?"
"A tape. Gordon made it years ago. I guess he figured it might come in handy someday."
"Gordon?" That was the last name Reed had expected to hear. "The two of you were in this together?"
Something about Reed's choice of words seemed to strike Jonathan as ironic, because he gave a humorless laugh. "No, Reed. What Gordon was in, he was in by himself. He was just smart enough
to include me in the proof, just in case."
"What was on this tape?"
Another bitter smile, and Jonathan downed the rest of his drink. "An argument. One that revealed a
facet of our stepmother's perverted, sadistic mind."
Reed was starting to put together some very ugly pieces. "You'd better explain."
"I'll make it brief so neither of us pukes. You know that my mother, Belinda Mallory, was a maid at Douglas's estate. That's how they met and how Gordon and I were conceived."
"Yeah, you told me."
"What you don't know is how deep Adrienne's hatred ran. It festered over the years, especially when
she never managed to give Douglas a child of her own. She was obsessed with Gordon and me. Especially Gordon. He was the bad boy of the two of us, the wild one, the challenge. When he was
a kid, those traits pissed her off. When he was a teenager, they turned her on."
Reed went very still. "Are you telling me there was a sexual relationship?"
"Hey, haven't you ever seen The Graduate? The difference was, Gordon was only fifteen. And,
much as he wanted to get laid, he didn't want it from Adrienne. He turned her down. She gave him
an incentive to change his mind. That's what I have on tape."
"What incentive?"
"She threatened to plant something valuable in our mother's room— like one of the numerous
extravagant pieces of jewelry Douglas bought her—then accuse our mother of theft. She'd fire her and have her arrested. If the accusation became a conviction—great—our mother would rot in jail. If not, Adrienne promised to make sure she never worked for another well-to-do family again. End of income. End of everything. As for us, who knows? Adrienne would have used all her wiles to convince Douglas
to toss us out in the streets. She might very well have succeeded. After all, he hadn't acknowledged us. We had no official place in his life. Our mother was really all we had. We were just kids. So, Gordon became Adrienne's unwilling sex slave."
Reed grimaced. "You knew?"
"Not then, I didn't. Not for a couple of years. I found out by accident. One night I needed some air. I jumped in the car and drove out to Douglas's yacht club. I strolled down to the dock where he kept his yacht. I overheard Gordon and Adrienne, going at it like rabid animals. I threw up. Then I went back to the house. When Gordon came home, I confronted him. He told me what the situation was. Frankly, I didn't believe him. He wasn't exactly the helpless-victim type, or a decent, devoted son. True, he was trying to save his own ass as well as our mother's, but I still figured he was getting a real charge out of screwing his father's wife. That would be right in character. But when he gave me that tape, I knew he wasn't lying." Jonathan's lips curled in a bitter smile. "I'll make you a copy. You can hear for yourself."
Reed blew out his breath. "The woman was more dangerous than I realized, and a sexual predator to boot. Did your mother ever know?"
"Thank heavens, no. She died blissfully ignorant of the whole sordid arrangement, while we were in college."
"Yeah. Cancer. That much I remember." Reed ran a palm over his jaw. "The problem is, these facts don't help your case. They hurt it. They'll explain why your empty Scotch glass was at the brownstone. But they'll also give the authorities an additional motive to use against you. What Adrienne did to your mother, your brother—they'll say you wanted to get even, to hurt and humiliate her, and finally to kill
her. You see my point."
Somberly, Jonathan nodded. "Yeah, I see. But why would I kill Douglas?"
"For ignoring the obvious. For standing by his wife and turning his back on his kids, and on their mother, when they needed his protection. For expecting you to show respect for a woman you considered to be
a twisted bitch and a whore. Believe me, the prosecution will have a field day."
"I didn't do it, Reed. Not the rape. Not the murders."
"Okay, I've heard enough to know where we stand." Reed rose. "Let's go over to the police precinct. Give them their mouth swab for a DNA sample. We'll offer to help in any way we can. But, during the questioning, let me take the lead. Don't lose your cool. Don't answer anything unless I tell you to, and then be as brief as possible. No details. Just be a shocked, grief-stricken son who's horrified by what's happened."
"Which I am," Jonathan said pointedly.
A nod. "Which you are."
* * *
Cathy looked up from her desk when Reed and Jonathan emerged.
"I'm going out with Mr. Mallory for a while, Cathy," Reed informed her. "I'll be reachable on my cell. Any calls?"
She leaned forward, handing him two pink slips of paper. "These two messages are urgent. Everything else can wait."
Reed glanced down. The top message was from Richard Harter. It asked Reed to stop by his office ASAP and let him know the outcome of the meeting with Jonathan. Fine. He'd go do that now. That
way the partners could heave a collective sigh of relief, and start making the necessary provisions to disassociate Reed from the firm and pave the way for his new practice.
The second message was from Taylor.
Frowning, Reed looked up. "Cathy, call the Nineteenth Precinct and tell them Mr. Mallory and I are
on our way over. Jonathan, have a seat in the reception area. I have to pay someone a quick visit
before we take off."
Jonathan shot Reed a derisive, knowing look. "I'm sure you do. Tell the good ol' boys to curtail their enthusiasm. They're off the hook."
Reed headed down the hall and around the bend. He paused at the desk of Richard Harter's secretary. "He's expecting me," he announced.
She nodded, picking up the phone and pressing the intercom button. "Mr. Weston's here to see you, sir. Go right in," she told Reed.
"Thanks." He walked over and gave a perfunctory knock.
"Come on in, Reed."
Stepping inside, Reed shut the door behind him. "Everything's on track," he said, cutting to the chase. "But I can't stay. I'm on my way to the Nineteenth Precinct with Jonathan."
The message got through loud and clear.
Crossing over to where Reed stood, Harter cleared his throat. "I realize this will be a rocky start for you.
I also realize the irony of the situation. In order to launch the p
ractice you've been pushing so hard for, you have to begin with the very kind of case you're determined to get away from. But you're a damned good attorney. Jonathan Mallory's lucky to have you on his team. My advice? Keep your eye on the prize."
"You're right. I'll do that." Reed paused, studying the man who'd been his mentor. "Richard, I appreciate everything you've done for me. I know you're in a lousy position yourself. But, remember, it's not the practice of criminal law that offends me. It's defending animals who I know are guilty of vile, unspeakable crimes, but who are rich and powerful enough to pay me to get them off scot-free."
"Vile, unspeakable crimes," Harter repeated quietly. "I think rape and murder qualify as those."
"So do I."