Just One Look
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Grace said.
Sandra shrugged. “I figured you were following the case in the news.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Doesn’t matter, I guess. Until two days ago you didn’t know who I was.”
“What’s going on, Sandra?”
She did not answer right away. The tinkling of the silverware provided background music. Sandra let her gaze wander toward the waiters in the center room.
“Why are you representing Wade Larue?”
“He was charged with a crime. I’m a criminal defense lawyer. It’s what I do.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“You want to know how I stumbled upon this particular client, is that it?”
Grace said nothing.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
“You, Grace.” She smiled. “You’re the reason I represent Mr. Larue.”
Grace opened her mouth, closed it, started again. “What are you talking about?”
“You never really knew about me. You just knew that Jack had a sister. But I knew all about you.”
“I’m still not following.”
“It’s simple, Grace. You married my brother.”
“So?”
“When I learned you were going to be my sister-in-law, I was curious. I wanted to learn about you. Makes sense, right? So I had one of my investigators do a background check. Your paintings are wonderful, by the way. I bought two. Anonymously. They’re in my home out in Los Angeles. Spectacular stuff, really. My older daughter, Karen—she’s seventeen—loves them. She wants to be an artist.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with Wade Larue.”
“Really?” Her voice was strangely cheerful. “I’ve worked criminal defense since I graduated law school. I started by working with Burton and Crimstein in Boston. I lived there, Grace. I knew all about the Boston Massacre. And now my brother had fallen in love with one of the Massacre’s major players. It piqued my curiosity even more. I started reading up on the case—and guess what I realized?”
“What?”
“That Wade Larue had been railroaded by an incompetent lawyer.”
“Wade Larue was responsible for the death of eighteen people.”
“He fired a gun, Grace. He didn’t even hit anyone. The lights went out. People were screaming. He was under the influence of drugs and alcohol. He panicked. He believed—or at least, honestly imagined—that he was in imminent danger. There was no way, no way at all, that he could have known what the outcome would be. His first lawyer should have cut a deal. Probation, eighteen months away tops. But no one really wanted to work this case. Larue was sent to jail to rot. So yes, Grace, I read about him because of you. Wade Larue had been shafted. His old attorney screwed him and ran.”
“So you took the case?”
Sandra Koval nodded. “Pro bono. I came to him two years ago. We started preparing for the parole hearing.”
Something clicked. “Jack knew, didn’t he?”
“That I don’t know. We don’t talk, Grace.”
“Are you still going to tell me you didn’t talk to him that night? Nine minutes, Sandra. The phone company says the call lasted nine minutes.”
“Jack’s call had nothing to do with Wade Larue.”
“What did it have to do with?”
“That photograph.”
“What about it?”
Sandra leaned forward. “First you answer a question for me. And I need the truth here. Where did you get that picture?”
“I told you. It was in my packet of film.”
Sandra shook her head, not believing her. “And you think the guy from Photomat stuck it in there?”
“I don’t know anymore. But you still haven’t explained—what about the picture made him call you?”
Sandra hesitated.
“I know about Geri Duncan,” Grace said.
“You know what about Geri Duncan?”
“That she’s the girl in the picture. And that she was murdered.”
That made Sandra sit up. “She died in a fire. It was an accident.”
Grace shook her head. “It was set intentionally.”
“Who told you that?”
“Her brother.”
“Wait, how do you know her brother?”
“She was pregnant, you know. Geri Duncan. When she died in that fire, she was carrying a baby.”
Sandra stopped and looked up in horror. “Grace, what are you doing?”
“I’m trying to find my husband.”
“And you think this is helping?”
“You told me yesterday you didn’t know anyone in the picture. But you just admitted you knew Geri Duncan, that she died in a fire.”
Sandra closed her eyes.
“Did you know Shane Alworth or Sheila Lambert?”
Her voice was soft. “Not really, no.”
“Not really. So their names are not totally unfamiliar to you?”
“Shane Alworth was a classmate of Jack’s. Sheila Lambert, I think, was a friend from a sister college or something. So what?”
“Did you know that the four of them played together in a band?”
“For a month maybe. Again so what?”
“The fifth person in the picture. The one with her head turned. Do you know who she is?”
“No.”
“Is it you, Sandra?”
She looked up at Grace. “Me?”
“Yes. Is it you?”
There was a funny look on Sandra’s face now. “No, Grace, it’s not me.”
“Did Jack kill Geri Duncan?”
The words just came out. Sandra’s eyes opened as if she’d been slapped. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I want the truth.”
“Jack had nothing to do with her death. He was overseas already.”
“So why did the picture freak him out?”
She hesitated.
“Why, dammit?”
“Because he didn’t know Geri was dead until then.”
Grace looked confused. “Were they lovers?”
“Lovers,” she repeated, as if she’d never heard the word before. “That’s a pretty mature term for what they were.”
“Wasn’t she dating Shane Alworth?”
“I guess. But they were all just kids.”
“Jack was fooling around with his friend’s girlfriend?”