The Pact Read online

  "LET ME GUESS," Selena said a few minutes later when she came into the house and found Jordan sprawled miserably on the couch. "Emily came back to life and pointed a finger at your client."

  "Hmm?" Jordan levered himself on an elbow and swung his feet off the edge so that Selena could sit down. "No, nothing like that." He passed the telegram to Selena and waited for her to read it.

  "I didn't even know your wife was alive, much less dating someone."

  "Ex-wife. I knew she was alive. Or, rather, my accountant did. Got to send that alimony somewhere." He sighed and sat up. "The hell of it is, Thomas and I just had a fight."

  "You two never fight."

  "Well, there's a first time for everything." Jordan scowled. "And now he gets to run off with the other parent."

  "In Paris," Selena added, glancing around. "I've got to tell you, Jordan. You can't compete with the Left Bank."

  "Thanks a lot," he grumbled.

  Selena patted his knee. "It will all work out," she predicted.

  "What makes you so sure?"

  She glanced at him, surprised. "Why, because that's your forte." She unloaded a stack of small notebooks and set them on the coffee table beside Thomas's school binders. "Are we going to brood tonight? Or talk about the case? Not that I mind either one," she hastily added.

  "No, no, the case," Jordan said. "Get my mind off Thomas." He walked into the dining room, returning with a high stack of papers. "What are you doing for Christmas?"

  "Going to my sister's," Selena said, looking up. "Sorry." She waited for Jordan to sit down next to her again. "Okay," she said. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

  Jordan laughed. "What did you get from Michael Gold?"

  Selena flipped through her notebook. "I think he's going to help us. Reluctantly. You can use him to bring up how little time Emily spent with her parents, cast doubt on how well he knew his own daughter ... "

  Jordan's mind flashed back to Thomas, hiding his Penthouse. How long had it been here, with Jordan away and working and lacking the time to find it?

  Selena was still talking about Michael Gold. " ... while he won't tell a jury that Chris didn't do it, I think you can get him to admit that Chris loved Emily."

  "Mmm," Jordan said, looking over her notes. "And we can mention that Michael's been to visit Chris in jail."

  "He has?"

  Jordan smiled. "You must have triggered something in him."

  "The only other thing I've got is Emily's art teacher, who has no verbal mention of suicide but a whopper of a convincing painting." She told Jordan about Emily's self-portrait.

  "I'll have to think about that. Who could we get to interpret the difference in styles? It's not like we're talking about a real artist."

  "You'd be surprised," Selena said. She shucked off her shoes. "What have you got?"

  "Well," Jordan said, "Emily was eleven weeks pregnant."

  "What?"

  "That's exactly what Chris said," Jordan murmured, "before he passed out." He looked at Selena. "You know, I've seen a lot of liars over the years. Hell, I've made a career out of consorting with them. But either this kid is the best one I've ever met, or he really didn't know about that baby."

  Selena's mind was racing. "That's the prosecution's motive," she calculated aloud. "He knew and was trying to eliminate the whole problem."

  "Add college into the mix, and you too can be S. Barrett Delaney," Jordan mocked.

  "Well, then, it's simple. All we have to offer is a two-pronged defense. We get proof that Emily was suicidal, and we get proof that Chris didn't know about the baby."

  "Easier said than done," Jordan reminded her. "Just because he didn't tell someone doesn't mean he didn't know."

  "I'll go back and talk to Michael Gold," Selena said. "And there was something the art teacher said--about Emily wanting to go study abroad, or attend a school of fine arts. Maybe she was the one who didn't want the baby."

  "Suicide seems a bit extreme as a method of abortion," Jordan said.

  "No, it's the pressure, don't you see? Emily's this perfectionist, and all of a sudden her plans had a wrench thrown into them. She wasn't going to live up to what everyone expected her to be, so she killed herself. End of story."

  "Very nice. Too bad you're not the jury foreman."

  "Can it," Selena said pleasantly. "Did her regular doctor know about the pregnancy?"

  "Apparently not," Jordan said. "It's not in the medical files the prosecution handed over."

  Selena began writing in her notepad. "We can try Wellspring and Planned Parenthood," she said. "May have to subpoena the records, but I'll see if I can find someone willing to talk. The other thing I want to do is try to plant doubt about who brought the gun. Maybe put James Harte on the stand and ask if Emily ever had access to the gun cabinet, if she knew where the key was, you know. Get the jury off on another tangent. Oh, and I'm meeting with Chris's English teacher. Scuttlebutt has it that she thinks he's the Second Coming."

  She paused for breath and looked up to find Jordan staring at her, a faint smile dancing at the edge of his mouth. "What?" she demanded.

  "Nothing," Jordan said, looking away. He clapped his hand over his collar, as if he could tamp down the blush creeping up his neck. "Nothing at all."

  IT WAS HIGHLY UNLIKELY that any medical professional would be willing to talk to the defense team's investigator without being formally subpoenaed. Still, the rules at the clinics set up for free prenatal testing and care were slightly different. Although the records were sealed, the walls had ears. People talked in clinics, and cried, and other people heard them.

  Selena had tried Wellspring first, without making a dent in the hatchet-faced receptionist. Then she'd gathered up her reserve at a nearby coffee bar and optimistically headed toward Planned Parenthood. Located two towns over from Bainbridge, it was on the bus line. Emily, who did not have her own vehicle, would have been able to get there without much difficulty.

  The office was small and lemon yellow, located inside a converted Colonial. The receptionist here had high, teased hair the same color as the walls, and eyebrows that were painted on. "May I help you?" she asked.

  "Yes," Selena said, handing her a card. "I wonder if I might be able to speak with the director."

  "I'm sorry, she's not here now. May I ask what this is in reference to?"

  "I'm working with the defense in a case involving the alleged murder of Emily Gold. It's possible that she was a patient here recently. And I'd like to speak to someone who examined her."

  The receptionist looked at the card. "I'll give this to the director," she said, "but I can save you some trouble. She'll tell you you have to subpoena a request for the records, if they're here."

  "Marvelous," Selena said, baring her teeth. "Thanks for your help."

  She watched the receptionist turn toward a ringing phone, and walked back to the waiting room. A counselor holding a chart looked at her as she shrugged on her coat. As she walked out the door, the woman was escorting a heavily pregnant woman into the inner sanctum.

  Selena slid into her car and turned over the ignition. "Goddamn," she said, slamming her hand on the steering wheel so hard it honked. The last thing she really wanted was to subpoena the records, because that meant the State would be present too, and God only knew what Planned Parenthood would have to say. For all Selena knew, Emily Gold had come in crying that the baby was some other guy's, and that Chris had threatened to kill her.

  She jolted as there was a sharp rap on the window. Rolling it down, Selena found herself face-to-face with the counselor from inside. "Hi," she said. "I heard you in there." Selena nodded. "I--could I come in? It's cold."

  Selena noticed that the woman was still wearing her short, smocked nurse's uniform. "Be my guest," she said, sliding over to open the passenger door.

  "My name is Stephanie Newell," the counselor said. "I was working the day Emily Gold came in here." She took a deep breath, and Selena began to pray very, very hard. "The