Pas de Deux Page 3

  Chapter 3

  Scott didn’t mind the regular trips to various police precincts across the Bay Area. It was always hugely inconvenient, but ultimately, Scott liked the precincts. He liked that there was always something going on. He liked that he could stroll into one at six in the morning, and he would be just one of many people there in the middle of a job. He liked to greet familiar faces, and drink the hot, too-bitter coffee, and listen to the phones ring, and know they were working like a well-oiled machine. He had a bit of a reputation around town for being an arrogant, stubborn pain in the ass. That was only because cops didn’t intimidate him. That didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate and respect what they did.

  Hector waited for him in one of the interrogation rooms. He had bags under his eyes, and his orange jumpsuit was just a tad too big for his bony frame. Other than those small signs of exhaustion, he didn’t look the worse for wear. But he definitely looked like a man who had been denied his freedom. There was a certain resignation in his dark eyes. Like he appreciated what Scott was trying to do for him, but he wasn’t going to let himself get excited about it.

  Scott held out his hand and greeted him with a friendly smile. If nothing else, he wanted Hector to understand they were on the same side. Hector did take his hand, the cuffs glittering on his wrist as they shook.

  “I’m sorry about the early hour,” Scott started.

  Hector shrugged. “What else I got to do?”

  “I suppose you’re not getting much sleep around here, huh?”

  “‘Bout as much as I ever did. It’s not exactly the Hilton.”

  No, it wasn’t. But if things went the way Scott thought they might, they could sue the city for enough to ensure that Hector could stay at the Hilton anytime he wanted to. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’ve scheduled a two hour block for you. I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer honestly. This is a private room, and anything you tell me will be kept in the strictest confidence.”

  “I know how it works. Been around this block before. Different ride, maybe, but—”

  Someone knocked sharply at the door. Hector’s jaw clamped shut as he sagged back into his seat. Scott had only just risen from his chair, when the door opened and a tall, dark-haired man stepped inside.

  “Interesting.” His penetrating gaze, eyes like obsidian, flickered from Hector, to the file on the table, to Scott. “I wasn’t sure you would have actually started yet. Most lawyers I’ve met prefer to keep more professional hours.”

  “Then I guess you don’t know any busy lawyers,” Scott returned without missing a beat, his gaze traveling over the man.

  Everything about the stranger bespoke confidence, from the way he entered the room to the way he regarded Scott. He did the latter quite openly, studying him with the same curiosity that must have been reflected in Scott’s eyes. He might have classified the stranger as attractive, if they had met elsewhere. Like a bar—no, not a bar. Some men were drinkers. This man was not. In fact, Scott wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he had no vices whatsoever. He also looked pretty damned sharp in his suit.

  There was only one person who this could be, but Scott decided to play dumb until a formal introduction was made. “I’m sorry, were you hoping to use this room? I made arrangements to have it until eight.”

  “I know. I’d hoped to speak with your client prior to your meeting. But since you seem to be punctual, I’ll wait until you’re done for my turn.”

  Scott saw there was no playing dumb with this one. That was fine by him, too. “First, no, you were not going to speak to my client prior to our meeting, because my client will not speak to anybody when I’m not present. Second, if you wish to speak to my client, you know the proper channels. It is not fair to cut into his time with his legal counsel.”

  The detective didn’t blink. “I didn’t intend a formal interrogation. If I had, rest assured, I would have followed proper procedure for one. But I felt Mr. Young should know who is now handling the investigation. I only meant to speak to him for a moment or two, to introduce myself. As for your lost time, Mr. Scott, I’ll make sure you’re compensated. You requested two hours. Two hours is what you’ll get.”

  “Not unless you can bend time around your will,” Scott said, feeling mildly petty even as he spoke. “I have a deposition at nine sharp.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “Whatever it takes to get the job done. Detective Duke, I presume?”

  Duke raised a single brow. “Yes.” The query about how Scott knew his name never came, though. “My apologies for infringing on your tight schedule. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

  With a sharp nod at both Scott and Hector, Duke turned on his heel and left, closing the door silently behind him.

  “You know that dude?” Hector asked.

  “No, not at all. But I have the feeling I’m going to get to know him quite well. He’s the man in charge of making sure you’re found guilty of murder.”

  Hector tracked him as he sat back down. “And you’re the one in charge of making sure that don’t happen?”

  “Absolutely. Within the week, you’re going to be out of here.” Scott didn’t even feel a twinge at the bold promise.

  “Big words coming from a man who hasn’t even asked me if I did it yet.”

  That was immaterial to Scott, but he asked anyway. “Did you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “For the case? Not particularly. You’re entitled to a defense, regardless of whether or not you’re guilty. But in order to offer you the best defense possible, I need to know everything.”

  “I can’t afford no best defense. I told you that when you offered. And the way I know it, there’s no such thing as free. There’s always a catch.” He leaned forward suddenly, his cuffs clanking against the table. “So what’s your angle, Mr. Scott? What’s in it for you? Lots of free time on the television? What?”

  “Nothing is in it for me. At this point, most of the high-profile cases are going to come my way regardless of whether or not I represent you. But there are certain things about your situation that don’t add up to me. When something doesn’t add up, I want to know just what the hell is going on.” Scott leaned forward as well. “And since I’m here now, you don’t have to worry over whether or not you can afford me.”

  “I’m not worried. You want to work for free, I’m not stopping you. I just don’t know too many people who’d try very hard if they weren’t getting something back for it.” As quickly as he’d sat up, Hector slouched back in his chair again, his hands going to his lap, his gaze never leaving Scott’s face. They sat like that for several seconds, neither moving, until he finally added, “No.”

  Scott nodded. “Good. That’s a good place to start. Did you know Ms. Mayfield?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Did you know her? Had you ever met her? Were you acquainted with her in any way?”

  The longer Hector took to answer the question, the more Scott knew he wouldn’t like the answer. “Yeah, I knew her.”

  “How well did you know her?” Scott prompted. “Were you friends? Were you sleeping together?”

  “Well enough to tell you the cops didn’t need to plant the print they found.” Hector snorted. “For a change.”

  “And how well is that? Did you visit her home often?” Scott half dreaded Hector’s answer. On the one hand, providing a plausible reason for his fingerprint to be in the house was a very good thing. On the other hand, the vast majority of murder victims were killed by people close to them. How difficult would it be for Detective Duke to dig up a plausible motive? Especially since opportunity was probably already covered? “I need to know everything.”

  “Twice. Only went there twice. Last time was the Fourth when I made sure she got home safe after the fireworks, but I didn’t stick around either time for more ‘n a couple minutes.” His lashes ducked, and for the first time since Scott had walked in, Hector looked like a vulnerable y
oung man, not an ex-con. “Tana was good people. She was helping me out some. That’s all.”

  “All right. When was the last time you saw Ms. Mayfield?”

  Unseen, the cuffs clicked together as Hector shifted his hands. “July sometime.”

  “When in July?”

  “Sometime. Near the end there.”

  “Hector, I suggest very strongly that you either remember the exact date, or tell me where I can find the exact date. Did you go with her in public? Were you with any of her friends? Did you see a movie that day? I’m going to need something.” Which was true, but not quite the most pressing matter on Scott’s mind. “Where were you the night of July 25th?”

  Hector’s head snapped up, his dark eyes blazing. “Not with her, okay? If I had been, she’d be alive right now, ‘cause I would’ve stopped that motherfucker flat before he ever laid a finger on her.”

  “I believe you, but that doesn’t actually help your case. Where were you?”

  “Out. By myself. So, no, there’s nobody to vouch for me. That’s what you’re fishing for, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not fishing for anything, I’m trying to establish your alibi. A fingerprint by itself is nothing. A fingerprint from a known associate, with a criminal past, and no alibi? That’s enough to keep a good detective interested.”

  “So you just gotta be better, right?”

  “Oh, I said that was enough to keep him interested. I didn’t say it was enough to give him a case.” Scott glanced at his watch. He still had an hour. He did need more information from Hector, but he was curious about Duke and just what he had. “Though I think I should have a friendly chat with the detective in question.”

  “Good luck with that. He looked ‘bout as friendly as a pit bull about to get his balls chopped off.”

  Scott couldn’t help but smile at the assessment. Hector wasn’t wrong. But far from dissuading him, it only made him more curious. Did they get the meanest SOB on the force to turn up the evidence? He had also been unfailingly polite. Scott was quite good at reading people, and his gut told him that the politeness had not been an act.

  “I’m going to arrange for another meeting at this time tomorrow. We’re going to cover everything. Every detail of your life. Be prepared for that.”

  Hector looked less than pleased with the announcement, but jerked his head in what Scott assumed was a nod. “Do you actually believe me, or are you just blowing smoke up my ass to get me to talk to you?”

  Scott stood and buttoned his jacket. “Why do you care? Either way, I’m the guy who’s going to make sure that you’re not on the receiving end of a lethal injection.”

  The way Hector’s face closed after that said the conversation was fundamentally over. “Guess that’s all that matters then. Bring some decent coffee when you show tomorrow. It’s easier to remember shit if I’ve got some caffeine in me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Scott studied him for a moment, trying to find some sort of chink in his armor. Hector was clearly distrustful of him, and Scott didn’t blame him. Probably nobody had ever helped him in his life. But Hector was going to have to figure out on his own that Scott wasn’t the enemy. He wasn’t going to waste time coddling Hector.

  He didn’t have that time to waste.

  * * * *

  Duke hadn’t actually expected James Scott to be there. When he’d received notification that Scott had booked time with Hector Young, he’d scoffed at first at the unusual hour the lawyer had chosen for his meeting. Some discreet checking around had revealed that was actually a common occurrence for Scott, but a part of Duke had been reluctant to believe it. Scott was working pro bono. This sort of work ethic suggested he was taking the case far more seriously than most camera whores. Duke didn’t really want to believe that to be true.

  Until he had come face-to-face with the man himself.

  Still, he knew when retreat was necessary. Young was guaranteed right to counsel, and Duke, appearances to the contrary, would never infringe upon that. He would, however, wait until Scott was done to go in and meet Young himself. He needed a better impression of the man than the fleeting moments he’d been in the room. That time had been reserved for Scott, and Scott alone.

  He sat at a small, wrought iron table in front of the café across the street, waiting for the hours to pass until he could get in to see Young. The sidewalks were virtually empty at this time of the morning. The city had not yet awakened to embrace the day. Overhead, the sky was gloomy and low, the marine layer cloaking the peninsula and the bay for several more hours yet before the sun burned it away. Appropriate. He was in a somber, contemplative mood today. The outset of a new case—or at least, new to him—always turned his thoughts inward.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  The voice startled him from his notepad. Now blocking Duke’s view of the street, James Scott smiled down at him with far more cheer than he thought appropriate for the situation, hazel eyes twinkling to match. His expensive suit hung from his broad shoulders in an obvious custom job, hiding what looked to be a trim, muscular body, and Duke stifled his swell of respect for a man who didn’t let his desk job get in the way of staying fit. Scott likely did it to look good for the cameras that always gravitated his way.

  And he was still inexplicably smiling at him.

  Closing his notebook, Duke glanced at his watch and frowned. “You still have time left with your client. Has he decided to confess already?”

  “My client has nothing to confess.” He didn’t wait for an invitation to sit down. “I’ve decided the rest of the interview could wait until tomorrow morning, and in the meantime, the two of us could get to know each other better.”

  Duke stared at him. He had to have misheard. “Excuse me?”

  “Like it or not, we’re probably going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next few days. And I don’t know anything about you except your name.”

  Apparently, he’d heard correctly, though Scott’s explanation did little to make Duke feel better about it. “I’m not your client, Mr. Scott. The only thing you need to know about me is a matter of public record.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe that’s the case. For example, the reason for the sudden reassignment is not a matter of public record, but I’m sure it’s fascinating.”

  “And not relevant.”

  “I disagree. Somebody decided to switch horses midstream; I’d say it’s hugely relevant.”

  He couldn’t resist. “Then I suggest you follow proper channels and contact Captain Finn Sager yourself, since he’s the one who decided upon the reassignment. I can bend many things to my will, but my captain’s choices are not some of them.”

  Scott smiled. “Is that your way of telling me you didn’t ask to be assigned to this case?”

  “That’s my way of telling you, I’m not going to fall for your head games. Save yourself the time and don’t try.”

  “Head games? Asking you a straightforward question is just about as far from a head game as one can get. Fine, let’s talk shop.” Scott leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Why do you think DA Horan’s stalling the arraignment?”

  He didn’t care for this line of questioning either. He’d had the case for less than twenty-four hours, and though he’d spent his every free moment reviewing the notes, he still didn’t consider himself well-versed enough in the details to hazard a well-informed guess like Scott wanted.

  “I find it curious that my opinion matters to you at all,” he said. “Since you knew who I was when I walked into your meeting, I think it’s safe to assume you know that I was only just assigned to the case yesterday. So why would you want to know what I think, when I’ve barely had a chance to read through the whole case file?”

  “Because you were assigned for a reason, and I’m going to find out what that is, even if you won’t tell me. Because twenty-four hours is more than enough time to form an opinion on this case. You must be familiar with all the evidence against my clien
t at this point. There isn’t much, after all.”

  “But again, my opinion isn’t relevant.” For as frustrating as he found Scott’s direct approach, Duke had to admit he was warming up to the verbal challenge Scott presented. Few people bothered to do so. The reputation he’d so carefully constructed often intimidated many from even trying. “What matters are the facts, and the fact of the matter is, your client has a history of breaking and entering, he left a fingerprint on the scene, and he more than adequately matches the physical type of the killer. Someone, somewhere, considered that enough to arrest him.”

  “Someone, somewhere? Don’t be so coy. Saucedo thought it was enough to arrest him, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was acting on somebody’s orders.” Scott offered a new smile. This one clearly calculated to be more winning than the one before it. “That’s what I’m curious about. It’s enough to make an arrest, but it’s not really enough to build a case.”

  “Yet.”

  “Perhaps, but that begs the question of just what you’re going to build the case on.”

  “The facts I’ve yet to find.”

  “I wouldn’t hang my hopes on the undiscovered facts.” Scott tilted his head. “Where were you before? I’m a little bit surprised we haven’t crossed paths until now.”

  Duke wasn’t. He loathed the public limelight as much as Scott seemed to thrive in it. “I’ve been in Homicide for eight years, been on the force for twelve. I spend most of my time in the field. Active cases, the occasional cold case. I also work with training exercises for cadets when I have the time.”

  “That doesn’t explain why we haven’t crossed paths before. Unless this is your first headliner?”

  “I don’t normally care for the high-profile cases. It’s harder to get to the truth when you’ve got reporters jockeying for position and twisting every word to his or her own needs.”

  “Thank God we’re not beholden to the court of public opinion, then. They’re not so bad if you know how to deal with them.”

  Duke toyed with his empty coffee cup, debating for a moment about getting a refill. “You’ve certainly had enough practice.”