“Correct,” Bradford said. “Absolutely true. I don’t know how they could charge me with anything like this.”
“The charges were made by Xenia,” Murdock said.
Bradford scowled, shook his head. “Not a chance. You’re joking. Why would she make up a lot of bullshit like that?”
“Why?” Masciareli asked. “To spread the blame. To give the cops another victim they could prosecute. To make her a little less guilty-looking. Lots of reasons. Maybe she was mad because you wouldn’t marry her. Maybe she wanted a baby and you said no. Who knows how a woman thinks?”
“Is she out on bail?” Murdock asked.
“Yes, and restricted to the county area.”
“I want to talk to her,” Bradford said.
“Not a good idea,” Murdock said. “But I’m going to. She should be at that studio?” he asked Bradford.
“She lives there.”
“Okay, Bradford,” Masciareli said. “Let’s go over it again from the top. Everything that happened since you started there with the other painters. I want it all. We’ll have a lawyer here this afternoon. He’s Navy, but since this is a civilian warrant, the Navy can have no part in the case. He’s here as a personal favor to me, to see what we can do before you get arrested. If what you say is true, he may be able to help us blow enough holes in the girl’s testimony to get your charges reduced or maybe withdrawn. No guarantees.”
Murdock stood. “I’m going to see that girl. When is the attorney going to be here?”
“Fourteen-hundred. Be careful with the girl. Tell her nothing about what Bradford just told us. Tread carefully.”
“I’ll be back for the 1400 meet.” Murdock picked up his floppy hat and hurried out to his office. Senior Chief Sadler was running the show at Third Platoon. J.G. DeWitt had been sent on a three-day leave to let his arm heal. Lam was back at Balboa, where his leg was being checked over again. They might need to take the cast off and reset the bone.
“Make it an easy day, Senior Chief,” Murdock said. “A five-mile training run this morning, and a five-mile swim this afternoon, then early release at 1600. Bradford will not be here. He’s in a meeting.”
“Heard about the charges,” Sadler said. “Sound phony as hell to me.”
“Yes, to me too. I’ll be back tomorrow, Senior Chief. You’ve got the con.”
It took Murdock almost forty minutes to get out of Coronado, across the sweeping bridge into San Diego, and then downtown to the studio. He’d been there twice to showings, and remembered where it was. The door was locked, so he pounded on it until he heard someone coming.
“Yes, yes, what do you want?” A woman’s voice. There was no glass in the door. It opened slightly, then all the way.
Xenia stood there with two artist’s brushes in her hand. The smock she wore had smudges of a dozen different shades of paint, and there was one small spot of blue on her cheek.
“Oh, it’s you. I remember you from the showing. Bill’s friend.”
“Bill Bradford’s commanding officer. We need to talk.”
“My lawyer told me not to talk to anyone.”
“I’m not Bradford’s lawyer. I’m not anyone’s lawyer. I want to know why you’re trying to ruin the life of a fine young man when you know that you’re lying right through your fucking teeth.”
She stepped back a bit, then smiled. “You SEALs always talk so colorfully. How do you know that it isn’t Bill who’s lying?”
“Because I know Bill. He and I have put our lives on the line for each other a dozen times. We’re bonded in a way you never could be, that you couldn’t even understand. You shit on my friend like this, you shit on me and I don’t like it.”
She took another step back. “Commander, are you threatening me?”
“Hell, no. If I threaten you, young lady, you damn well will know it for sure. I could snuff you right here and get away with it. Nobody would ever know. And you’d be dead and rotting in some garbage dump. I’m not threatening you. In fact, I’m trying to help you.”
“Help, oh, shit, yes, you’re a big help.”
“If you maintain that Bill was your sales agent, we can shoot that down in the first hearing. Then the judge and a jury will go twice as hard on you, and there could even be additional charges brought against you. Whoever your lawyer is must know this. Remind him about it before the preliminary hearing. You must have some feelings for Bill since you’ve been sleeping with him. Why drag him down to your level?”
“I have my reasons.”
“He wouldn’t marry you, would he?”
She turned and flounced away, looked back at Murdock, and threw both slim artist’s brushes at him. “Fuck, no, he wouldn’t marry me. I pleaded with him. He said not quite yet. Too dangerous a job, he had. He said people shot at him, tried to kill him. I said, sure, sure, show me some newspaper clippings. So, he was my contact man for the old masters that we ‘found.’ Nothing on paper, all verbal. Lots of cell-phone calls to Santa Barbara. Easy to trace. Check it out. Yes, that stupid son of a bitch wouldn’t marry me.” She grabbed a painting off an easel and threw it at Murdock, then ran up the stairs to her studio.
Murdock figured the room above would have a lock on the door and it would be a good one. At least he had talked to her. Maybe planted some doubts in her mind. Now to see what the DA and the cops said. He didn’t see how they could have anything more than the girl’s word against Bradford. That wouldn’t hold up in court. Trouble was, Murdock didn’t want this to get to court. No way it should get that far.
Time to get home for lunch with Ardith. Murdock began to grin; it spread across his face, and was still there when he pulled to a stop in front of his apartment in Coronado. He ran up the steps to the second-floor unit and barged in the door.
Ardith Manchester had heard the car stop and had seen him coming. She stood waiting for him.
Murdock stopped just inside the door and stared at her. She was tall and slender, with long blond hair, a face with high cheekbones and perfect eyes, so beautiful it made him wince and wonder at his luck. She was a lawyer working in Washington, D.C., for her father, the senior senator from Oregon. She was so smart and quick and just plain nice that it made him gulp in a quick breath.
“Hi there, sailor.”
“Hi, beautiful lady. I thought you said something about lunch.”
“Maybe just dessert.” She hugged him and put her head on his shoulder, pressing against him hard so he wouldn’t leave her again.
“I have a whole envelope full of Washington Post clippings about our daring SEALs, the hostage busters.”
Murdock grinned again. “Yeah, for once we’re out of the closet. Feels kind of good.” He looked around. “You mentioned dessert?”
She unwound herself from him, caught his hand, and led him toward the bedroom.
“It’s in here,” she said. “I’m it.”
29
Murdock was five minutes late getting to the meeting at Commander Masciareli’s office at 1400. A Navy lieutenant commander was there looking worried. Melvin Price was tall, with a wide body that looked like it was all muscle and tendons. He carried himself like a pro linebacker, and his nose had been broken more than once. He had a flattop haircut, white-sides, thin lips, nervous blue eyes, and the demeanor of a caged lion.
“What the hell do we have here, Bradford?” Price barked.
“Sir, it’s a total fabrication. I have never done any of the things that she charged me with or that are in the warrant.”
Price read part of the papers in front of him and looked up. “She says here that everything you did was verbal, that there will be no records.”
“That also means she has no possible way to prove that he did do anything that she says he did,” Murdock said. “It’s merely her word against his.”