She pushed aside her egg-white omelet. She hadn’t taken a bite. “Which way are you leaning?”
“Brian is the only person who was in the house at the alleged time of your husband’s death. So I need to talk to him.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Jack surrendered his last piece of toast to a golden retriever that had been staring at him for the past five minutes with the eyes of a starving child. The dog left, and Lindsey was still locked onto him like radar from across the table, waiting for her answer. “Lindsey, I told you at the outset: I don’t want to represent Brian’s mother if it looks like she killed Brian’s father.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to represent me?”
“Your father-in-law gave me some troubling information. Seems Oscar had a trust fund worth seven figures. It kicked in when he was thirty-five, but he was career military. He thinks you killed him to get off the base and get your hands on the money.”
“That is so typical of him,” she said, her voice taking on an edge.
“Did Oscar leave you his trust money in his will?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Two million and change.”
“So it’s in your name now?”
“No. The estate won’t release the funds to me. Not until it’s established that I didn’t kill him.”
“Damn it, Lindsey. Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“Because I didn’t want you to take on my criminal case just to get a big fat contingency fee in the probate matter. I’m more than happy to pay your usual criminal retainer, but mostly I want you to do this for Brian.”
“Oh, come off it. This is crucial to your criminal case. Two million dollars is plenty motivation for you to kill your husband.”
“Sure it is. If I’d known about it. But I didn’t know anything about it until after Oscar was dead.”
“Oscar never told you?”
“No.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. The Pintado family is a strange one. They are very, very protective of their own. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m Lindsey Hart. Not Lindsey Pintado. Do you know why? Because Alejandro Pintado wouldn’t let his son give me his name. That man never liked me, and for one reason: I’m not Cuban. And when I couldn’t get pregnant and at the very least give him a half-Cuban grandchild, well, then I was truly worthless.”
“I’m sorry about that. But before you start railing against Cubans in general, I should warn you. I’m half Cuban.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. My mother was Cuban. I wasn’t raised Cuban, but-”
“Then you’re not Cuban. Kid yourself all you want, but if you weren’t raised in that community, you are not part of that community. I spent my entire marriage trying to fit in, and as far as that man Alejandro is concerned, I might as well be from outer space.”
“Lindsey, let’s not get off track here. I’m talking about me representing you.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, too. You’re afraid to represent me. You’re afraid of Alejandro Pintado. You’re afraid that if you defend the woman who is accused of murdering his beloved son, it will push you further and further away from being a part of a community that you can never be a part of.”
“That is totally unfair.”
“Don’t talk to me about fairness. Ask my husband how fair this is.”
Jack took the blow, though Lindsey seemed to regret having said it. “Believe me,” he said, “I couldn’t be more sorry about what happened to your family, and I am committed to doing what’s best for your son.”
“That’s very nice to hear. But let me tell you something about commitment. It’s a lot more than words.”
Now there was a speech he’d heard before. “I’m not just saying it to appease you. I mean it. The most important thing here is Brian.”
“And to hell with Lindsey,” she said, scoffing.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. So why don’t you just go to hell yourself, Jack.”
“What was that for?”
“Because you’re acting as if I have no one else to turn to. I’m not some know-nothing wife who followed her husband around the world from one military base to the next. I’ve met some very interesting people-people I would call friends.” She pulled her cell phone from her purse and started scrolling down the list of names in the address book feature. “Look, right here,” she said, showing the names and numbers to Jack. “I could call Jamie Dutton. She works in the State Department. Nancy Milama. She’s married to Tony Milama, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. People like that. I could call them, if I had to. They would help me.”
“Then call them.”
“I didn’t want to call them. I called you because I thought you were right for the job. I thought you might do the right thing, stand up to a guy like Alejandro Pintado and find out who really killed your son’s adoptive father. But it turns out you don’t even have the courage to reach up under your skirt and find your own balls.”
He tried to contain his anger, tried to understand this was a woman accused of murdering the father of her son. But he wasn’t Job. “Lindsey, get a grip on yourself right now, or you and I are done.”
She looked straight at him, her eyes clouded with a swirl of emotion. Anger. Disappointment. Then anger again. “I held my tongue before, Jack, but I’ll say it now.”
“Make it good. Because this may be the last time I’ll listen.”
She seemed about to explode. “I know you were playing games with me the other day when you said you didn’t know Brian was deaf.”
“It was no game. I had no idea.”
“Even with all the joy that Brian brought to me and Oscar, every now and then I still had these awful thoughts.”
“About Brian?”
“No. Never about Brian. About his birth parents. I wondered, Did they know their baby was deaf? And was that the reason they gave him up for adoption? It seemed like such a terrible thing to think about the people who had shared such a beautiful gift. I felt guilty for letting it even cross my mind. But now that I’ve met you face-to-face, now that I’ve gotten to know you and find out what you’re really like, I have to say: That sense of guilt is gone.”
Jack wanted to defend himself, but his thoughts were drifting back to Jessie. Beautiful, brilliant, and incredibly egocentric Jessie. He hated to think it, too. But maybe that was the reason she had opted for adoption.
And he had a little better understanding of Lindsey’s resentment.
She rose and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table to cover her share of the bill. “Good-bye, Mr. Swyteck. And congratulations. I think there’s probably just enough room for both you and Mr. Pintado in your self-absorbed little world.”
Jack sat in silence, staring at nothing, not sure what had just hit him as Lindsey turned and walked away.
10
She is totally yanking your chain,” said Theo.
“You think?” said Jack.
“How many times did I fire your ass when I was on death row?”
“About every other week.”
“See. Ten years later, I still can’t get rid of you.”
Jack was about to point out that this was his house, they were cooking his food, and Theo had his carcass parked on Jack’s couch every weekend, all of which raised some pretty serious questions as to who couldn’t get rid of whom. But Jack decided to leave it alone.
Theo turned his attention back to the stove. He was searing two thick tuna steaks in a crispy coating of lemon pepper, sesame seeds, and ginger. He looked like a short-order cook, spatula in hand, greasy white apron wrapped around his waist. To most people, Theo came across as the kind of guy whose idea of a seven-course meal was a six-pack and a bag of chips, but he was actually quite a good cook, and he enjoyed it. And like most good cooks, he hated meddlers in the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” he asked Jack.