real jerk.
I picked up the phone to call Roger but couldn't bring myself to ignore
the message light on my phone.
It was Chuck. "Hey, babe. Good news back from the crime lab. Give me
a call."
I hate those messages that keep you hanging. Either tell me what you
need to tell me or ask me to return the call. I was eager for the lab
reports but felt obliged to get the call to Roger over with.
I dialed the first six digits of his number before tapping on the
handset for a new dial tone. A call to Susan Kerr would allow me to
procrastinate a little longer. I still needed to talk to her about
Tara's suspicions that Clarissa was seeing someone else, not to mention
her little visit this afternoon from Townsend.
When I identified myself, she jumped right in.
"I'm so happy you called. I was going to see if there's anything I can
do after Townsend's press conference last night. I was in bed by then
and couldn't believe what I saw in the paper this morning. I didn't
even know he had a lawyer."
"Neither did we."
"Would it help if I called someone at the mayors office to support the
bureau? I know I was a bit critical of how the police handled the
situation with Townsend Monday night, but I think you're all doing a
great job."
I assured her that I appreciated the offer, but there was no need for
her to pull strings. "But, since you brought it up, do you have any
idea why Townsend would rail against us like that?"
"No, and it shocks me."
"He didn't mention it when he was at your house this afternoon?"
Wow. I hadn't planned on blurting it out that way. Very Perry
Mason.
Unfortunately, it didn't have a Perry-Masonian effect. Instead of
breaking down and sharing a lifetime of secrets with me, Susan Kerr
made me feel like shit.
"Are you actually having Townsend followed or something? My God, are
you watching my home? Maybe Townsend was right to rail against you, as
you put it."
I immediately launched into a back pedal, explaining that I had passed
her house on my regular run and happened to notice his car.
"If you had simply asked like a regular person instead of ambushing me,
I would have told you all of this anyway. What I was about to say was
that I can only chalk up the press conference to the fact that Townsend
just hasn't been himself since well, since, Clarissa was found. He's
been drinking more, and sometimes he'll start rambling incoherently. My
best guess is that someone from work might have suggested it, because I
know it didn't come from me or Clarissa's family.
"As for his visit this afternoon, if you must know, I initially
suggested it, hoping to pull out some of the old Townsend. When he's
in work mode well, everything else sort of fades away. I've been
helping him with some fund-raising for the hospital's pediatric wing
and thought it might help him to put his mind back into that for the
afternoon. But of course he told me about the arrest, and one thing
led to another. I wound up crying away another afternoon, while he sat
like a zombie on the sofa. So, no, we did not talk about the press
conference."
I didn't know what to say. I floundered around for an appropriate
apology, finally lamely offering that I was sorry for her loss.
She sighed. "I know. I can tell you care, and I do appreciate it. My
God, I thought it was hard when I lost Herbie, but to have a loss like
this I don't know how Townsend will ever get over it. Quite honestly,
I'm beginning to question his stability. He doesn't seem to be
thinking straight."
Her worries about Townsend made it even harder to share what I'd heard
from Tara. I omitted T. J. Caffrey's name for the time being.
"Boy, you are full of good news today, aren't you?" Her attempt at
levity didn't change the fact that she wasn't having any of it. "I
know I've already told you this," she said, "but Clarissa and Townsend
had a perfectly normal marriage. Well, about as normal as it can be
given how hard the guy works. But, trust me, if there was something
wrong, Clarissa would have told me. And, my God, if she was cheating "
She laughed at the mere thought of it. "She'd definitely tell me
before she'd say anything to Tara."
"I'm just trying to reconcile Tara's information with everything else
we've heard," I explained. "Why would Tara make something like that
up?"
"Perhaps she misinterpreted something Clarissa said. We all vent about
our husbands now and then, don't we? And Tara can be very
melodramatic."
"She seemed fairly certain about Clarissa's meaning," I said.
"Just because she was sure doesn't make her right. And even if
Clarissa was fooling around which I'm sure she wasn't what use is there
in bringing it up now? I understood from Townsend that you had a
mountain of evidence against this Jackson guy."
"We do," I said, "but we still need to cover our bases. I don't want
the defense springing something on us down the road because we were
afraid to ask the tough questions."
"Well, you've asked them, and my answer hasn't changed. Clarissa
wasn't like that, and I hope you'll leave it at that. If the police go
to Townsend with this, it could send him right over the edge."
Tara had expressed the same concern. Townsend might be the one in
charge at the hospital, but apparently, in other areas of his life,
those closest to him felt the need to be strong on his behalf.
"I know you're worried about Townsend," I said, "but I hope you're not
holding back information you think would hurt him. Tara already told
me that's why she initially didn't say anything about this."
"I am most definitely not holding back with you. If anything, I feel a
little guilty for mentioning Townsend's irrational behavior. But I
don't want to hear anything else about Tara's little suspicions. This
son of a bitch Jackson killed my best friend. You just told me a
second ago that it was basically a sure thing. But instead of anyone
asking me about her life or what she was like or how wonderful she was,
you just want to make sure she was a good wife."
I did my best to explain how important the questions were to the case,
and she did her best to say she understood. But I nevertheless hung up
feeling like the worst kind of bottom feeder.
I probably should have waited before calling Roger, but I didn't.
"Roger Kirkpatrick." I could picture him in an office high above the
Willamette, feet on his desk, answering the phone on speaker to avoid
wasting his valuable time on extraneous hand movements.
"Roger, it's Samantha."
"I assume you're calling about Easterbrook?" He still hadn't picked up