Stitch in Snow

' Yes, they would be…'

'Dan says he phoned to speak to DJ, and she wouldn't let him.'

'You said DJ wasn't even in the house.'

'That' s right but Dan said Noreen Sue didn' t tell him that.'

' Mr. Taggert, he had two tickets in his hand when we got to the airport on Friday…'

The lawyer's lips set briefly in a thin, angry line. 'Jerry was taking DJ to San Francisco with him. He'd found out… from me… that DJ had been with the McPhersons during the blizzard. He felt, and I concurred with him, that Noreen Sue was not a fit guardian for the boy and he would resume custody of him until the hearing.'

'And?' Because it was apparent somehow this was wrong.

'This has been construed to mean that Jerry knew that Noreen Sue was no longer alive to take care of the boy.'

'Oh!' Yes, I could see how that could be assumed. 'Well, then, who did bang Noreen Sue on the bean and leave her to die? Because it bloody hell wasn't Dan!'

He gave me a warm smile for my outburst.

'Don't you believe me? Him?'

'I do, yes.'

'Well, aren't there other suspects? Surely there were. vandals and thieves out in the blizzard, getting what they could? Or an irate boyfriend of hers? Or maybe she was just… blown down, and hit her head? Slipped on the ice?'

'Unfortunately the prosecution rather fancies their case against Jerry.'

'Well, I'm here now. They have no case against him. I was with Dan all night!'

He sighed. 'That's just it, Mrs. Lovell, without meaning any offence.'

'What's it?'

He sighed, swinging about a rotary. 'Did you have sexual relations with my client, Mrs. Lovell?'

'Yes. I did.' He gave me another fast inscrutable look.

'Although to be utterly candid, that should support his alibi rather than deny it.'

'It should.' He sounded horribly unsure.

'At my age, Mr. Taggert, I've got too much sense to be sentimental about sex. Or to perjure myself.'

He didn't answer immediately as he was steering the big car into a parking lot by an older office building. We were, I presumed, in the business section of Denver.

'That's just it, Mrs. Lovell,' he said, pulling on the hand-brake. 'The prosecution is likely to suggest that at your age, you might do anything for sex. Jerry's a good looking guy…'

I remember having to close my mouth because the cold crisp air of Denver got in as he opened his door. By the time he had opened mine, I was really burning mad. I stalked beside him into the building, seething with fury, impervious to the cold, and tapping my foot on the carpeted elevator as we were silently wafted up to whatever floor his offices were on.

'How do you know that's what they'd try to prove, Mr. Taggert?' I said when we were in his corridor and alone.

He indicated an anonymous door in the corridor that ended in an imposing glass partition with the firm's name in discreet gold leaf. Beyond I noticed a reception area, western in treatment and modern in execution.

He ushered me into his private office, leather stuffed seats, huge heavy leather bound law tomes, a desk with neat piles of paper and a yellow-lined note-pad, full of pencilled phrases, askew on the blotter.

'I know the prosecution, Mrs. Lovell. They're out to get Jerry if they can because they have a possible motive and can prove opportunity. They will try to establish that you are perjuring yourself.'

'But I'm not… Certainly not on the basis of a couple of good tumbles in bed!'

'The hotel staff mentioned a woman in his company on and off. Noreen Sue was, at the time of her death, a blonde, about your size and height, Mrs. Lovell…'

'Good God, doesn't the truth count for anything any more?'

'Sometimes I wonder, Mrs. Lovell. I really do. Right now, I'd like to take down your version… all right, the truth… of the critical time. Stick to the facts only, please.' He depressed a toggle on his intercom and asked his secretary to come in.

'The facts, huh? The version according to Mrs. Lovell? The truth as I see it?'

He gave me a tight smile for my sour parody on the sensational press type headlines. I was repentant for his eyes were tired and cynical. I sensed he was desperately afraid for Jerry-Dan yet here was I, his hope for Dan's reprieve, likely to jeopardise the matter still more. His secretary came in, pad in hand, and sat with quiet attention after giving me a composed nod and smile of greeting.

'I'll need my diary,' I said, unlatching my attache case. 'My brains,' I rattled on, trying to lighten the atmosphere. I opened it to the proper pages and looked first at his secretary and then him in expectation. 'I'm ready.'

'Details first, like your name…'

'My full name is Dana Jane Lovell. I'm sorry, Dana Jane Hartman Lovell. I use D. J. Hartman for my professional papers…'

'Professional papers?' He held up his hand to his secretary to suspend dictation.

'Yes, I have my PhD in Library Sciences and I often publish in Library Journals, and some teachers' magazines, library skills, that sort of thing…' I paused because Peter Taggert was staring at me. 'What's the matter?'

'You really have a PhD?'

'I don't carry the diploma around but you can check with Columbia University in New York. Or in the Who's Who of American Women. I've been listed since 1970.' And that was the first time I'd ever called on that for a reference.

'You're a real, bona fide doctor of philosophy?' He was still incredulous.

'Yes, I am. But it is in library sciences, not…'

He waved an impatient hand at my attempt to qualify. 'You've a masters in what?'

'Education.' -

'Did you teach?'

'Yes, but I didn't really like it…'

'Where?' He wanted the facts, just the facts but he was excited… and more, hopeful.

'In Cambridge while my husband was getting his doctorate in Sociology at Harvard. And then I taught after Raymond died.'

'Raymond was your husband? How did he die?'

'He died of cancer of the lungs fourteen years ago.'

'You've only the one child?'

'Yes, Tim's nineteen now.'

'You never remarried?' He had held up his hand briefly to signal his secretary to hold the dictation.

'No,' and then I grinned at the half-formed question in his expression. 'I've had offers and I've had lovers. But writing's a full time occupation, Mr. Taggert and I've a son to get through college, and that takes too much time.'

'Writer? I thought you were a teacher. Oh, yes, you said you write for journals… Now, let's just get the statement. Barbara?' He glanced at his secretary. 'Go ahead, Dr. Lovell.' And he grinned at me as he emphasised the title.

Again I reduced the facts of a tender love-affair to a dry recitation of times and activities. It sounded worse when Barbara read back the dictation, and absolutely sexless. Which was to Mr. Taggert's satisfaction for he sat there nodding and steepling his fingers. When Barbara had finished speaking, he smiled, leaning back in his chair and idly swinging it on its gimbals.

'Good, good. Would you type that please, Barbara?'

She murmured, nodded pleasantly to me, the modern efficient paragon of a legal secretary and left the room.

'Things are looking much better, Doctor Lovell. Yes, indeed!'

'A difference in degree?'

He bellowed so appreciatively that his secretary poked her head back through the door to inquire if he'd called. He waved her an okay.

'Yes, it does, Doctor Lovell.'

'You mean, PhD's can have affairs with impunity. It's just not done by fuzzy-minded housewives on a mid-winter holiday and hot enough in the knickers to lay anything?'

He shook both head and hands, laughing.

'And PhD's only indulge in erudite discourse and sexless physical exercise?'

'Something like that, Doctor Lovell. Something more like that! Did Jerry know?'