"Officer Buckley didn't see everything that happened in the interview room during the crucial time between locking Mr. Hayes and Mr. Dupre in together and seeing my client stab Mr. Hayes."
Robard chuckled and wagged his head. "You get an A--no, an A-plus--for effort, but no cigar. I'm denying release in the case involving Wendell Hayes, and setting bail of one million dollars in the case involving the murder of Senator Travis. Unless there's something else, this hearing is adjourned."
"He didn't listen to a thing you said," Dupre said bitterly.
"I didn't expect him to, Jon."
"So you're saying I'm dead?"
"Not at all. I told you that our forensic expert will testify that your cuts are defense wounds that you could only have gotten if you were being attacked by a knife."
"Why didn't you tell that to the judge?"
"I don't think it would have swayed a hardnose like Robard, and I want to save some surprises for trial. We're working on other leads, too, so don't give up."
Amanda and Dupre spoke for a few more minutes before she signaled Larry McKenzie that her client was ready to go back to the jail.
"I hate to see this cockroach jerking you around," McKenzie said as he tugged on Dupre's chains to get him to stand.
"I'm sorry if I surprised you, but I didn't think of calling you until Officer Buckley testified."
"No hard feelings," McKenzie told her, but Amanda wasn't certain that he meant it.
"I appreciate the preview of coming attractions, Amanda," Tim Kerrigan said when Dupre was out of earshot.
"We aim to please."
"You're not really going to argue that Dupre killed Wendell Hayes in self-defense, are you?"
"We'll see."
"Good luck."
Amanda was stuffing her file into her attache case when Grace Reynolds, a reporter from the Oregonian , walked up to the low fence that separated the front row of the spectator section from the counsel tables. Grace was a slender brunette in her late twenties. She'd interviewed Amanda on two occasions for feature stories and had once double-dated with Amanda when they were both going out with attorneys from the same firm.
"Hi," Grace said. "You certainly wowed the judge. I haven't seen Ivan the Terrible smile that much since he imposed his last death sentence."
"Are we off the record, Grace?"
"You're not going to be Amanda 'No Comment' Jaffe with your old drinking buddy, are you?"
"Afraid so."
"I was hoping you'd give me an exclusive on the homicidal pimp."
Amanda winced. "You're not going to call him that, are you?"
"We're taking it up at the editorial meeting. Of course I might argue against it if you gave me some reason to believe that I'd be committing libel. And don't try to sell me on the cockamamie story you gave the judge."
"I must be losing my debating skills."
"Or your mind. That was the most outrageous argument I've heard since the Twinkie Defense."
"Didn't that win?"
"I don't remember. So, do I get my exclusive?"
"No can do, right now. But I'll promise to think of you when the time is right, if you'll answer a question for me."
"Ask."
"You were at the jail when Hayes was killed, right?"
"Down in Reception." She shook her head. "What a bummer."
"I checked with Harvey Grant's clerk. Grant appointed Wendell Hayes to represent Jon Dupre a little before one on the day that Hayes was killed. He made the appointment in his chambers, not in open court, and the press wasn't invited. Hayes walked over to the Justice Center half an hour after he was appointed. How did you and the other reporters know that Hayes was going to be at the jail?"
"We got a tip."
"From who?"
"Mr. Anonymous."
"Do you know if the tip was anonymous for everyone?"
"I didn't ask."
"Okay, thanks."
"What's going on, Amanda?"
"I promise you'll be the first to know when I figure it out."
"Lets get together for a beer or a movie sometime," Grace said. "No business."
"Sounds good."
Kate had watched the exchange. "Why the question?" she asked once Grace left the courtroom.
"Only Judge Grant, Wendell Hayes, and Grant's clerk knew that the judge was going to appoint Hayes. If Hayes wanted to distract the guard at the desk so he could smuggle in the shiv, it would help to have a pack of howling journalists flashing lights in Larry McKenzie's eyes and causing their usual havoc."
twenty- Seven
As soon as the press conference was over, Stan Gregaros and Sean McCarthy joined the prosecutors.
"What did you think about the hearing?" Kerrigan asked the detectives.
"Slam dunk," Gregaros answered. "You're gonna have a ball at the trial if Jaffe sticks with her bullshit theory that Dupre acted in self-defense."
"We've got some more evidence to use against Dupre," McCarthy said. "Remember Rittenhouse telling us that Travis said that 'Jon' was going to make everything okay on the night of the murder?"
Kerrigan nodded.
"I had Dupre's phone records sent over. A call was made from his house to Travis's place in Dunthorpe on the evening Travis was killed."
"Another nail in Johnny boy's coffin," Gregaros said.
The detectives and the prosecutors conferred for a few more minutes before Tim and Maria took the elevator to the district attorney's office.
"I've actually got some work to do in another case, Maria," Kerrigan said. "Why don't you do some research on the evidentiary issues we talked about and we'll touch base tomorrow."
"I'll get right on it."
Maria walked away and Kerrigan entered his office. He dumped his files onto his desk and hung his jacket on a hook, closing the door behind him. As he was loosening his tie, he found himself remembering the blonde he'd seen briefly in the courthouse. Something about her seemed familiar.
Kerrigan's intercom buzzed.
"There's a Miss Jasmine on line two," his secretary said.
Kerrigan froze, and in that second he pictured the blonde again and knew for a fact that she was Ally Bennett.
Kerrigan lifted the receiver.
"Hello, Frank," a husky and familiar voice said.
"I think you've got the wrong person," he said carefully.