Part 34 (1/2)
”I don't think an offer of hospitality const.i.tutes a story, Mr. Mardnez. And I might remind you, there are laws against posting fiction as fact. But you're a reporter. You know how careful you have to be.”
”Yes, ma'am. My source was pretty good, but I'll double-check. Could make a story out of what I've got. You know, a retrospective. Put it in front of the public one more time. Would be great to have something from you, though, to round it out.”
The man gave another Eeyore sigh. Tara wasn't fooled. She'd met reporters she thought were brain-dead only to find them sharp as tacks. So when Martinez held up his hand in what pa.s.sed as a wave, Tara took the initiative.
”On some other matter, Mr. Martinez, and only at my office, please.”
”Sure thing,” he said, not put off by her rejection.
”You never can tell how these tips are going to work out, can you?” He looked at her, heavy lidded then looked away and began the tortuous ritual of leaving.
Back in his little Good & Plenty car, he coaxed his cranky clutch into gear and drove down the road he had come up only moments before. Tara rested her hands on the low wall and stood looking after him. When he was gone, she tilted her head back and howled like an animal, just once, just loud enough and long enough to get it out of her system. Finished, content knowing no one had heard her lose her last shred of composure, she calmly went into the house, got her car keys, and headed out.
”Woodrow, I thought we were done with this nonsense. I can't believe you're still trying to force this issue. Does an election mean so much to you that you would sell me out to the press just so you can look good? You've not only put a wedge between Charlotte and me, you've brought George in on it, and now you're whispering in a reporter's ear that I've got the Circle K. killer in my backyard.”
Woodrow sat in front of Tara's desk, she behind it. Not a harsh word pa.s.sed between them because Tara knew it would do no good to scream, and Woodrow was still in shock. This wasn't what he'd antic.i.p.ated when Caroline had called and asked him to stop by.
”What are you talking about? I did no such thing.”
Tara was surprised, too. She hadn't expected him to look honestly dumbfounded. It threw her for a minute, but she recovered nicely.
”Woodrow, I came to you in good faith with this problem. In good faith, I a.s.sumed, you took a stand that wasn't concordant. I accept that. Woodrow. And I a.s.sumed that after we'd been to see Sepada and it was clear that neither of us had recourse, we would let the matter drop. Didn't we agree to that?”
Tara sat back and looked at him full face, her blue eyes icy. To his credit he looked back quietly, waiting to hear what was next.
”What possible good could come from planting a story and scaring the public half to death when there's no solution for our problem? I don't see how you could think that you could forward your campaign when you can't deliver on an indictment?
And Woodrow, did you honestly think sending a reporter to my home would intimidate me?”
”I didn't think anything, Tara, since I didn't talk to any reporter. I didn't send anyone to your house and I resent being called here and spoken to like this.”
Woodrow no longer looked surprised. He didn't look angry and Tara finally saw what kind of governor he'd make. A good one because he didn't back down and he lied like a pro.
”Resent it all you like. You've been free with in forma don before. I don't see why you should balk at telling the press,” Tara said.
”I'm willing to forget this. I'm willing to go back to the original deal.
A psychiatric workup and state commitment or nothing. We'll just wait.
”But if you pull anything like this again, I'll talk to the press. And I'll tell them how you refused to get a murderer off the street. You had the opportunity, and you blew it. I think it'll make a fine story. They can run it next to the Strober inquiry.”
”You wouldn't dare!” That got a cool rise out of Woodrow, but it was Tara who stood.
”Yes, I would,” she said calmly, gathering her papers.
”I just realized, Woodrow, there's very little percentage in not being creative. This is the new Tara Limey. Be on your toes. Now, I have a deposition to take. I just wanted to make sure we were clear about everything. Don't pull any fast ones, Woodrow, *cause I'll pull them right back, and I'll do it better. If you'll excuse me.”
”I will not.” Woodrow was out of his chair, meeting her halfway around the desk.
”You're really arrogant, Tara. You think everything is being done to you. Did it ever occur to you that you might have done it to yourself? I'm not the only one who's been asking about this guy. You've been trying to get a psychiatrist to see your boy. Since I don't have a report, I'll a.s.sume n.o.body wants to touch him. Didn't you tell me you saw his old shrink? Why should I believe that you didn't spill it to him? Or maybe he knew all along and he's been talking. So get off your high horse, Tara, because there are a hundred ways a reporter could get something like this.”
Tara looked at him, knowing in her gut that he was grasping at straws. But her gut was telling her something else too. Standing face-to-face, she didn't feel the vibes she'd expected. Indignation, yes. But guilt was missing.
”Look,” she said, ”I was ready to wait. But now I have to make a judgment call based on the facts in evidence. Those facts tell me that you have a history of sharing information, you have a use for my client, and you could manipulate the press in your favor. I have no choice but to a.s.sume the leak is coming from you or is directed by you. I'm asking you to stop now, Woodrow.” Tara hugged her papers tighter and raised her chin.
”I promise you, no more confrontations. Neither of us wants to be running in and out of each other's lives screaming.
From here on out I take my cue from you. You send reporters sneaking around, I promise to give them a story. And you won't come out looking like Prince Charming.”
Tara started to walk around him, but Woodrow stopped her.
”Tara. Please believe me. I had nothing to do with leaking this information. And remember this is my life we're talking about here. You're saying you'll tell on me if I tell on you, like this is a game. This could ruin my campaign, my standing in the community. This guy's a murderer. He deserves what he gets. I'm only trying to do what's right.”
Tara softened, seeing in him a man afraid, and she was sorry for that.
”And I'm trying to do the same, Woodrow. There are real lives at stake here.
My client's, for one, and that's where my loyalties lie. I've promised to be his advocate. I'll do that to the letter of the law and in the spirit of it, too.
I can't worry about your professional future.”
She walked out the door with a nod. There was nothing more to say. Ten minutes later, Woodrow was gone, and Tara was deposing a witness to the fateful crash involving her client Johnnie Rae Riskin. At least Johnnie Rae's case would have a conclusion. For that Tara was grateful, and she gave her full attention to the matter at hand. Even when Caroline slipped into the conference room and pushed a note onto the table beside her, it took Tara a minute to realize Caroline was waiting for an answer.
Tara un.o.btrusively slid her right hand toward the note, still listening to the woman being deposed.
She read it, and jotted her directive. Caroline was to call Dr. Crawford and advise him that she would be unavailable for an early dinner. She would be leaving as soon as the deposition was done.
Gina Patton had found Bill Hamilton's parents.
Seventeen.
”Good.” Tara flipped through Johnnie Rae's file and found what she wanted.
”Caroline, do me a favor and contact Johnnie Rae's employer. Ask him if we can change the time of his deposition.”
”His lawyer's Phil Harmon. We already asked for an extension on this guy. Harmon likes to keep his appointments. This time he's going to be mad.”
Tara snorted softly.
”Phil only gets mad because changes interfere with his manicure appointments.
Leave a message on my machine if you have any trouble getting him to agree. I'll call him at home tonight to see if I can straighten it out. Do you have the calendar?”
”Yep.” Caroline flipped open a black, leather bound book.
”How about a week from now? Same day. Same time.”