Fatal Flaw Part 17

"Offer and acceptance. We have a contract."

"I don't think so. All material terms were never spelled out in full, the offer was at all times contingent, the contingency failed, and the offer was withdrawn well before you accepted. Pleas are not governed by the laws of contract but even if they were, your claim would fall."

"We'll see what the judge has to say about it."

"I suppose we will."

I stared at him. He grinned at me.

"What did you find?" asked Beth.

He leaned back in his chair, webbed his hands and placed them behind his head. "Juan Gonzalez."

"The ballplayer?" I said, a false confusion in my voice.

"No, not the ballplayer," said Jefferson.

By the file cabinet Stone laughed lightly. Breger, gazing up at the ceiling, kept his broad face free of expression.

Beth's features betrayed her shock. I tried to replicate the expression, though it was hard. It was hard. The moment I saw Jonah Peale come out that frosted-gla.s.s door, I knew. Of course I knew. I had set the whole thing up.

"Mr. Peale will be added to our witness list," said Troy Jefferson. "He's an interesting man, Jonah Peale, with an interesting story to tell."

"He'll ruin his practice," I said.

"Yes, I expect his testimony might do serious damage to his law firm, but still, he feels compelled to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. At one point he wanted to avoid publicity but now he is interested only in seeing that Mr. Forrest suffer the full force of justice."

"I don't understand," said Beth.

"It seems, somehow, that Mr. Peale learned his daughter wants her husband back. Imagine that. Mr. Peale would prefer to lose his business than to allow a murderer to move back in with his daughter and grandchildren."

I closed my eyes, fought back the nausea. This was all my doing, I had just destroyed my client's chance to live at least part of his life out of jail. "He didn't do it," I said.

"And you'll have every chance to prove it, Victor. But what we really have now is a simple case of fraud where the co-conspirators fell out over money. Stone here has checked out the finances."

"Were you aware of the withdrawals by Miss Prouix?" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you know where the money went?"

"Attorney-client privilege forbids me from saying anything. But I can say that my client was aware that money had been withdrawn and he had no problem with it."

Breger snorted.

"Sure," said Stone. "What's a million bucks among friends?"

"We believe," said Troy Jefferson, "that we finally understand what happened. They stole the money together, she transferred it out of the joint account for her own purposes without telling him. In a rage over the stolen money, and her dalliance with another, shown by the DNA, he killed her. It happens all too frequently, a sad tale often told. And we'll tell it well."

"It's not the truth," I said.

"It's as close as we need to get. I hope your preparation is moving apace, Victor, because the stakes have been raised. Man one is off the table. Tomorrow we're filing the Commonwealth's Notice of Intent to Seek the Death Penalty. The game is on, my friend. Oh, yes, the game is on."

AFTER THE meeting I stepped out onto the courthouse steps, blinking at the bright sun shining through the perfect blue sky. The air was fresh, spring was strutting its stuff, and for the first time in a long time I noticed it. I noticed it all. meeting I stepped out onto the courthouse steps, blinking at the bright sun shining through the perfect blue sky. The air was fresh, spring was strutting its stuff, and for the first time in a long time I noticed it. I noticed it all.

"What are we going to do?" said Beth.

"I don't know what we're going to do." I took a deep breath, let the oxygen soak into my lungs like an elixir, and then loosed a great yawn. "But I think what I'm going to do is go home and take a nap."

"Victor? Are you all right?"

"I'm just a little tired. Just a little. I haven't been sleeping. I'll drop you at the office first and then I'm going home. Could you tell Guy the bad news?"

"Victor?"

"I would do it myself, except I need to close my eyes. Just for a few minutes."

It was still afternoon when I got home, stripped off my suit, slipped between the covers. It was still bright outside, sunlight was leaking through the gaps between my window and my shade. I stared at the ceiling for a moment. It didn't break apart, it was inert, safe. I closed my eyes and slept like a dead goat.

When I awoke, it was dark and silent and I knew exactly what I needed to do. I might not have known what the h.e.l.l I was doing before, I had never before contemplated doing what I had contemplated doing to Guy, but now I was on more comfortable ground. A girl was dead, my lover was dead, and she left me now a mystery to solve, a simple mystery. Who the h.e.l.l had killed her? To save Guy and enact my vengeance both I needed only to unlock the mystery, ferret out the motive, and find the murderer. And I believed just then I already had the key.

I was wrong, of course. There was nothing simple about the mystery of Hailey Prouix's death, just as there was nothing simple about Hailey Prouix herself.

But d.a.m.n if I wasn't right about the key.

21.

"FIRST PHILADELPHIA, Market Street Branch, Allison Robards speaking." Market Street Branch, Allison Robards speaking."

"Hi, Allison. Tommy, Tommy Baker, over at First Philadelphia, Old City. How you doing today?"

"Fine. Tommy, is it?"

"That's right. Tommy, Tommy Baker."

"Tommy Baker, that name is familiar. Did I meet you at the Christmas party?"

"Remember the fellow in the checked jacket dancing that dance?"

"The bald one?"

"I'm not bald, I'm follicularly challenged."

"I thought the name was familiar. Tommy. Tommy Baker. How are you, Tommy?"

"Great. Doing great, except for our computers. Are you guys up, or is the whole system down?"

"No, we're up. What do you need?"

"I got a police detective in here asking about one of our accounts. The name is Hailey Prouix."

"Hailey Prouix? Isn't she...?"

"Exactly. But with my computer down, and it's been happening a lot. Someone is s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up. Who's the vendor, you know?"

"Not my department."

"They said her office was near your branch, so I thought you might be able to help."

"Okay, sure, Tommy. What was the name again?"

"P-r-o-u-i-x. Hailey. With a suburban address."

"Here it is. Account number 598872. We are the home branch. She opened the account here two years ago."

"All right, great. What's the balance?"

"One-oh-three-four-two and fifty-six."

"Any recent activity?"

"Checks, nothing strange. Except..."

"Go ahead."

"A wire transfer about two months ago, February eighteenth. Big amount. Whoa. Four hundred thousand."

"You don't say. Where to?"

"Don't know, location isn't listed here. It's number WT876032Q. You'd have to check Wire Transfers for specifics."

"Okay, that's great, thanks. And as the home branch, you guys have her safe-deposit box, too?"

"Let me look. Hold on a sec, I'll have to check the cards."

Long pause.

"No, no, we don't have a safe-deposit box registered in her name."

"All right, thanks a load."

"No problem."

"And, Allison. Have a nice day."

THE KEY.

It sat on my desk, the little chunk of metal, one end rounded like a clover, the other jagged like the teeth of one of the winos on North Broad Street. And stamped into its head the words ./. Canton, Ohio, the birthplace of football and home to the pro football hall of fame. Also the home of Diebold, Incorporated. From the moment I first laid eyes on it in Hailey Prouix's desk drawer, I knew what it was. Diebold didn't make just any old lock and key. Diebold didn't make filing cabinets or desks or padlocks or cars. Diebold made vaults, bank vaults. This was the key to Hailey Prouix's safe-deposit box, the hiding place for her secrets, both personal and financial. A man in black had searched the house after the murder, apparently looking for this very chunk of metal. And in my vomitous encounter with Skink, he had told me that he knew I had it and that he wanted it, wanted it badly enough to let me know he wanted it. I had taken it on a whim but suddenly, in my desire to save Guy's life, I had a great need to know what was inside its box.

I used the phone I had given to Hailey, to keep the records off my office line, and geared myself up for the role, shaking my neck, jiggling my arms, breathing like a prizefighter about to enter the ring. What I needed was the right voice. A job like this depended on voice. With the right voice you could work wonders. Tommy, Tommy Baker. With my rumpled suits, my spreading rear, my comb-over. I had risen fast at the start, but then my career had stalled, along with my life. My wife had gained thirty pounds, my daughter had pierced her tongue, my car smelled like a cat, and I was trying to make that new teller but she didn't seem interested. My weight was high, my blood pressure higher, I drank too much because by my age my father was dead. What I needed was a tone of overt jocularity covering a vast sea of despair. The jocularity I could fake, the despair I didn't need to.

"FIRST PHILADELPHIA, Ardmore Branch." Ardmore Branch."

"Hi, this is Market Street. Who am I speaking to?"

"Lat.i.tia Clogg."

"Hi, Lat.i.tia. This is Tommy, Tommy Baker. Allison Robards over here suggested I give you a call."

"Allison?"

"She said she had some questions for you before and that you were a great help."

"Allison? Oh, yeah, Allison. Pretty little blond girl."

"That's the one. Look, I have something you might be able to answer. I have been getting some information requests from Legal about account number 598872, which was opened by a Hailey Prouix in this branch about two years ago."

"Isn't she...?"

"That's right. What was the Daily News Daily News headline: headline: SHOT THROUGH THE HEART SHOT THROUGH THE HEART? What do you think of that, huh? Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"Wonder about what?"

"Fate. Life. The price of bananas. Who knows? But Legal, man. You should see the mess of forms they want us to fill out. It's going to take a week."

"I bet. First thing let's kill all the lawyers, right?"

"Who said that?"

"Wasn't it like Nixon or somebody?"