Pool Of Lies Part 24

Her first order of business was to check for messages on her cell that had been silent longer than usual. For good reason. She'd forgotten to turn it on. Dumb-a.s.s thing to forget. Especially today. She found one from her son. His text message read: Sorry mist u. Try from Miami.

What's with Miami?

Have newz.

News? What news?

Her finger hovered over the call back icon. Not now, she couldn't deal with any more news. Not personal news anyway. These cubicles didn't really have walls. Just part.i.tions. Not like Veronica's office, which had real walls. Stop it. She couldn't halt the processing of minutia.

She brought Stephen's text message up again. Why couldn't he have left a voicemail? Then she could tell something from his tone. Why didn't he end the text Luv, Stephen, like a letter? Wishful thinking. She knew guys didn't do that, especially to their mothers.

"Well," said Veronica from the doorway, "that was one big, fat nothing."

"Did you really expect an instant confession?"

"There was enough Demerol in her purse to sedate a horse," Veronica said.

"What was she doing carrying it around in her purse?"

"She used it to treat her migraines. It's the brand name for meperidine, one of the drugs that turned up on Kevin's tox screen in such a high ratio that it suppressed his breathing and killed him." Veronica kept her voice low, then added, "Let's go to my office. Bring along whatever you've got from your Bayfield visits."

Once inside Veronica's office with the door closed, Rae watched the detective sink down in her chair and cup her head in her hands. "I have a really bad feeling about this." Veronica's dark mane fell over her face, momentarily obscuring it from Rae's vision. "She's being processed for release as we speak."

"What did you expect? She's rich."

Veronica looked up through angry eyes. "Don't start with that liberal c.r.a.p."

"Don't you start up with me. I'm not even liberal, in case you haven't noticed."

Veronica shook her head, as if to erase the unwarranted jab at Rae. Probably the nearest thing to an apology she'd get.

"What did you find out about the GST tax?"

"Sam Garvin admitted it hadn't been paid. He took full responsibility. Said Morgan didn't know anything about it."

Veronica was quiet for a moment, as she appeared to consider possibilities. "I don't think the tax has anything to do with Kevin's death," she finally said, "but it's something we could use for leverage to maybe get Sam Garvin to implicate Morgan."

"In your dreams."

"What?"

"First, tax evasion isn't your jurisdiction--it's federal."

"I know that. I'm talking about using it as Garvin's possible motive for conspiring with Morgan to kill Kevin."

"He'll file a supplementary return, pay the tax, pay the penalties," said Rae, "but he'll never roll on Morgan. Nor her on him."

"How can you be so sure? We'll do some checking, try to come up with an Achilles heel on one of them," Veronica said.

"Won't do you a bit of good. They're like a pair of wild geese."

"Geese?" Veronica raised an eyebrow.

"They mate for life. Did I mention that Sam Garvin is Deidre's biological father?"

Veronica seemed to puff up with a giant intake of breath that she held, then exhaled with a hiss. "Just how long have you had that little piece of information?"

Rae consulted her watch. "About an hour, give or take--"

"You're not going to tell me they were married, common-law or anything?"

"No. I'm pretty sure they weren't. Why?"

"Because that would make her marriage to Nate Farris invalid."

"What possible relevance--"

"If Nate Farris was not Morgan Bayfield's legal husband, then there would be no chance of him later a.s.serting marital privilege when he was called to testify at her trial. If there is a trial. I can see this whole thing going south."

"What about the informant? You got a warrant. It must have been a solid lead."

"It seemed so at the time. Since Mr. Farris is not picking up my calls, I may have been overly optimistic."

"Nasty Nate is your informant? How'd you manage that?"

"He came to us. Said his wife had been using injectable Demerol for years because it was the only thing that relieved her worst migraines. He believes she used it on Kevin."

"I thought a husband couldn't testify against his wife." Rae's already low opinion of Nate Farris took a new plunge.

"Mr. Farris said he was willing to waive his right to spousal privilege."

"Can he do that?"

"According to the ADA I worked with to get the warrant, he can in a felony case. He's the witness. The potential witness. We don't need Morgan's permission for him to testify."

"You mentioned looking for an Achilles heel. Looks to me like you've already found him. I don't know about the Achilles part."

"He may have reason," Veronica snapped back. "He thinks the lady may have been gearing up to use her latest supply of Demerol on him." Veronica paused. "Now it makes sense. Morgan and Sam."

"Yeah, who'd have thought? Did Nate tell you Morgan would be at Sam's office?"

"His best guess. She wasn't at home when he left."

"That's a pretty big leap," Rae said. "She could have been...shopping."

"It doesn't matter," Veronica said, "if all I have is the Demerol. It's useless without Nate Farris's testimony. Do you have anything else for me?"

"Sam asked if I was wearing a wire."

"I wish you had been."

"I wouldn't do that. Wear a wire. But, I've got something else. It may not seem important at first glance."

"Let me be the judge of that." Veronica motioned toward the guest chair across her desk.

Rae settled down in it, relieved to see the fire sweep back into the detective's eyes.

Nate Farris was sweating profusely, even with the air conditioning on in his Lexus. So, he'd done it. There was no going back now. Literally, no going back.

He hoped he'd have the opportunity to clean out his office, realizing that he should have done that before visiting Veronica Sanchez. If she arrested Sam, too, he'd have the chance after all. But he really hadn't been privy to what was going to be the next step. The Sanchez woman and the black ADA she'd brought in--big guy with gray fuzz for hair--had left him alone while they went off to another room and talked, he guessed, about how credible he appeared to them.

h.e.l.l, he didn't even know if they'd get their warrant. He might even have more time than he really wanted. What if they didn't believe him?

His cell phone tw.a.n.ged. Nate glanced down at the caller ID box. d.a.m.n. Stan Eisley's number like an announcement: We know what you did.

Not necessarily, he told himself. A million reasons why Stan could be calling. Well, at least...maybe...a couple of reasons?

Who was he kidding? Stan Eisley called Morgan or Sam, never him--the appendage husband. The real estate attorney, whom he consulted from time to time, who wasn't even a partner in the firm was who called him.

Nate let the call go to voicemail, waited a bit and then pressed the code for his mailbox. You have one new message. New message: "Nathan, this is Stan Eisley." The man's deep baritone resonated. "I'm with Sam Garvin at the Bayfield office. We have an emergency situation. You need to get here as soon as possible."

That didn't necessarily mean they knew. It could mean Morgan had been arrested, and they were still clueless as to his part. Yes, that was the likeliest explanation.

Just to be sure, he pushed return call. Stan answered on the third ring.

"Nathan? Are you alone?"

"I'm in my car. What's the emergency?"

"Not over the phone. How long will it take you to get here?"

"I'm in Northglenn," he lied. "Depending on the traffic, half an hour? Maybe forty minutes."

"We'll wait."

We? He wondered how many that included. "Uh, is Morgan there? When I left home, her car was gone." It was a legitimate question.

"No," replied Stan. "Morgan is not here." Then the connection terminated.

Nate was just about five minutes from the office, but he'd now have to kill at least half an hour. Shakily, he pulled into a WalMart complex and parked as his cell signaled another incoming call. Thinking it was Stan again, he almost picked it up. A glance at caller ID told him differently. Detective Sanchez. He let the call go to voicemail *****

"What is it? What's the emergency?" Nate looked from Stan Eisley to Sam Garvin, playing his part to the hilt. "Where's my wife? I called home, and she didn't pick up."

"Sit down," Stan invited coldly, in that bigger-than-he-was tone that Nate hated.

Nate could never look at Stan without remembering his surprise at their first meeting. The managing partner of RS&E was small and lean--probably didn't weigh over a hundred thirty pounds. The man clearly didn't match his voice. But his steel-gray eyes had knocked any c.o.c.ky sense of size superiority right out of Nate at that first encounter.

Today was no different. Worse, in fact. They were in Sam's office. Nate felt like a schoolboy called in to see the princ.i.p.al.

"I think you have a pretty good idea where your wife is. We know where you went this morning."

"I don't know where Morgan is. So, tell me, where is it you think I went this morning?"

Then it occurred to him that maybe he should seem more worried about Morgan's health or safety. Oh, that should've been his first reaction. "Has she been in an accident? Is she in the hospital?" he asked a bit too loudly.

"Cut the c.r.a.p, Nathan. Morgan was arrested. You know all about it."

Sam Garvin sat sphinx-like, regarding Nate as if he were a worm. Not the demeanor of a man worried about his own possible implication in a murder.

"I...I..." Nate stuttered.

"Don't," interrupted Stan. "No more lies, please. We know you went to Detective Sanchez at Lakewood PD and gave her access to privileged marital communications between yourself and my client. You gave her medical information about your wife, which you are precluded from divulging by both the HIPAA law and the statutes covering marital communications."

Inside, Nate squirmed to pull himself together. "I know my rights. You can't intimidate me. That's witness tampering."

He heard something very much like a chuckle coming from Sam's direction. This was not unfolding as planned.

"Before you shoot off your mouth any more, you might want to take a look at this." Stan handed Nate a doc.u.ment from the top of Sam's desk--many pages long--on legal paper.

He took the papers, read the top page. So, Morgan was suing him for divorce. "So what? If Morgan hadn't, I would have." Wait a minute. How could she have gotten all this together so soon?

"In case you're wondering, Morgan has planned this for some time. She had been willing to give you a very generous settlement, but in view of your unthinkable behavior, that may change. Drastically."

Nate's confidence was returning. He was even able to muster a bit of a smirk. "You are aware, Stan, that Morgan and I didn't sign a prenup?" He'd thought it strange at the time. Then he had decided that Jerome must hold him in high esteem. The old man would never have been that forgetful. And Morgan would never have thought of defying her grandfather. Conclusion: If Jerome had wanted his granddaughter to have a prenuptial agreement, by G.o.d, there would've been one.

"There wasn't really a need for a prenup," continued Stan, an icy smile on his lips.

Nate's confidence swayed in the chill wind of insecurity. "I know my rights to marital property. I'm allowed one-half."

"I'm sure you would be...if there was any...to speak of."

"You're kidding? Right? How dumb do you think I am?"

Both Stan and Sam seemed to find this amusing.

"Oh, Nathan, I thought you knew. All Morgan's interests in the various trusts are income interests only. She has no princ.i.p.al interest, and the income distributions are by and large discretionary. Antic.i.p.ating that would-be creditors might find Morgan vulnerable, Jerome had us put spendthrift clauses in his trusts for her benefit. But I'm sure he never antic.i.p.ated how these might come into play to protect Morgan from her own husband."

Sarcastic b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Nate began to pace, crumpling the divorce papers that were supposed to preface his new life.

"There's our house. That was a gift. I know gifts received during marriage are marital property."

"You are absolutely right. Gifts received during marriage are considered marital property. But you're wrong about the house you occupy with Morgan." Stan paused a moment, as if to let his words sink in. "The gift from Jerome was of the use of the house. The vesting is in the Elisabeth Bayfield Trust. You never noticed that? On the property tax bills?"

"I..."

"Now, Sam has something to tell you."

"About your job, Nate," Sam was obviously relis.h.i.+ng every word, "are you aware that Colorado is an employment-at-will state?"