Lassiter 07 - Flesh and Bones by Levine, Paul (best fiction books to read TXT) 📗

"About what?"

"Water. What do you know about Guy's water wells?"

She exhaled a puff of smoke and looked puzzled. "Nothing. He's a farmer, he's got wells. So what?"

"What about an industrial building under construction on the eastern edge of the tree farm?"

"I don't know. What does it have to do with me?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Tell me about you and your brother and Dr. Schein. What secrets does Guy have in his past?"

"How should I know? I was in Europe modeling. I barely even know Guy."

"What about Schein? There's a gap on the tape in the session where you recovered the memories."

"A gap?"

"Yeah, like the recorder was turned off and then back on."

"I don't remember that. Maybe Larry took a phone call. Maybe he gave me another injection."

"When the tape was off, did he tell you what to remember, what to say?"

"Jake, I just said I don't remember the recorder being turned off, so how would I remember what—"

"I thought when you're hypnotized, you remember everything."

"Well, maybe I don't!"

Rattled now. I do that to clients sometimes. Challenge them. Anger them. Push them into telling the truth. It comes with the territory, and usually it's easy. But usually I don't share a bathtub with my murder clients.

"What about the last session, June fourteenth?" I asked. "You told Schein you'd made a decision he wasn't going to like. Then he turned off the recorder and never turned it back on. Two days later, you shot your father."

She waited, though my next question had to be obvious.

"What had you decided?"

She seemed to think about it before answering. "To stop therapy. That's all right, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't hurt the case."

"No, it's fine."

It's a helluva lot better than having decided to be judge, jury, and executioner, I thought. And it made sense, didn't it? Quitting therapy, a decision Dr. Schein wouldn't like. But who knows what she really told the shrink behind the closed blinds of his office? I wanted to believe her. But could I? With clients and lovers, either you trust them or you don't.

I studied her for a moment, then asked, "How did you get to me in the first place?"

She stopped fiddling with the clothes and turned around to face me. "Why are you cross-examining me?"

"It's my job."

"Really? And in the bathtub just now, was that your job, too? Will Guy get billed for the time?"

"I told you it would be a problem if we got involved."

"No, you're the problem."

"Just bear with me, please. Why did you choose me as a lawyer?"

"You know why." Exasperated with me. "Rusty MacLean recommended you."

"I've known Rusty a long time, and he never sent me legal work before, other than his own miscues, which I handled for free. Why now? Why you?"

"I don't know!"

"Does Rusty know your brother?"

"How should I . . . Wait, yes, Rusty told me that Guy agreed to pay your fees."

"When? Before the bond hearing?"

"Yes. Right after you visited me in jail the first time."

"So Rusty knew about it before I did." I turned to her, anger rising in my voice. I was angry at Guy Bernhardt and Lawrence Schein and Rusty MacLean, and angry at myself, too, but it probably sounded as if I were angry at Chrissy. "What else does Rusty know that I don't?"

"Jake, why are you doing this? What's going on?" She seemed to be on the verge of tears.

"I don't know! That's what's going on! I'm about to defend you in a murder trial, and I don't know the truth. I know that Schein and your brother have something cooked up, but I don't know what."

She walked over, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. She stood just out of reach. "And you think I do?"

"No. I think they're keeping something from you, something they don't want you to find out. But you may know a bit of it. You may have picked up some clues."

"If I had, I'd tell you. Jake, after getting this close to you, do you think I could lie to you?"

My heart said no, but my head wasn't sure. "I don't know."

She slapped me. Hard. "You bastard! I just told you I loved you. Do you think that's something that comes easy to me? It's not just the case you don't know about. You don't know me."

"Then tell me. Chrissy, God knows I care about you . . . deeply. I want to be with you, but I can't let that interfere with the case. Tell me everything!"

"I have. My father had sex with me when I was eleven. I repressed the memories. When the memories came back in therapy, the hatred just overcame me. I killed him, Jake. I killed him because of what he did to me, and that's the truth."

"Then we're going to lose," I said.

Rusty MacLean didn't see me coming toward his sidewalk table at the Booking Table Café. If I'd had a little gun in a beaded purse, I might have plugged him just to get his attention. Instead, I ran a Z-pattern around a ponytailed, earringed waiter and approached Rusty head on. He was sitting with two young women, one a freckled redhead, the other a blue-eyed blonde. Their books were spread open in front of them, eight-by-ten glossies spilling out. They were tall and young and freshly scrubbed, and their Caesar salads were barely picked over.

When Rusty finally saw me, he smiled broadly, winked, and nodded his head, first toward one of the women, then the other. "Jake, c'mon. Make it a foursome."

I didn't take the empty chair. Instead, I grabbed Rusty by the lapels of his aloha shirt and yanked him to his feet. I am blessed with strong wrists and forearms, the legacy of fighting big fish on little lines, and I lifted my old teammate cleanly into the air. Wide receivers can run with the wildebeests, but they have no iron in their bones.

"Jake!" His smile was frozen