The Last Innocent Man Page 5

  The moment ended and the woman’s hand flew to her mouth. She gasped. David stood up, placing his drink on the terrace.

  “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” he said.

  “It’s not your fault,” the woman answered, waving her hand nervously. “I was thinking and I…” She let the sentence trail off.

  “Okay,” David said, “you’ve convinced me. We’re both at fault. How about calling it a draw?”

  The woman looked confused; then she laughed, grateful that the awkward moment was over.

  “My name is David Nash.”

  “I know,” the woman said after a moment’s hesitation.

  “You do?”

  “I…I was listening when you were talking to that woman about the murder case.”

  “You mean that Ashmore business?”

  “She upset you, didn’t she?”

  Now it was David’s turn to hesitate.

  “It wasn’t pleasant for me to try that case, and it won’t be pleasant to retry it. I don’t like to think about it if I don’t have to.”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said self-consciously. David immediately regretted his tone of voice.

  “You don’t have to be. I didn’t mean to be so solemn.”

  They stood without talking for a moment. The woman looked uneasy, and David had the feeling that she might fly off like a frightened bird.

  “Are you a friend of Gregory’s?” he asked to keep the conversation going.

  “Gregory?”

  “Gregory Banks. This is his house. I thought you were with that group that was talking about the case. Most of them are Gregory’s friends.”

  “No. I really don’t know anyone here. I don’t even know why I came.”

  She looked down, and David sensed that she was trapped and vulnerable, fighting something inside her.

  “You haven’t told me your name yet,” David said. The woman looked up, startled. He held her gaze for a moment and saw fear and uncertainty in her eyes.

  “I’m afraid I have to go,” she answered anxiously, avoiding his question.

  “But that’s not fair,” David said, trying to keep his tone light. “You know my name. You can’t run off without telling me yours.”

  She paused, and their eyes met again. He knew that she was debating whether to answer him and that her answer would determine the course of the evening.

  “Valerie,” she said finally. “Valerie Dodge.” And David could tell by the firmness in her voice that Valerie had resolved her doubts in his favor, at least for the moment.

  David had a lot of experience with women, and there was something about this one that he found intriguing. Common sense told him to go slowly, but he noticed a change in her mood. When she told him her name, she had committed herself, and his instincts told him to take a chance.

  “You’re not enjoying yourself here, are you?” he asked gently.

  “No,” she answered.

  “I wasn’t either. I guess that woman upset me more than I’d like to admit. Look, I’d like to make a suggestion. I know a nice place in town where we can grab a late supper. Are you interested?”

  “No,” she said, momentarily dashing his hopes. “I’d rather you just take me to your house.”

  David’s cantilevered house strained against the thick wooden beams that secured it to the hillside. In the daytime you could stand on one of several cedar decks and look across Portland toward the snow-capped mountains of the Cascade Range. In the evening you could stand in the same place and see the Christmas-light grid of the city spreading out from the base of the hill.

  The house was modern, constructed of dark woods that blended into the greenery of the West Hills. It had three stories, but only one story showed above the level of the road, the other two being hidden by the hillside. The house had been custom-built to David’s specifications, and the east wall was made almost entirely of glass.

  David helped Valerie out of the sports car and led her down a flight of steps to the front door. The door opened onto an elevated landing. The landing looked down on a spacious, uncluttered living room, dominated by a huge sculptural fireplace that resembled a knight’s helmet with the visor thrown back. The fireplace was pure white and the carpeting a subdued red. There were no chairs or sofas in the room, but a seating platform piled high with pillows of various colors was incorporated into the sweep of the rounded, rough-plastered walls. The only other furnishings in the room were a low, circular light wood table and several large pillows.

  A spiral staircase on the left side of the room led upward to the bedroom and down to the kitchen area. A balcony that ran half the length of the third floor overlooked the living room.

  “This is magnificent,” Valerie said, taking off her shoes and walking barefoot across the carpet to look at a large abstract painting that hung to the left of the fireplace.

  “I’m glad you like it. Do you want the grand tour?”

  She nodded, and he led her downstairs into the kitchen and dining room, then back to the second level. The den was located on the south side of the house, and it looked out onto the hillside. It was small and cluttered with briefs, legal periodicals, books, sheets of paper, and pens and paper clips. A bookcase was built into one wall, and a filing cabinet stood in one corner. The walls were decorated with framed clippings from some of David’s best-known cases. Valerie skimmed the texts of a few of them.

  “Did you win all these cases?”

  “Those and a few more,” he answered, pleased that she had noticed them.

  “Are you famous?”

  David laughed.

  “Only in circles that you’re not likely to travel in.”

  “Oh, for instance?”

  “Murderers, dope fiends, pimps, and rapists.”

  “How do you know I’m not a rapist?” she asked. She had attempted to ask the question coolly and casually, but a tremor in her voice betrayed her nervousness. She heard the tremor and looked away, embarrassed, when he looked at her.

  “I still haven’t shown you the top floor,” David said evenly. He led her up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. The lights were off and the bedroom curtains had not been drawn shut. They could see the moon floating above the pine shadows.

  Valerie walked across the room and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the picture window, watching the lights of the city. David stood beside her and gently touched the smooth skin of her shoulder. She turned to face him and he took her in his arms. His lips pressed softly against hers. She hesitated for a moment, and her body tensed under his touch. Then she flung her arms around him, pulling him into her, returning his kiss with great passion.

  David stepped back, surprised at the ferocity of her reaction. Valerie looked into his eyes and unfastened the straps of her summer dress. It floated down the long lines of her body in slow motion. She stood in the moonlight, her face in shadows.

  David took off his clothes, his eyes never leaving her. Her body was magnificent. An athletic figure with breasts that were small and perfectly formed. He watched the gentle rhythm of her breathing and the rise and fall of her rib cage under her smooth, tanned skin.

  They touched and she melted into him. They stroked each other, and he forgot where he was and who he was. There was desperation and abandon in her lovemaking, and she moved under him with violence and passion until her body suddenly arched and her eyes closed tight. He could feel her fingers digging into his back and he heard her gasp, then moan.

  They held each other for a while; then David rolled slowly to his back. She pressed her head to his chest and sighed. He wound his fingers through her long blond hair. His fingers strayed to her cheek. It was damp with tears.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered.

  “I’m always sad after I make love. Really make love. I feel…I don’t know…as if I’d lost something.”

  He sat up and gently pushed her back. Moonlight illuminated her hair and made it look like strands of gold against the pale blue of t
he pillow cover.

  “You’re very beautiful,” David said. She turned her head away from him.

  “Have I said something wrong?” he asked.

  “No…I…it’s just that…”

  He placed a finger over her lips, then kissed them. The longing he felt for her welled up in him. She drew him down.

  “I have to go,” she said. “It’s very late.”

  He looked at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was after midnight.

  “Why don’t you spend the night? I promise to cook you a terrific breakfast in the morning.”

  Valerie looked suddenly worried.

  “I can’t stay, David. It’s…I just can’t.”

  “Why?” David asked, concerned by her sudden change of mood.

  “Please, David. It has nothing to do with you. I can’t stay. That’s all. Can you take me back to Mr. Banks’s house? I left my car there.”

  David nodded. She stood up and walked to the bathroom, picking up her clothes on the way. He watched her from the bed. She pressed the light switch, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected her in a halo of light. Each part of her body was like a piece of fine sculpture. The long, thin arms, the well-formed legs, the flat, muscular stomach. He wanted to touch her again.

  She moved out of his line of vision, and he heard the shower door open. David lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling. They had been good together sexually. He felt as if he were giving a part of himself when he was inside her, instead of simply taking. He had not felt that way in a long time.

  The shower started and David turned his head toward the bathroom door. He didn’t want Valerie to leave and he wondered why she had to. The obvious answer was that she was married. That would explain her nervousness at the party. Would it make any difference to him if he found out she was married? No, he decided.

  The water stopped and David started to dress. He wondered what it would be like to love somebody. What he and Monica had was not love, but he had never felt as strongly about any other woman. He thought about Gregory Banks and his marriage, which had lasted so long. What was the secret? Was it all chemical? Was he missing something that other men had?

  Valerie finished combing her hair and turned off the bathroom light. David put on a pair of slacks. He looked at her while he buttoned his sport shirt. Valerie walked around the room, glancing out the window, fingering objects, not looking at him. He wanted to see her again. There was something about her. He wanted to know if what he felt for her was a product of the magic of the evening or something more.

  They rode down from the hills in silence. The view was very beautiful, and neither wanted to break the spell it created. Most of Gregory’s guests had left, but there was still noise coming from the big house. Valerie’s car was at the foot of the long, winding driveway. David stopped behind it. He turned off the ignition and they sat in the dark.

  “I’d like to see you again,” David said.

  She looked suddenly nervous, as if she regretted the evening.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “David,” she said slowly, “I don’t want you to misunderstand. I enjoyed…had a wonderful time…being with you. But I’m a little confused just now.”

  She stopped. He wanted to hold her. To press her. To make her commit herself. But he knew that would be a mistake.

  “All right,” he said. “I’m glad we spent the evening together, too. If you feel the same way, you know how to get in touch with me.”

  Valerie looked down at her lap, then turned quickly and kissed him, opened the door, and walked to her car. David watched her drive off. He was tired and a little down, but he didn’t start back immediately.

  5

  Sunlight streamed through the glass wall of David’s bedroom, and he stretched. The warm morning sun made him feel lazy and relaxed. He opened his eyes. A bird was singing and he could see green pines profiled against a clear blue sky. He should have been elated. Instead, he felt a sense of loss. Nothing overwhelming, but real enough to put him off stride.

  In the bathroom he splashed cold water on his face, brushed his teeth, and shaved. He returned to the bedroom and began to perform calisthenics in front of a full-length mirror. He enjoyed watching the play of his muscles as they stretched and contracted. When he broke a sweat, he did some stretching exercises to loosen up his legs. Then he slipped into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and laced up his running shoes.

  David’s house was on a three-and-a-half-mile road that circled around the hill back to his front door. His morning run took him past sections of wooded area and other modern homes. There were a few other joggers out and he nodded at them as he went by. This run had become a daily routine for the past five years. His body had become a victim of the sedentary nature of the legal profession. Turning thirty had made him self-conscious about the softening process he was going through. So it was back to the weights and miles of jogging and an attempt to return to the muscle tone of his youth.

  It was nine o’clock. He had slept later than usual, but that was okay. He had no court appearances and, at the moment, nothing very pressing to work on other than the Seals case.

  Halfway around, David spotted a pretty girl running in front of him. She made him think of Valerie Dodge. Valerie had had a strange effect on him. Perhaps the mysterious way she had ended the evening was responsible for his desire. Perhaps it was the mixture of passion and reticence that had permeated their lovemaking. When they were in bed, she held him so tight; then, just when he thought she was giving herself completely, he would suddenly feel a tension in her that implied a spiritual withdrawal from the act. It had been confusing, yet entrancing, suggesting a mystery beneath the surface of the slender body he was holding.

  David sprinted the final quarter mile to his house. He showered and dressed for work. He had decided that he could not wait for Valerie Dodge to call him. He was going to find her.

  “Bauer Campaign Headquarters.”

  “Joe Barrington, please.”

  “Speaking.”

  “Joe, this is Dave Nash.”

  “Some party last night, Dave. Tell Greg thanks a million.”

  “I’m glad it worked out all right.”

  “The senator was really pleased.”

  “Good. Look, Joe, the reason I called was for some information. You helped Greg draw up the invitation list for the party, right?”

  “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  “I met a woman at the party. Her name is Valerie Dodge. Tall, mid-twenties, blond hair. I promised I’d give her the answer to a legal question and I lost her phone number. I called information, but she’s not listed.”

  “No problem. Give me a minute and I’ll get the list.”

  “Dave,” Joe Barrington said a minute later, “doesn’t look like I can help you. There’s no one named Dodge on the list. Did she come with someone?”

  “No. She was alone.”

  “That’s funny. I’m certain everyone we invited was on the list. Of course, Greg might have invited someone on his own. Or the senator. Do you want me to check?”

  “Would you?”

  “No problem. It might take a few days, though. We’re all backed up here.”

  “That’s okay. There’s no rush. She’ll probably call me in a day or so if she doesn’t hear from me.”

  “Tell Greg thanks. Don’t forget. The senator’s going to drop him a line personally, but it might take him some time to get around to it.”

  “I’ll tell him. Thanks again.”

  David hung up and leaned back in his chair. No name in the phone book or on the list. Maybe Valerie Dodge wasn’t her right name. If she was married, she might have given him a phony. He had to see her again. The more mysterious she became, the greater became David’s desire. He closed his eyes and started thinking of ways to track her down. By lunchtime he still hadn’t thought of any.

  Ortiz heard Ron Crosby enter his hospital room. He turned his head toward the door. It took a lot
of effort to do even that. His twin black eyes and bandaged nose made him look like a boxer who had lost a fight. His head throbbed and his broken nose hurt even more.

  “Ready to get back to work, Bert?” Crosby asked. Ortiz knew Crosby was just trying to cheer him up, but he couldn’t smile.

  “Is she…?” Ortiz asked in a tired voice.

  “Dead.”

  Ortiz wasn’t surprised. No one had told him, but he knew.

  “Can you talk about it, Bert?” Crosby asked. He pulled up a gray metal chair and sat down beside the bed. This wasn’t the first time he had been in a hospital room interviewing a witness in a homicide. He had been on the force for fifteen years, and a homicide detective for eight of those. Still, it was different when the witness was a fellow cop and a friend.

  “I’ll try,” Ortiz answered, “but I’m having trouble getting it all straight.”

  “I know. You have a concussion. The doctor said that it’s going to make it hard for you to remember for a while.”

  Ortiz looked frightened and Crosby held up his hand.

  “For a while, Bert. He said it goes away in time and you’ll remember everything. I probably shouldn’t even be here this soon, but I was gonna drop in to see how you were, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to pump you a little.”

  “Thanks for coming, Ron,” Ortiz said. He shut his eyes and leaned back. Crosby shifted on his seat. He was short for a policeman, five eight, but he had a big upper body and broad shoulders that pushed past the edges of the chair back. He had joined the force in his late twenties after an extended hitch in the Army. Last February he turned forty-two, and gray was starting to outnumber black among his thinning hairs.

  “I can’t remember anything about the murder. I vaguely remember a motel, but that’s it. I can remember the car, though,” he said, brightening. “It was a Mercedes. Beige, I think.”

  The effort had taken something out of him, and he let his head loll like a winded runner.