A Matter of Life and Death Page 6

  Hennessey was walking up to his office when his phone vibrated. There was a text from Stacey Hayes. The young DA’s heart rate accelerated.

  The dinner at Bocci’s had been amazing. Ian had been enchanted by Stacey’s beauty and the unmistakable interest she had shown in everything he had to say. There was no question in his mind that he and Stacey had instant chemistry, and what happened after their second date proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she felt it too.

  During the dinner at Bocci’s, Ian had asked Stacey if she would like to go to a movie on Saturday, and she had agreed. After their Saturday-night date, Ian had driven Stacey to her riverside apartment, and she’d asked him in for a drink. Things had moved quickly after that, and Ian had woken from a deep sleep on Sunday morning thoroughly exhausted from the most explosive sexual experience of his young life.

  Ian had spent Sunday in Stacey’s bed, and he’d been thinking of her all week long, but frequent calls to her cell phone had gone to voice mail, and she hadn’t returned any of them. Ian had become frantic. Had he done something wrong? Had she moved? He’d driven by her apartment several times, but there was no sign of her car, and she hadn’t answered her door.

  Ian hurried to a corner of the corridor and phoned Stacey.

  “Ian, I’m so glad you got my message,” Stacey said.

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch all week. Where were you?”

  “I was out of town visiting a friend. I’m such a ditz,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I forgot my cell phone. I just heard your messages and I felt awful. I hope you didn’t worry too much.”

  “I did. I thought something had happened to you, that you’d been in an accident.”

  “That’s so sweet that you worried, but I’m fine, and I’d like to prove how fine. Do you think you could come over?”

  “You mean now?”

  “If you’re not busy.”

  Ian’s mouth went dry, and he felt a stirring in his nether regions. There were trials to prepare for Monday, but he had the weekend to do that. He did have the short court appearance in Judge Carasco’s court, but that was a few hours away.

  “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  “Good, because I’m naked and very horny.”

  * * *

  Ian stared at the ceiling in the bedroom of Stacey Hayes’s apartment and tried to remember what had happened during the last hour and a half. It was a blur, and he was certain that the mind-blowing sex he’d had with Stacey had given him short-term memory loss. Ian grinned. Life was great. No, his life was greater than great since Stacey had come into it.

  The toilet flushed, and Stacey came out of the bathroom. She walked to the bed slowly, which gave Ian an eyeful of her perfect breasts, flat stomach, long legs, and the shaved place between her legs that had occupied his full attention since they had stripped and tumbled into bed. Life didn’t get any better than this!

  Stacey pulled back the covers, and Ian felt a soft hand begin to stroke him. After what they’d been doing, Ian was astonished that he could get another erection. He closed his eyes, barely able to concentrate on what Stacey was whispering in his ear.

  “I need a favor, Ian. Will you help me?”

  Ian grunted. Right now, he would do anything for Stacey.

  “I have something to confess,” Stacey said, her voice low and shy like a little girl. “I lived in Portland a few years ago. And I did something bad.”

  Ian opened his eyes. “What happened?”

  “I was down on my luck, and I was going to be kicked out of my apartment. I was forced to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “I slept with men for money, and I was arrested.”

  “What?”

  “I got scared, Ian. I ran away.”

  Ian sat up. “What are you talking about?”

  Stacey moved away. “I knew you’d get upset.”

  “No, no, I’m not upset. I just … Are you in trouble?”

  Stacey cast her eyes down. “I could be, but you can help me.”

  “How? What can I do?”

  “There are warrants. You can—I don’t know—maybe make them go away.”

  “I could look at the file. Maybe there’s not enough evidence.”

  “What if there is? I mean, I did do it.” Stacey trembled, and Ian thought she might cry. “I’m scared, Ian. Can’t you get rid of the warrants so no one would know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can’t you go into the computer and erase them? Or take the file and make it disappear?”

  “That’s illegal, Stacey. I could be fired or arrested.”

  “If you were caught. But you’re supersmart. You’d do it right. No one would ever know.”

  “I’d know. I think the world of you, but I can’t break the law. I’ll talk to the DA who has your case.”

  “Then he’d know I’m in town, and he’ll arrest me.”

  “I’m not going to break the law.”

  Stacey smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. She got out of bed and took something from the drawer in her nightstand.

  “Aren’t you breaking the law by paying me for sex?” she asked.

  Ian was shocked. “What are you talking about?”

  “What would your boss say if she learned that you’re paying a prostitute who has warrants out for her arrest? Do you think she’d be open-minded?”

  “I haven’t paid you to sleep with me. It would be your word against mine.”

  “Not exactly,” Stacey said. “I’ve got a sex tape for show-and-tell. But I don’t need the tape. Look at you. You’re a pathetic loser, Ian. What are you going to say in your defense? That I gave myself to you because I love you?”

  “Goddamn it,” Ian said as he started to get out of bed.

  Stacey pointed the gun she’d taken from the nightstand. “Whoa, Ian. Control yourself.”

  “You’re going to shoot me?”

  “If you try to hurt me. I’ve done it before when a man tried to take advantage.”

  Ian felt sick. This had all been a scam, and he was the sucker who’d fallen for it. Stacey was right. He was a loser, and he’d been a fool to think that someone like Stacey would fall head over heels for him. But he’d wanted to believe so badly that Stacey could love him that he’d put himself at her mercy.

  “Pay attention, Ian. You’re going to put on your pants, go to your office, and make those warrants go away. Do you understand me?”

  Ian glared at Stacey as he got out of bed.

  “I didn’t hear a yes,” she said.

  “Yes,” Ian forced himself to say.

  “Good boy. Now run along and call me when you’ve done what I’ve told you to do. And don’t take too long. You don’t want to upset me.”

  Ian left Stacey’s apartment in a daze. If he did what Stacey wanted, he would be committing a crime. If he disobeyed her, he would be ruined.

  Ian had just started his car when he remembered that he had a hearing in Judge Carasco’s courtroom in an hour. Carasco was the person who’d introduced him to Stacey. He wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for the judge. Maybe Carasco could talk to Stacey or help him figure out how to get out of this predicament.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The court appearance lasted longer than Ian thought it would. As soon as it wrapped up, Hennessey asked to see the judge. The bailiff came out of Carasco’s chambers and told Hennessey that the judge was tied up on a conference call, but wanted him to wait.

  Hennessey had brought the case files for his Monday trials. He tried to work on them, but he couldn’t concentrate. It was almost six when the bailiff told Ian that the judge could see him. When he walked into the judge’s chambers, Carasco flashed a big smile.

  “Come on in,” Carasco said.

  “Thanks for seeing me, Judge.”

  “Thanks for showing Stacey a good time,” Carasco answered.

  “That’s who I want to talk to you about,” the young DA said.

 
; Carasco looked at his watch. “It’s late and I missed lunch. Let’s get out of here and get a bite to eat. We can talk over dinner. Bocci’s is only a few blocks away.”

  The mention of the restaurant where he’d had his first date with Stacey made Hennessey want to throw up. He was certain he wouldn’t be able to eat a thing, but the trip to the restaurant would give him more time to think about how he was going to approach Carasco.

  The weather outside was as dark as Hennessey’s mood. He hunched his shoulders to ward off the damp, chill wind that was gusting off the river and walked to the restaurant lost in thought.

  Bocci’s was an old-fashioned Italian restaurant with red-and-white-checkerboard tablecloths, melting wax candles squeezed into the necks of Chianti bottles, and an endless tape that played songs like “That’s Amore.” Carasco was well known, and the maître d’ brought him to a booth in the back with dark-stained wood and red leather banquettes. Carasco ordered veal parmigiana, a side of pasta, and a glass of wine without looking at the menu. Hennessey ordered tortellini in brodo, a thin soup with pasta, which was all he thought he could digest. When Carasco kidded him, he lied and said he’d had a big lunch.

  After the waiter left, Carasco talked about an appeal from one of his cases that the Oregon Supreme Court was deciding. Hennessey pretended to be interested, but he was just paying lip service as he tried to think of a way to bring up Stacey and her warrants.

  The meal came. Carasco took a few bites of his dinner. Then he gave Hennessey the opening he needed.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” Carasco asked.

  “I … It’s Stacey, Judge.”

  “Yes?”

  “She’s not what she seems,” Hennessey blurted out.

  “How so?”

  “How well do you know her?”

  “Not that well. She’s the daughter of a friend. He told her to look me up when she got to town.”

  “Did she tell you that she’s lived in Portland before?”

  “No.”

  Hennessey swallowed. He felt nauseous, but he decided the best thing to do was close his eyes and jump off the high board.

  “Stacey has warrants for prostitution from a few years ago.”

  Carasco was lifting a piece of veal toward his mouth, but he stopped his fork in midflight. “What!?”

  “She’s a prostitute.”

  Carasco placed his fork on his plate. “How did you find out? You didn’t…?”

  “No, no.” Hennessey reddened. “We did sleep together, but I never paid her. Only, she’s going to say I did if I don’t get rid of her warrants.”

  “Did you do what she asked?”

  “No. It’s a crime. That’s why I need to talk to you. She said she’d tell Vanessa Cole I slept with her for money if I don’t get rid of the warrants.”

  Hennessey flushed with embarrassment at the thought of the Multnomah County district attorney seeing the sex tape.

  “I don’t know what to do. I thought, maybe, you could talk to her.”

  “I could, but I don’t really know her. There’s no reason she’d listen to me.”

  “You’re a judge. You could threaten her with something. Get a detective in the room. Have her arrested on the warrants or for extortion.”

  “That wouldn’t stop her from involving you.”

  Carasco’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. “Sorry, I have to take this. It’s Betsy, my wife.”

  Carasco talked at the table, and Hennessey heard the judge’s side of the conversation.

  “Hi, honey. No, I’m having dinner at Bocci’s with one of the new DAs. Mentoring. Yeah, I’ll be home soon.” The judge looked at Hennessey. “Do you have the time?”

  “It’s seven fifteen.”

  The judge nodded his thanks. “It’s seven fifteen, honey. I should be back by eight thirty, latest.”

  The judge listened for a moment. Then he said, “Love you.” He disconnected and looked across the table. “This is very serious, Ian.”

  “What should I do?”

  “I need some time to think. Did you drive to work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you drive me home? I took a Lyft in. We can talk on the way.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The cell phone rang. Maria looked up when Joe answered it.

  “One second,” he said before going onto the landing that fronted the second-floor motel room. Joe pressed the phone to his ear and backed against the wall to get away from sheets of rain that were being driven onto the landing by gusts of frigid air.

  “I’m gonna be on the street in five minutes,” the voice on the other end said. “Be there.”

  The call disconnected, and Joe went inside.

  “I’ve got to go,” he told Maria.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I have a job.”

  “What job?”

  “The people who are paying for the motel need me to do some work.”

  “At this hour?”

  “I’ve got to go,” Joe answered.

  “It’s legal, right?”

  “Of course,” Joe said, kissing her cheek as he slipped into a hooded rain jacket. “I won’t be long,” he assured Maria, even though he had no idea how long he would be.

  The giant was behind the wheel of a dull brown Ford. Joe ran through the driving rain and jumped into the front seat.

  “Where are we going?” Joe asked after they’d driven in silence for several minutes.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Give me the phone.”

  Joe did as he was told. Then he watched the scenery as they drove out of the seedy part of town where his motel was located, across the river, and into affluent Portland Heights, which loomed above the city in the hills on the west side of the Willamette.

  The road wound upward past large houses with spacious lawns. Joe had never been in this part of town, and he couldn’t help staring. After a while, the car turned onto a side street with larger lots where the houses were even bigger and hid behind high hedges. The car pulled to the curb in a shadowed area between the glow cast by lights that bathed parts of the street in weak light. The driver pointed at a large Tudor two lots down.

  “That’s the house. There’s no one home, and the alarm’s off. The safe is in the living room on the ground floor behind a seascape on the wall across from the entrance to the room.” He handed a slip of paper to Joe. “This is the combination to the safe. Memorize it.”

  Joe did as he was told, and the giant crumpled the paper and put it in his pocket.

  “There are jewels in the safe. Bring them to me. If there’s cash, you can keep it as a tip. Get in, get out. I’ll be waiting.”

  “I don’t have gloves,” Joe said.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just get me what I want.”

  Joe had a million questions, but he knew he would get zero answers, so he pulled up his hood and sprinted for the house, trying hard to keep out of the light. There was a break in the high hedge that hid the Tudor from the street. As Joe ran up the brick path to the front door, he looked for lights behind the windows and didn’t see any.

  Joe ducked under the portico that shielded the front door from the downpour. He was breathing hard, and he felt shaky. “It’s nerves, just like before a fight,” he told himself and took deep, slow breaths. When he was calmer, he slipped the edge of his jacket over his hand and opened the door slowly, half expecting an alarm to sound. When none did, Joe took another deep breath and walked into a large entryway tiled in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern. A staircase wound up to the second floor. The darkened entrance to a living room was off to the right.

  Joe listened for any indication that someone was home. All he heard was his own labored breathing. “Gotta go,” he whispered as he started toward the living room. He was almost to it when something caught his eye. He took a step and squinted. It looked like a foot. Joe stopped and stared. Shadows cloaked a body. As his eyes adapted to the dark, a leg
and the bottom of a bathrobe materialized. Joe hesitated, terrified of what he knew he was going to see. Then he gathered himself and flipped on the light.

  A woman was sprawled on a Persian carpet that was discolored by blood and spatter from the gashes in her battered face. Joe jumped back, appalled by the carnage, and placed his hand against the wall to prop himself up. It looked like someone had used their fists to beat the woman’s face to a pulp.

  Joe panicked. He ran from the living room, threw open the front door, and raced into the night. When he reached the street, he looked for his ride, but the car wasn’t there. Joe had never been this scared. That’s when he remembered that his prints would be on the light switch and the wall where he had placed his palm. The prints were near the body. He started to go back to the house when a car turned into the street and the headlights illuminated his face. The car stopped, and Joe froze in the glare. Then he threw up an arm to shield his face and raced away from the car. He cut across a lawn and through a gap between two houses. A narrow lane led into woods.

  Joe tripped over a root and fell before bouncing to his feet. He had no idea where he was or how to get out of the woods. All he knew was that his freedom depended on getting as far from the body in the living room as he could.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hennessey’s racing wiper blades were only giving him brief openings in the sheets of rain that smashed into his windshield. Even his high beams weren’t much help.

  “Turn here,” Carasco said.

  When Hennessey rounded the corner, he saw a man standing in the street. Hennessey stomped on the brakes. When the high beams hit him, the man froze. Then he threw an arm across his face before racing away from the car.

  “Who was that?” Carasco shouted.

  “I have no idea,” Ian said.

  “It looked like he was coming from my house.”