The Perfect Game (7 page)

Chapter Fifteen

(Wednesday, August 17)

Returning to the ER, Lauren still had blood oozing from one knee. She was yanked into an exam room by LaRhonda. Lauren and LaRhonda had very different upbringings, but had immediately bonded over the fact that they had both been orphaned at about the same age. LaRhonda had never known her biological father, and her mother had succumbed to knife injuries incurred during a drug deal gone wrong when LaRhonda was fourteen, cementing LaRhonda's determination to become an emergency room doctor.

“Honey, you are a hot mess.” LaRhonda began to swab Lauren's knee with antiseptic, removing tiny pebbles that embedded in Lauren's flesh. “How can so much gravel find a home in these scrawny legs of yours? Look, I know you don't like to share your personal business. You pride yourself on being tough. Believe me, I know all 'bout that, but you best tell me what's going on.”

All of Lauren's frustration came spilling out, concluding with her paranoia about being Boyd's very real suspect. “They keep telling me they need to rule me out so they can narrow their investigation. That makes sense, right?”

“Wrong! They shoulda been able to rule you out long ‘go. For some reason, they think you did it. I know you grew up in some white-bread town where the biggest crime was stolen panties off some little ol' lady's clothesline, but honey, this ain't Mayberry. You need to get yourself a lawyer and fast. You need me to come with you? Cause I will. I will march into that lawyer's office with you and demand justice.”

Lauren could easily imagine LaRhonda taking the entire judicial system by storm. “No, you don't need to march anywhere with me. Mr. Lawrence gave me the name of an attorney. I'll call him.”

LaRhonda finished off Lauren's knee with a fancy bandage. Lauren began to get down from the exam table.

“Where do you think you'se going?” LaRhonda asked.

“I need to grab some scrubs. That police brutality set me back and I need to get to work.”

LaRhonda forced her own cell phone into Lauren's hand. “You're not going anywhere until you call and get yourself an appointment with a lawyer. And that's final.”

Chapter Sixteen

(Thursday, August 18)

The law offices of Dennis Hopkins were located on the seventeenth floor of a fancy high-rise in downtown Phoenix. The picture windows in the waiting room offered an expansive view. Lauren spotted Camelback Mountain in the distance, Good Samaritan Hospital where she worked, and Chase Field where the Diamondbacks played.

At her three o'clock appointment time, she was escorted back by the receptionist, who introduced her to the man behind the enormous desk before exiting. Dennis Hopkins rose from his chair to greet Lauren with a hearty handshake. He was a large man with a protruding belly underneath his western shirt, jeans, and a large silver belt buckle. He had salt and pepper hair, with extra salt.

Dennis instructed Lauren to sit in one of the bulky armchairs across from his desk. No sooner had her butt hit the chair than he drawled, “I understand you are a suspect in the death of your sister.”

“Who told you that?” Lauren asked, shocked by his bluntness.

“You did. Isn't that why you scheduled this consultation?”

“I suppose so,” Lauren conceded. “The detectives are trying to rule me out so they can narrow the focus of their investigation.”

“Uh huh. And what have they done so far to rule you out?”

“They've questioned me a couple of times. They collected the clothes I was wearing on the evening of the crime. They talked to colleagues to confirm my whereabouts. I took a polygraph test, actually two polygraph tests. I provided DNA and hair samples and they took pictures of my body.”

“Once you get to know me, you'll learn I'm a real straight shooter,” Dennis said. “I don't need to sell my services to those who don't need 'em because I have plenty of potential clients who do. So please believe me when I say you need a defense attorney. Don't hire me if you don't feel comfortable with me, but you need to hire someone. No kidding, no sugarcoating, no fooling around.”

Dennis explained the need to formalize the business contract before having any further discussion, explaining, “Signing the contract establishes attorney-client privilege.” They reviewed it together and Lauren hired Dennis by signing on the dotted line.

“I can begin making some phone calls on your behalf now that I officially represent you. I've practiced in this city my entire career. I even used to be one of those SOB prosecutors once upon a time.” Dennis chuckled. “I'm well-acquainted with most of the judges in this town and a great many of the prosecutors. I'll start making calls today and find out why the police find you so interesting. I don't think it's because you're easy on the eyes, though that will help if we have to go in front of a jury.”

Lauren usually felt uncomfortable when a man complimented her, but she knew Dennis was not hitting on her. He was simply sizing up her potential strengths and weaknesses in front of a jury. She imagined this came naturally to him, just as she was inclined to notice any obvious signs of disease in people.

“Now, Lauren. I never ask my clients if they are guilty…”

“I'm not guil—” she started to say before he shushed her.

“As I was saying, I never ask my clients if they are guilty or not and there are some fine reasons for that. First of all, it's completely irrelevant. That might sound strange to you. Most people think criminal prosecutions are about determining whether the accused is guilty or not guilty, but that isn't true. Trials are about determining whether the prosecution can prove the defendant guilty beyond a reasonable doubt,
and that's a different question altogether. Second, I'm in a better position to defend my clients when I operate on a presumption of innocence.”

That's probably because most of your clients are guilty,
Lauren thought.

“Finally, it is my legal obligation to ensure you do not perjure yourself. If you are charged with this crime, it is your constitutional right to refuse to testify. However, if you did choose to testify on your own behalf, I could not allow you to testify to anything I know to be untrue. You see what I mean?”

Lauren nodded. His rhetoric was stoking her fear as she imagined being charged with Liz's murder.

“For this reason, you and I will often speak in hypotheticals. When I start a question with the phrase ‘hypothetically speaking,' I'm not asking you to tell me about something that happened in your own life, I'm just asking you to explore the facts of the case as you know them in a hypothetical manner. You see what I mean?”

“Yes.” Lauren was familiar with this strategy. Doctors used similar tactics to discuss cases with the hospital legal office.

“I take my job very seriously. Every citizen in this country is entitled to a rigorous defense and that is what I pledge to provide for you. You won't find any other lawyer in this state who would defend you as relentlessly as I will. And…” he paused for emphasis, “…I never violate attorney-client privilege, not even to my own wife. I say that because it is imperative you feel comfortable confiding in me. Do you have any questions whatsoever about that?”

“Yes,” Lauren responded, thinking about doctor-patient confidentiality. Most of the things patients told Lauren were legally protected from disclosure, but there were some exceptions such as threats of self-harm or issues affecting public safety. “Are there any exceptions to attorney-client privilege?”

“None. Zilch, zero, nada. Not even your death would vacate the privilege. Not disclosures of past crimes. There are absolutely no exceptions whatsoever save the one I mentioned already. I cannot knowingly allow you to commit perjury or any other future crime. Anymore questions for me?”

Lauren took a deep breath. “What makes you so sure I need a lawyer?”

“A very good question. When you've been in this business as long as I have, you know what is routine for police investigations and what is not. Asking you questions, confirming your alibi, that's all standard stuff. But collecting DNA and hair samples, and subpoenaing bodily photographs?” He shook his head. “Those things aren't typical. Other questions?”

“No, I guess not.” Lauren's mind was racing, but she couldn't pin down her fears. There were too many.

“Allow me to ask a few of my own. Hypothetically speaking, would you have any reason to kill your sister?”

“No. I had no reason to want Liz dead. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was my best friend. I miss her every single day.”

“Of course you do. And is there any reason, hypothetically speaking, why somebody else might believe you wanted to kill your sister? Would there be any recent fights or nasty emails or evidence of bad blood between the two of you, even if you had since patched things up?”

Lauren and Liz had occasionally fought like crazed animals before their parents' deaths. Over clothes, games, or the television remote. After losing their parents, they both appreciated how trivial such things were and had scarcely spoken a harsh word to one another since. “Apparently, Liz recently changed her life insurance beneficiary to me, but I didn't know that and I wouldn't have cared if I had known.”

“And how much is the life insurance worth?”

“A million dollars, or so I've been told.”

Dennis let out a long, low whistle. “Hypothetically speaking, is there any chance they are going to find any incriminating evidence on the clothes you were wearing? Any of your sister's DNA on your clothing?”

“They shouldn't. I was wearing fresh scrubs that evening. I did see my sister that afternoon briefly, but we barely touched.”

“And, hypothetically speaking, are the detectives likely to find your DNA or your hair at the scene of the crime?”

“Hmmm, good question. I've visited my sister's home, obviously, so it's possible they might find my hair there or something like that. I don't remember ever bleeding at her house, but it's possible I might have at some point.”

“Good, I appreciate your objective approach to these questions. Now, hypothetically speaking, did you leave the hospital for any reason at all on the night of the crime?”

“No.”

“Excellent, and is there any other evidence you can think of that the police might have collected that would suggest you as a suspect? Like a murder weapon or fingerprints or anything else you can imagine? Hypothetically, of course.”

“It's certainly possible my fingerprints could be at my sister's house from previous visits, but otherwise, no, I can't think of anything else.”

“Do you know the results of the polygraph examination?”

“They told me the first test was inconclusive and told me nothing about the second test. I was already nervous about taking it, but I want the detectives to know that I am fully cooperating.”

“Not anymore. I am going to call the detectives and let them know I represent you. They should contact me, not you, if they need anything further from you. If they try to talk to you directly, you are to call me. Immediately. And I am going to do some digging around to see what I can find out. I want you to continue your usual routines. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Dennis leaned back in his large leather chair and pressed his fingers together. “You're in good hands. I can assure you of that. Do you have anything else you want to ask before we end for today?”

Lauren looked Dennis directly in the eyes. “I know you intentionally didn't ask me, but I want you to know I'm innocent. I didn't kill my sister, hypothetically or otherwise.”

Chapter Seventeen

(Thursday, August 18)

As soon as she returned to her car, Lauren called Jake.

“Hey you,” he answered right away. “What's the latest? Have the Keystone Kops harassed you yet today? The day's just not complete until you've experienced some insufferable request from Detective Walrus or Detective Pretty Boy.”

Lauren giggled at Jake's comparison of Detective Wallace to a walrus. His jowly cheeks and bushy mustache did bear a striking resemblance to the creature.

“Now Jake, that's not fair.”

“Why do you always have to be so nice? You know those idiots couldn't find their way out of a bathroom even if they had a map, a flashlight, and a compass.”

“I only meant that wasn't fair to walruses everywhere.”

Jake rewarded her with a loud laugh.

“I just hired an attorney,” she told him. “He scared the living daylights out of me. He thinks the direction of the police investigation suggests I am Suspecto Numero Uno.”

“Only because he doesn't know how hard they have been looking at me. Those detectives are so far up my ass, you'd be able to see them if you looked down my throat with one of those scope thingies you doctors use.”

Lauren smiled. “Maybe they think we conspired together to pull off the perfect crime. No means, no motive, and no opportunity. In any case, I hope this lawyer is worth it. He's costing me a small fortune.”

“How much, if you don't mind me asking? Seeing as I might need to hire my own here any day now.”

“Five thousand dollars and that's just to get things started. His regular hourly rate is four hundred dollars per hour, but he reduced it to two-fifty for me.”

“Five G's? That's nothing. I've had baseball fines for more than that.”

“Yeah, but I don't make the big bucks like you. I'm only a measly medical intern.”

“Why'd he drop his rate for you? Because you're so hot?”

The compliment surprised Lauren. Petite, slender, with big green eyes, Lauren enjoyed girl-next-door good looks, but she had always paled in comparison to Liz's stunning beauty.

“Uh, no, I think it's because defending the criminal of the century is incredible advertising. The kind you can't buy in the yellow pages anymore.”

Jake chuckled. “Hey, you have the day off? Why don't you come over? We can watch a movie or something. I'll get some ice cream.”

Lauren hesitated. Did he really want her to come over or was he just being nice to his late wife's kid sister? “I have to work early tomorrow morning.”

“Work schmurk. You only live once, Lauren. You and I both know…” he trailed off. Lauren thought she could detect the same despair and loneliness in his voice she herself had been experiencing.

“If you're sure I'm not bothering you, I'd love to come over and drown my sorrows in a tub of ice cream.”

“Bothering me? What else am I going to be doing? Visiting the Scottsdale interrogation room again? Come on over.”

Lauren had been driving north toward her own empty apartment, but now switched lanes in order to merge onto I-10 and headed east before exiting on Scottsdale Road and heading north toward the estate homes located north of Lincoln. As she neared her destination, she realized this was the first time she would be in Liz's house since her death. She considered canceling. But Jake had seemed so pleased she had agreed to come. She didn't want to let him down. If he could live in the house, she could visit it.

Several reporters were set up outside the community gate, but they didn't recognize Lauren in her new car with its darkly tinted windows. Lauren punched in the four-digit number and waited for the gate to swing open. It did not. She tried a second time. No luck. She dialed Jake.

He answered immediately, “Don't tell me you changed your mind.”

“Maybe
you
changed
your
mind. I can't get in the gate.”

“Oh, I forgot. They changed the code after…” He provided the new code and she was soon parking in the driveway at Liz's house. Jake's house now, Lauren reminded herself. She took a deep breath as she approached the elaborately carved front door.

Before she could knock, Jake greeted her with a warm bear hug. “You look amazing. I don't know how you pull it off in this heat. I'm nothing but a puddle of sweat after I've been outside for thirty seconds this time of year.” Jake looked more like an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement than he did a puddle. He was wearing khaki shorts with a blue dress shirt.

Lauren stepped into the house and glanced around. She was standing in the tasteful foyer, which overlooked a spacious sunken living room. Through the large picture windows and patio beyond, she could see the infinity edge swimming pool and golf greens. She could also see a corner of the batting cage and pitching target that had been added to the expansive backyard. The house looked exactly as it always had, nothing out of place. Lauren wasn't quite sure what she had been expecting, a huge blood stain on the white carpet perhaps. She let out a sigh of relief.

Jake peered into her eyes. “You okay?”

“Yes. This is the first time I've been here since…”

He let out a sigh of his own. “Hard, huh?” I'm probably going to sell after the baseball season. Too many memories, plus I'm getting a lot of pressure from…” he didn't complete the sentence.

“Pressure from whom?”

“Whom? When did you become an English professor?”

She respected his careful attempt to change the subject. His parents were probably pressuring him to sell the place. Liz had complained of their meddling on more than one occasion.

Lauren responded in her best British accent, “You Yanks are a disgrace to the English language. Using who instead of whom.”

Jake got a twinkle in his eye and pulled out his cheesiest Southern drawl. “Sorry about that, ma'am. May I interest you in some ice cream?”

Lauren followed Jake to the gourmet kitchen lined with glass-fronted cherry cabinets, dark marble countertops, and stainless steel appliances. As they entered, Teresita was unloading several grocery bags, lining the counter with countless pints of Ben & Jerry's ice cream containers, one in every available flavor.

“
Muchas gracias
, Teresita,” Jake said to his quiet Hispanic housekeeper. She placed the last carton on the counter, efficiently added two bowls and spoons, and discreetly left the room.

Lauren counted the cartons. “Fifteen pints, Jake? When you said you were sending her out for ice cream, I didn't know you meant the entire company.” She resumed her British accent, “Have you gone bloody mad?”

He laughed. “I might be able to eat one pint. But my snooty sister-in law?” He whispered conspiratorially, “She can really pack away the food.”

Lauren, who had been teased all her life for being scrawny, giggled. “Enough already. I'm going to get a complex and you'll be eating fifteen pints all by yourself.”

They investigated the flavors together, laughing at the bad puns Ben & Jerry's use to name their flavors, such as Cherry Garcia and Jamaican MeCrazy.

Lauren began to push all of the cartons containing chocolate to one side. “These are all yours.”

“What? How can you not like chocolate? That's like not liking sunshine or baby bunnies or breathing air or…”

“I get the picture. I'm a freak of nature. But at least you don't have to worry about me eating your chocolate.”

“Here's one you can eat. Chunky Monkey.”

“Ha ha. You're hysterical. That's got fudge chunks. It's all yours.”

“Oooh. How about Karamel Sutra?”

“Nope. I'm sold on Mission to Marzipan. Sweet cream ice cream with almond cookies and marzipan swirl,” Lauren read from the label.

“That was Liz's favorite,” Jake said in a tight voice.

“We Rose girls have always loved anything almond-flavored. I'm sorry to upset you.”

“You didn't upset me,” he cleared his throat. “You just remind me a lot of her.”

They loaded up their bowls with ice cream and headed to the home theater. The large room had an enormous viewing screen with red velvet chaise lounges stacked in tiered rows. An old-fashioned popcorn stand stood in one corner.

“What do you want to watch?” Jake asked. “Teresita picked up a bunch of new releases.”

“Just nothing sad.”

“Agreed. If Teresita did her job correctly, nothing remotely sad should even be among the choices. I told her nothing depressing, gruesome, or scary.”

They browsed through the DVD selection and selected a recent romantic comedy. Jake began hitting buttons on a remote, opening the curtains covering the screen, dimming the lights, and starting the movie.

Lauren settled into one of the chaises. “I'll probably fall asleep.”

“If you do, I'll write something embarrassing on your forehead with a Sharpie. Maybe ‘Doctor in Training' to give your patients that extra dose of confidence.”

“You better not. Most of them already ask me how old I am. Or my personal favorite, if my mommy knows I'm out playing doctor.”

“Just don't fall asleep and you won't have anything to worry about.”

The movie was predictable with the usual plot points typical of romantic comedies: boy meets girl, they get themselves into a ridiculous predicament, loathe each other for the majority of the film as they encounter one silly obstacle after another, and fall hopelessly in love by the closing credits. Given the mediocre acting and banal script, Lauren was surprised to find herself crying at the end of the movie.

“None of that,” Jake chided. “Or you are going to get me started and I'm going to have to send Teresita out for Kleenex and more ice cream.”

“Sorry. It's just…everything.”

“You don't have to apologize to me, Lauren. I get it.” He gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Why don't you stay here tonight?”

“I shouldn't.” Lauren's mind began to race. “I have to be at work early.”

“All the more reason why you should stay here.”

“I want to go running before work.”

“And your point is? We do have places to run here in Scottsdale. They're called running trails. I'm assuming you've heard of them.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. My point is I don't have my running clothes with me, Genius. I guess maybe I could wear something of Liz's.”

Jake's shook his head. “That's not necessary. Teresita can pick something up for you.” He pushed a button on the wall.

“Yes, sir?” came Teresita's accented voice through the intercom speaker.

“Will you meet us in the theater,
por favor
?”

Teresita came in and wrote down Lauren's sizes; small shirt and extra small shorts. “Don't forget shoes,” Jake reminded. “You're about a size eleven shoe, right?”

“What? I'm nothing less than a twelve.” Lauren wrote down her actual size, six, on Teresita's notepad. “Let me get some money.”

“No. I've got it,” Jake insisted. He handed his credit card to Teresita, whispering something under his breath to her. Teresita nodded and headed out.

Jake began messing with the remote control, closing the curtains to conceal the screen and technological components. While he did this, Lauren gathered up the dirty dishes and took them into the kitchen. Jake came in while she was loading them in the dishwasher. The ice cream containers were nowhere in sight.

“Looks like the ice cream fairy came and stole your leftovers,” Lauren observed.

“What? You wanted more?”

“No. I just think it's amazing your house cleans itself. My housekeeping elves must be on strike.”

“I asked Teresita to take the rest down to the food bank donation center, but I can give her a call and ask her to pick up some more. Will another fifteen pints suffice?”

“Better make it sixteen.”

“Shoot. I forgot to ask Teresita to pick up pajamas. Let me call her.” He dialed over Lauren's protests that he had done plenty for her already. “She's not picking up,” he said as he put the phone down. “You can wear something of mine. Ready for some dinner?”

They stepped into the nearby dining room. Wainscoting lined the baseboards and a crystal chandelier was centered over a round antique table, six feet across and cut from a single piece of polished wood. Delicate scroll details had been hand-carved along the edges. The matching chairs were upholstered in rich brocade.

Fresh-cut lilies were arranged in a vase in the center of the table and candles were burning in the candlesticks. Lauren wondered if the table had been set to impress her or if Teresita pulled out all the stops for Jake every night. The table sat eight, but there were only two place settings at adjacent chairs. “I hope you don't mind sitting next to me,” Jake said. “I hate trying to conduct dinner conversation across flowers at a six-foot distance.”

Lauren marveled at the desert sunset, brilliant in shades of orange with layers of pink, gold, and purple framing the horizon. Palm trees at the edge of the property were stark black in contrast to the fiery sunset. “Arizona has the most beautiful sunsets.”

“Said the native Californian.”

“There may be no ocean here, but there is plenty of beach.” She alluded to the vast Arizona desert sands.

Jake enthused about his new food delivery service. The meal was fresh fish covered with lemon sauce, steamed asparagus, and seasonal summer fruit.

Lauren cleaned her plate. “That was delicious. I would eat healthy too if I could afford to have these meals delivered to my doorstep.”

Conversation flowed easily as they discussed the movie and Jake's trip to Colorado the following day to play the Rockies. “You should come with me. The weather there is a welcome change from this heat.”

“I wish I could, but I have to work. Besides, I'm not allowed to leave the state.”