Her Deadly Game, page 7
“I’ll have an agreement drafted tomorrow and sent over for your signature, but the relationship starts now. What we talk about is covered by the attorney-client privilege. Anything you tell me I’m obligated to hold in strict confidence. I want you to understand that you can be truthful. I cannot disclose what is said, not to the police, the newspapers, not to anyone.”
“I didn’t kill my wife,” he said.
Keera paused. Then she said, “I don’t care.”
LaRussa gave her an inquisitive look.
“The prosecutor cares. My job as your attorney is to represent you to the best of my ability, regardless of your guilt or innocence. My job is to ensure that, should the prosecutor file charges, your constitutional rights are protected, and that the prosecutor follows all state and local rules. You are innocent of all crimes until proven guilty after a fair trial, were it to come to that.”
“I understand. But I think it’s important for you to understand that you are not representing a man who killed his wife.”
“Okay.” She removed a pad of legal paper and a pen from her briefcase. “I’d like you to take a step back and tell me exactly what you remember. Where you were tonight, during what period of time; when you came home; what you did, what you saw. Everything and anything.”
For the next half hour, LaRussa reconstructed his evening, starting with his appearing at the Children’s Hospital fundraiser. “I was the first speaker after the silent auction closed. I think that was at around eight o’clock. I requested to talk first so I didn’t leave Anne home alone all night.”
“Were you concerned about her for some reason?”
“No more than normal.” He sipped his whisky.
Keera’s lips moistened. She cleared her throat. “What do you mean by that?”
“Anne had emotional mood swings. Some days were worse than others. We’d recently received a diagnosis that Anne’s progress in her rehab had likely reached its limits. Any further improvement would be incremental.”
“What type of rehab was your wife undergoing?”
LaRussa closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve answered the question so many times tonight I forgot you weren’t there. You don’t know.”
“That’s all right.”
LaRussa explained his wife’s paralysis following a horse-jumping accident, and that she was confined to a wheelchair. “When her progress plateaued, her mood plummeted, especially these last few weeks.”
“In what way?”
“She was in a dark place, irritable, short-tempered, frustrated, depressed.” He rose from his seat and crossed back to the bar.
“Were you worried your wife could take her own life?”
He poured another finger of whisky, then walked back to his seat. “She’d never expressed anything like that to me, and frankly I don’t know how she could have.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anne’s paralysis included both hands. It wasn’t total . . . Have you seen the hands of someone with severe arthritis?”
“I have.”
“I don’t know how Anne could have even held the gun. She could barely hold a glass. And then to squeeze the trigger . . . I don’t think her fingers had the strength.”
None of which helped LaRussa’s cause, though Keera didn’t say that.
LaRussa sipped his drink and set it on the table between them. The ice rattled. “I arrived home at around nine fifteen. The security cameras will confirm the exact time.”
Keera’s interest picked up considerably when she heard “security cameras.” She spent the next twenty minutes asking what the cameras covered, where the video was stored, whether they recorded audio as well as video, and made a note to view the tape, though Rossi likely had the copy from the house, and LaRussa’s laptop had also been taken. Keera made a note to view the tape ASAP.
LaRussa told Keera the police asked him about the entry pad at the front door and had him and an officer search the house for any evidence of a forced entry.
“Was there?” she asked.
“No.”
“What did you do when you arrived home?”
“I called out to let Anne know I was home. I went into the family room because the television was on, but Anne wasn’t there. I shut the television and the lights off, then looked down the hall to the master bedroom. The door was ajar. I could see a faint light. I figured Anne had gone to bed early. I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water, a nightly routine. Anne sat across from the kitchen counter in her wheelchair. She had her back to me. She was slumped to the right. I thought she was asleep; she’d fall asleep in her chair frequently. I said something. I don’t recall what exactly.” He paused and looked to be fighting tears. “Anne didn’t answer.” He exhaled audibly. “Just need a minute.”
“Take your time.”
“I said, ‘Anne? Anne?’ She didn’t answer. I flipped the light switch for the four pendant lights over the counter. That’s when I saw . . .” LaRussa shut his eyes and lowered his head. He sipped his drink. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. His voice broke. After another moment, he said, “It looked like she’d been shot in the back of the head, but . . .”
Which would also dictate against a suicide and potentially be evidence that Anne knew the person and had not been concerned turning her back to the person. LaRussa?
Keera gave LaRussa a moment. Then she asked, “What did you do next?”
“I don’t recall. At some point I looked down and saw a gun on the floor.”
“Did you touch it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”
“This is important, Vince.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t touch it.”
“Did you recognize the gun?”
“I don’t own a gun. Neither did Anne. So, no. I didn’t recognize it.”
Keera searched her databank of tried cases. She could think of just two instances in which the defendant had left the gun behind. In one, a murder in the woods, the killer had panicked and dropped the gun, then couldn’t find it in the dark. In the other, Keera’s private investigator believed the killer had worn gloves when loading the magazine and when he fired the weapon. The gun had no connection to him. He didn’t own it and he hadn’t purchased it. Leaving it behind meant it couldn’t be found in a place to which he had some connection. Slick.
So had Anne LaRussa’s killer been careless or slick?
“Then what?” Keera asked.
“I reached for my cell phone, but I had put it on the counter when I came in the door, along with my car keys. My routine. I backtracked from the kitchen, called 911. The person told me to go outside and wait for the police. She stayed on the line with me.”
“How long before the police arrived after you called 911?”
“I don’t know. Minutes that felt like hours. The rest is a blur. They asked me questions, and I answered them until the attorney showed up, and they brought me to the station downtown. When they took my phone and computer, the fog I’d been in lifted, and I realized I needed a lawyer.”
“The husband is always a suspect,” Keera said.
“I loved my wife.”
“It doesn’t change the probabilities, I’m afraid.”
LaRussa made a face. He looked beat. Spent. He had a right.
Keera checked her watch. It was after midnight. “Do you have a computer here?”
“No. I usually just bring my laptop.”
“I’ll let you get some rest.”
He gave the wisp of a smile as if to say, Yeah, like that is going to happen.
She stood. LaRussa followed her to the door. “Did you or your wife have any enemies? Anyone who would want to harm you?”
“I make people money, Keera. Most people are happy about that.”
“I’ll get into the office tomorrow and begin to put together a plan of action. I’d like to hire a private investigator to work for us.”
“Can we get the police detectives’ investigation? Aren’t we entitled to it?”
“Not if you haven’t been charged with a crime.”
“They kept asking for my permission,” LaRussa said. “I just thought they would provide me with the results of what they were doing.”
“I’ve asked the detectives to notify me when you can get back into your house. If they call you, do not talk with them, and don’t go into your house without me. I want things to be undisturbed as much as possible. The press will be hunting you, as you’ve already experienced. A shooting in your neighborhood is rare. The killing of a prominent businessman’s wife is going to garner a lot of interest and speculation. I’d suggest not watching the news or reading the newspapers. Say nothing to anyone—not to family, employees, or friends. Reporters might camp out at your home and outside your office building. You might want to hire private security. I can help set that up.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card, leaving it on the marble countertop near the door. “Tomorrow, call the receptionist at your office. Tell her if anyone calls for you or wants to know your whereabouts, she is to give them my name and my telephone number. Do you have any questions for me?”
“Probably, but right now my brain is fried.”
“You have my number.” Keera opened the door.
She stepped into the hall. “I’m very sorry about your wife, Vince.” She hoped it sounded sincere, but the prosecutor in her couldn’t get past rule number one.
Keera returned home at just before one in the morning, her adrenaline still pumping and too amped to sleep. She needed a drink. She picked up her drink from earlier in the evening, refreshed it, and took a sip. The subtle nectarine-and-raisin taste rolled over her tongue and warmed her throat and stomach.
She hit the space bar of her keyboard, bringing the computer to life, hoping the Dark Knight had at least made his next move.
From: Darkknight
To: SeattlePawnslayer
Knight to f3.
Keera moved the piece on her chessboard and studied it. The Dark Knight had finally put pressure on the center squares.
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe there’s a method to your madness.”
She moved her pawn to g6.
To her surprise, she got a response. She wasn’t the only one not sleeping.
His sixth move, the Dark Knight castled his king—his rook and king switching places on the board, the only move in chess that allowed a player to move two pieces at the same time. A strategic move strong players used in almost every game.
Keera moved her bishop to g7—what was referred to in the chess world as a “fianchetto bishop.” The Dark Knight moved his knight from b1 to d2.
Keera responded pawn to h6.
The Dark Knight was either studying his board or had the good sense to go to bed. Keera sipped her Scotch and waited. She thought about Vince LaRussa. He seemed sincere. He seemed to be telling the truth. So did many of the men she’d prosecuted who had been found guilty.
She’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 8
June 5, 2023
Keera awoke early, despite not getting to sleep until after two. She wanted to beat Ella into the office and speak to Patsy, who usually arrived before seven, even after nights drinking. His daughters called his ability to quickly recover “the Irish curse”—no hangover, and thus no pain to dissuade him from overindulging again. That, and a good wife who always made sure Patsy ate, kept him functioning.
Before departing her house, Keera brought her computer to life. The Dark Knight had made his eighth move late the previous night.
From: Darkknight
To: SeattlePawnslayer
Pawn to c4
She smiled. “What do we have here?”
This signaled a major strategy shift. The Dark Knight had gone on the offensive, unlocking his knight and his queen to attack. Keera had a visceral reaction, as she had at her championship matches, but she remembered Patsy’s tutelage. Evaluate. Consider. Then move. She did so and moved her bishop to e6. It appeared to be another defensive move, but again, Keera had a different intent—preparing to attack the fortress the Dark Knight had built around his king.
Keera had no sooner stepped off the elevator than Patsy came down the hall, the Seattle Times newspaper in hand. At that same moment, Ella, uncharacteristically early, hurried into the office from the elevator, her hair still wet. She wore jeans, a T-shirt, sneakers, and otherwise looked disheveled. A suit and blouse on hangers hung over her shoulder.
“Holy shit, did you see the inside page of the metro section?” Ella said.
Keera didn’t receive a hard copy of the newspaper. Hers was a generation that obtained news from their computers and cell phones. Patsy held up the metro section. Beneath a headline was the picture of Keera and Vincent LaRussa leaving Police Headquarters.
Seattle Wealth Manager Questioned in Wife’s Death
“Why do you think I’m in early?” Keera said innocently. “The call came in over the answering service late last night.”
“And you didn’t call us?” Ella asked.
“I didn’t see the need to call last night and wake everyone.”
“You didn’t see the need?” Ella shot Patsy a look, then said to Keera, “Do you know who Vincent LaRussa is?”
“I’m aware, yes, and I have it under control.”
“He’s estimated to be worth a hundred million dollars and runs the biggest investment fund in the state.”
“I know,” Keera reiterated. Ella had no doubt looked up LaRussa on the internet.
“And you didn’t see the need to call me or Patsy?”
“Let’s take this in the conference room,” Patsy said.
“I have work I need to get done, calls to make,” Keera said.
“Conference room. Now,” Patsy said. Discussion over. He turned and headed into the glass-enclosed room.
Windows provided a western view of Elliott Bay, glass calm from the persistent heat wave. A stain of rust-colored haze lingered on the distant horizon, a rarity for Seattle. Ella draped her business clothes over the back of a leather chair.
“Sit,” Patsy said.
Keera and Ella dutifully sat. Patsy stood at the head of the table. “Now tell us what happened,” he said to Keera.
Keera had decided on the drive into the office to keep her explanation simple. She told them about the call to the switchboard and said she had handled the situation. “Did you tell him you have never defended a client accused of murder?” Ella asked.
“You’re jumping the gun here, Ella. He hasn’t been accused of murder.”
“Not yet,” Ella said. She shifted her attention back to her father. “I made a call this morning to a contact. I’m told the MDOP on the file is Miller Ambrose.”
“I’m aware,” Keera said, not wanting to be ignored. “Ambrose was at Police Headquarters last night. And maybe you’re unaware, but I was qualified at the PA’s office to try murder cases.”
Patsy and Ella exchanged another glance. Patsy spoke in a patronizing tone. “But you’ve never defended one, and a case this high profile isn’t one to cut your teeth on.”
Keera didn’t appreciate being treated as his little girl. “I’m not cutting my teeth on anything. I told LaRussa over the phone to not say anything to anyone except that he wanted a lawyer. Then I pulled him from questioning at SPD and spoke with him for nearly two hours.”
“And?” Ella asked.
“And I’d like to get to my office to start checking out his alibi and working on his defense. I’ll dictate my notes of the conversation and have my assistant provide you each with a copy.”
Patsy spoke again in his concerned-father tone. “Keera, these cases can take on a life of their own. There is a lot of ground to cover.”
“If he is accused, there will be more than enough for all of us to do. Maggie included.”
“Maybe more than we can handle,” Patsy said, looking uncomfortable.
“More than . . . Look, I think we should at least meet with LaRussa,” Ella said to Patsy, as if Keera wasn’t in the room.
“I told you, I met with LaRussa,” Keera shot back. “At the moment, he’s speaking to family and friends, and he’s got a funeral to plan.”
“What’s he telling them?”
“Only the facts as he knows them. I’m going to set up a meeting with JP and get back into the house to conduct our own investigation,” she said, referring to JP Harrison, their private investigator. She looked at her watch. “Frank Rossi told me they will release the site later this afternoon. In the interim, I have calls to make to confirm that Vince LaRussa spoke last night at a Seattle Children’s Hospital fundraiser at the Four Seasons, as well as the time he left that event and says he drove straight home. His home has security cameras, and Rossi and Ford are already ahead of me.”
Keera and Ella looked to Patsy. Though Ella was ostensibly the managing partner and handled the day-to-day firm management, Patsy’s opinion still carried more weight. “All right. Keera, you’ll run with this, for now. But with the understanding that if you get in over your head, you will ask for help.” He put up a hand to keep her from responding. “Clients don’t need heroes. They need competent, well-reasoned representation. Remember. Evaluate and consider before you make a move. Don’t rush. And don’t let your desire to win influence the moves you make.”
“I won’t,” Keera said.
“If LaRussa is charged . . . we’ll have to make a decision then on what to do,” Patsy said. He let out a breath, then he stood from the table and walked out the door.
After he had departed, Ella shut the door. “I’m still the managing partner of this firm. You will keep me updated on what is going on.”
“I just said I would.”
“Did you and LaRussa discuss a billable rate?”
“No.”
“Good. It’s six hundred dollars an hour.”
“Six hundred dollars an hour? I’ve never billed out at that high a rate.”
“You’ve never had a client worth a hundred million dollars. If he bitches, tell him prisoners make twelve to forty cents per hour. Look, Keera, we need this case. The firm needs this case.”
