Equivocal Death
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death
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death
a n o v e l
amy
gutman
l i t t l e , b r o w n a n d c o m pa n y b o s t o n n e w y o r k l o n d o n
Copyright © 2001 by Amy Gutman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Quotations from Practical Homicide Investigation: Tactics, Procedures, and Forensic Techniques, 3d ed. , by Vernon J. Geberth, Retired Commander, Bronx Homicide, NYPD, © 1996 by CRC Press, Inc. Reprinted by permission.
Quotation from the Buddha from A Heart As Wide As the World: Stories on the Path of Lovingkindness by Sharon Salzberg © 1997. Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc., Boston.
Quotations from Sexual Harassment of Working Women by Catharine A. MacKinnon
© 1979 by Yale University. Reprinted by permission of Yale University Press.
Lines from M’naghten’s Case, as reprinted at pages 968–970 in Criminal Law and Its Processes: Cases and Materials, 5th ed. , © 1989 by Sanford H. Kadish and Stephen J. Schulhofer. Published by Little, Brown and Company. Reprinted by arrangement with Aspen Law and Business Panel Publishers.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Warner Books
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New York, NY 10020
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Visit our web site at www.twbookmark.com.
ISBN: 0-7595-9834-7
First eBook Edition: June 2003
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— Practical Homicide Investigation, 3d ed .
Vernon J. Geberth
Those who are heedless, or unmindful, are as if dead already.
— The Buddha
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equivocal
death
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Wednesday, December 23
1
2
Ice cold. He pressed his hand to the window and watched the frost 3
dissolve, felt the moisture collect on his palm. He’d switched off 4
the lights, and the interior darkness mirrored the inky void out-5
side. Standing immobile, he could almost imagine that he was 6
alone in the world or better yet that he did not even exist, that he 7
was simply a part of this floating emptiness, transported by waves 8
of black snow.
9
But his lungs filled with air. He felt the rhythm of his breath, 10
stark and fatal as an accusation.
11
He was alive.
12
And there was work to be done.
13
Moving away from the window, he switched on a Bestlite floor 14
lamp, acquired from a British import company during his last year 15
of school. He liked things to be well made. He surveyed the scene 16
before him. The space where he stood was cavernous, at least 17 sh
thirty feet long and twenty feet wide. Part of a former warehouse, 18 re
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A M Y G U T M A N
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it was isolated enough to meet his needs. His desk faced a sweep of 2
tall windows, while his clothes — Brooks Brothers suits, several 3
shirts, a tux — hung neatly on a portable chrome garment rack. A 4
Bose CD player sat on an antique table.
5
He was pleased with the space. Everything was just as he liked 6
it. The barren surroundings only underscored the beauty and fine-7
ness of his few selected possessions. His eyes traced the narrow 8
confines of his life.
9
Then, decisively, he made his entrance.
10
Moving to the CD player, he pushed Play. Instantly, the room 11
filled with the opening chords of Cherubini’s Medea. A 1959
12
recording. Remarkable music. Potent. Full of a terrible rage. He 13
glanced down at the CD cover, at the diva Maria Callas. Arched 14
nose. Raven hair. Hands splayed like claws. What was it he saw 15
there? A passion for vengeance — for justice — that matched his 16
own. The promise of its fulfillment. And with this, an unflagging 17
sense of order, of timeliness, of fate. It was this he needed above all 18
else. For even as the time for action grew closer, his confidence had 19
started to ebb. Why had he waited so long? The plan that had 20
seemed so brilliant when he first conceived it could at times seem 21
almost absurd. Again, he tried to push back these thoughts. It was 22
dangerous to think this way.
23
Sitting down at his desk, he turned on his laptop computer. The 24
screen flashed bright. From here on, it was almost too easy. The 25
most profitable law firm in the country. Thirty-seven partners who 26
counted themselves among the most respected lawyers in the 27
world. Power brokers and advisers, they counseled governments, 28
corporations, and the rare private individual with sufficient wealth 29
to pay their fees. And yet cracking their computer safeguards had 30
been child’s play.
31
Strange, the unerring detection of their clients’ vulnerabilities 32
and the utter disregard of their own. Samson’s computer network 33
had just been overhauled at huge expense. The mere fact of this in-ort 34
vestment had seemed to assuage their concerns. There was some-reg 35
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E Q U I V O C A L D E A T H
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money. Their computer network was top of the line. Nothing more 1
need be said.
2
Besides, the elder statesmen of Samson disdained technology, 3
the proliferation of desktop computers. They yearned for the days 4
of dictation. Of pretty secretaries, heads bowed, recording their 5
every word. But in the end, even Samson had been forced to sub-6
mit. The firm’s quaint refusal to communicate by e-mail, once seen 7
as a charming relic of its patrician past, had begun to interfere with 8
business. And Samson w
as, first and foremost, a business. Bowing 9
to the inevitable, the firm edged its way into cyberspace, a territory 10
as alien to its rulers as the planet Mars. E-mail. The Internet. Stan-11
dard issue for more than a decade in the modern business world but 12
still suspect intruders at Samson.
13
And so he found himself in the happy position of breaking and 14
entering an unlocked house. The attorneys’ “secret” passwords 15
gave the illusion of privacy but none of its substance. Remarkable, 16
really, the faith placed by these brilliant men and women in a tech-17
nology they didn’t understand. Hubris. The fatal flaw.
18
He typed in her user ID, mwaters. Then came the password 19
prompt. He grinned as he typed in the response: password. That 20
was it. The same word for everyone. Something easy to remember.
21
She could have changed the defaults, of course. It would have 22
taken only a minute. But she hadn’t taken the time. Like the oth-23
ers, she couldn’t be bothered.
24
A few more clicks, and he was scrolling through a list of her files.
25
Luckily for him, she was one of the new breed, treating her hard 26
drive like a filing cabinet. He’d dipped into these files in the past, 27
not out of any real interest, but for the thrill he took in the fact 28
that he could. Confidential memos outlining trial strategies for 29
lawsuits worth tens of millions of dollars. Clinical dissections of 30
the odds of success. Privileged information that, if leaked, would 31
mean the loss of fortune and career. If blackmail were the goal, 32
he’d have had it made.
33
But he had other things on his mind.
34 sh
Exiting WordPerfect, he clicked on the Calendar icon. In an in-35 re
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A M Y G U T M A N
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stant, it appeared before him, everything crystal clear. The perfect 2
map. Madeleine Waters’s anticipated movements for the next 3
twelve months. He felt an adrenaline surge, stiff heat in his shoul-4
ders and neck. The room was growing colder as the night chill 5
deepened, but he barely noticed. He had work to do, decisions to 6
make.
7
He reviewed the recent additions. December 23. With Christ-8
mas approaching, the week had been slow: the usual assortment of 9
professional engagements, lunches, meetings, the occasional bene-10
fit or awards banquet in support of a worthy cause.
11
And then a single entry struck his eye.
12
Dinner with Chuck Thorpe. At Ormond. January 5. He knew 13
the restaurant. Had in fact eaten there when it opened last year, 14
unable to absent himself discreetly from the Civil Rights Forum’s 15
annual dinner. Such occasions always left him aching with hatred 16
for the world he’d been forced to inhabit. The smug corporate 17
sponsors. The self-satisfied attorneys who came to be feted, confi-18
dent that their brief forays into pro bono work conferred a sort of 19
secular sainthood.
20
But this miserable dinner had finally proved a gift in disguise.
21
He remembered the restaurant clearly, the low lights, the widely 22
spaced tables. Yes, it was almost ideal, better than he could have 23
hoped. A sense of euphoria swept through him.
24
Then, without warning, it was gone, and he was spinning, spin-25
ning down a cold black chute.
26
No. Make it stop.
27
He pressed his teeth together, already knowing what would 28
come. Dizzy, he grasped the table’s edge. A sour sweat leaked 29
through his pores. The smell of fear. The smell of death.
30
I’m moving as fast as I can.
31
He tried to fight back, to win a reprieve. But it was no use. He 32
was already tumbling back. Back to where it all began.
33
A dark room. And everywhere the scent of fear.
ort 34
She’s sprawled across the floor. He looks down at her from above. It reg 35
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feels strange to look down. He’s always looked up at her face, her beau-1
tiful, smiling face.
2
It’s so dark. For a long time, now. Why is she lying so still?
3
He sleeps.
4
And then it’s light. She’s still there, sprawled and broken in ways that 5
he can’t comprehend. She’s floating in a sea of red.
6
He wants to get up, to go to her. But he can’t stand up, can’t seem to 7
move at all.
8
He cries out, but there’s something in his mouth.
9
At first, he thinks she’s asleep. But not really. Really, he knows that 10
she’s dead.
11
He’s hungry. He’s thirsty.
12
And, even then, he knows that she’s dead.
13
She’s dead, and it’s all his fault.
14
And then it was over. Slowly, the vision faded. Still trembling, 15
he stared at the wall. He felt weak, depleted, as if he could sleep for 16
days. But he couldn’t give in to these feelings. Not with success so 17
close. He had to think of the plan. He had to think of the plan. Soon, 18
it would all be over.
19
And he was finally ready to begin.
20
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34 sh
35 re
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Monday, January 4
2
3
Monday morning. 7:05 a.m. A gray fog hung over the ice-glazed 4
spires of Manhattan. Pulling her red cashmere cape tight against 5
the winter air, twenty-six-year-old Kate Paine walked purposefully 6
across Fifth Avenue. The snow-dusted sidewalks were still sparsely 7
populated. A good two hours remained until the explosion of rush 8
hour, with its shrieking horns and screeching tires. In the relative 9
quiet of the morning, lulled by the city’s dull roar, Kate clutched 10
her cape close and smiled.
11
The holidays were behind her. She was home.
12
Approaching the plate-glass doors of Samson & Mills, Kate felt 13
a swell of excitement. After more than a year at Samson, she still 14
could hardly believe that she’d been hired as an attorney at this 15
legendary firm. That of all the thousands of law school graduates 16
who poured into the workforce each year, she’d been one of the ort 17
chosen few. Just out of Harvard Law, and she’d already worked on reg 18
cases that most lawyers only dreamed about, cases that
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figured on the front pages of the Wall Street Journal and the New 1
York Times. Fascinating cases of first impression that stretched the 2
limits of the law. And even more important, she had the chance to 3
hone her skills with the nation’s most formidable attorneys.
4
Kate passed through the revolving doors and into an enormous 5
lobby. Tossing off greetings to the security guards, she slipped her 6
card key through an electronic scanner. Then she moved toward 7
the elevator, high heels clicking on the marble floor.
8
Four days into the new year, the lobby was already stripped of 9
holiday decoration. The scarlet poinsettias, with their incongruous 10
shock of color, had been whisked away. As had the majestic 11
Douglas fir and the electric menorah. Once again, the stately entry 12
stood sober and unadorned. Kate relaxed into the familiar space, 13
felt its timeless weight enfold her.
14
Thank God, the holidays were over.
15
The elevator was already waiting. Kate stepped on, and the 16
doors slid shut. Twenty. Thirty. The floors flashed by. As she’d 17
hoped, Kate was the first person to arrive on fifty-one. Making her 18
way down the deeply carpeted hall, past a row of identical doors, 19
she flipped on lights as she passed. Her own closed door was the 20
next to last. As she rummaged in her purse for the key, she studied 21
a small brass plate. Katharine T. Paine. The T stood for Trace, her 22
mother’s maiden name. On impulse, she ran a finger across the en-23
graving, the metal cold to her touch. Then she turned the key and 24
pushed open the door.
25
Stepping into the office, Kate inhaled its familiar smells, furni-26
ture wax mingled with Chanel No. 19, a fragrance she sometimes 27
wore. She cast an approving eye around her ordered domain, with 28
its panoramic views of the Hudson River and beyond. Even in the 29
morning haze, she could make out the Statue of Liberty in the dis-30
tance, a tiny, brave figure engulfed in mist. The room was just as 31
she’d left it. Neat stacks of paper lined her desk. Cartons of docu-32
ments were stacked against the wall. The preholiday cleanup.
33
She’d try to enjoy it while it lasted.
34 sh
Kate pulled off her cape and hung it in her office closet. Before 35 re
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