Millard stared at the detective. "I thought we were dealing with a serial killer. A guy like that would only be interested in Adrienne as an object of his perverted fantasies."
"I'm sure you're right. But we can't afford to rule anything out. Not yet. Can you answer my question?"
"Only in the negative. As you probably know by now, Adrienne had a corporate practice. Not the kind where you're likely to make deadly enemies. Not like criminal law, where the people you deal with can turn on you. Usually, it's the police who made the arrest and the Crown prosecutors who are the targets, but we defence lawyers can come in for our share too. A client thinks that you've let him down, didn't do a good job of defending him, and so on. Blames you for his being in jail. It's not the same in the corporate world."
"But the stakes in that world can be very high. And corporate criminals land in jail too."
"That's true. But to answer your question, I don't know of anyone who had a hard-on for Adrienne. Not in that sense, anyway," he added with a bitter smile.
"What about the other sense? Have their been other men since you?"
"How in hell am I supposed to know that?" Millard flared. "I haven't been keeping tabs on her, for Christ's sake! I'm not some kind of stalker."
He doth protest too much, methinks. The Shakespearean line leapt into Chris's mind, but he spread his hands in a placatory gesture. "I have to ask these questions. You know that."
Looking somewhat shamefaced, Millard nodded, and Chris plowed on. "Would you tell me where you were Sunday night? Particularly from, say, nine o'clock on."
"At home. Alone. Working on cross. It was after midnight when I went to bed."
"It couldn't have taken very long to prepare your cross of Dr. Murray. It was admirably succinct."
"It was, wasn't it? As things turned out. But I could have gone into much greater detail if I thought it necessary. Anyway, the cross-examination I was working on had nothing to do with the Harris case. I'm representing the accused in a rape case that's set down for trial the week after next. The defence is that it was consensual sex." He bared his teeth in a ferocious grin that briefly transformed his bland young face. "I'm afraid the complainant is in for a rough ride when she takes the stand. The lady has quite a track record."
"I feel sorry for her already."
"That's an interesting point. I'll remember to ease up on her so I don't get the jury feeling sorry for her. You ever think of practising law?"
"I like what I do." Chris paused to finish off the last of his dessert, then said, "Since you were alone I guess there's no way of corroborating your story."
"It's not a story, Detective. It's the truth. But you're right. I don't have an alibi. I'm sorry about that. I know you people like to eliminate ‘persons of interest' as early as possible. But there it is." Stacking his empty plates and dishes on the tray, Millard got up from the table. "Sorry I couldn't be of more help."
"Appreciate your taking the time. Good luck this afternoon."
chapter four
As he often did, Chris took a little detour so he could walk along the Stephen Avenue Mall on his way back to headquarters. Office workers lingered over lunch on outdoor patios or sat on benches basking in the sun, while a band entertained the noonday crowd with twangy country music. A Native Canadian, wearing a chief's head-dress, sold dream catchers from a makeshift booth; an amateur comedian drew groans from his audience as his jokes fell flat; and buskers, a modest harvest of coins glinting in the instrument cases open at their feet, strummed guitars and played accordions and violins. As he walked past, Chris checked out at the entrance to Scotia Centre, hoping to see Joan Cunningham. But there was no sign of the disabled panhandler with her mobile platform and pet cockatiel. Every few blocks a street person sorted through the contents of a garbage bin. A late spring sun shone down on the lively scene.
Dummett put down the magazine he had been leafing through when he saw Chris emerge from the elevator and walk across the lobby toward him. His manner was easy and relaxed as he held out his hand and said, "You and I have never met formally, but I guess we know each other."
"We do," replied Chris as they shook hands. The journalist topped Chris's five-foot-eleven by a lanky two or three inches. He smiled when Chris added, "I make a point of reading your material whenever I come across it."
Chris recalled Gwen, back in their Crime Scene days, once remarking that a couple of the girls in the office thought Dummett was hot. Chris could see how that might be. Dark hair, parted in the middle, fell over a high forehead; the face was long with prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw line. An engaging smile lightened what otherwise would have been a severe countenance. Chris found himself warming to the guy.
Picking up a slim leather briefcase, the journalist followed Chris over to the elevators. Chris had decided to hold the meeting on the tenth floor with the idea that being in close proximity to the Homicide section might make Dummett more willing to co-operate.
"Will Ken be joining us?" Dummett asked as he placed his briefcase on the table that, together with four straight-backed chairs, comprised the furnishings of the small interview room.
"I didn't think that was necessary. But I can ask him to join us if you like."
"No. It's just that he was the one who called me. But it's entirely up to you, Detective."
"Chris, please."
"Great. And Phil for me." Once again that easy smile. "Okay, Chris, it's your dime. What can I do for you?"
"I hope it's more what we can do for each other." Chris paused, and continued when Dummett gave an encouraging nod. "As you know, I'm the lead investigator in the serial killer case. I'm sure you're also aware that the investigation is pretty much stymied at the moment."
Again Dummett nodded and waited for Chris to continue.
Clearing his throat, Chris said, "That's where you come in, Phil. It's our hope—my hope, actually—that you might write something that would goad the killer into some kind of a reaction. Make him do something that would provide us with a clue." Chris paused to look at his visitor. "Is this something that you could be comfortable with, Phil?"
Dummett returned the look with a grave stare of his own. "Depends. Is what you want me to write kosher? Authentic. Not something that can come back to discredit me as a journalist?"
"Absolutely. I am your source. I will have to remain anonymous for obvious reasons. But what I will tell you is legitimate. As well as being newsworthy."
"And what is it I have to do in return for this information?"
"Release it to the public."
"Fair enough." Dummett opened his briefcase. "Can I tape it? I guess not," he sighed when Chris shook his head. "Okay. I'm listening."
Chris drew a deep breath. "You will write that you have reliable information that the police do not believe the Vinney killing is the work of the serial killer known as TLC."
Dummett absorbed this in silence for a moment, then murmured, "It's newsworthy all right. Not to mention sensational." Another pause, then a frown. "Why don't the police come right out and say that? ... Of course. You can't make it official. It has to be a rumour. A leak. Stupid me."
"Not stupid. But you understand why it has to be done this way?"
"Completely. And thank you for playing straight with me. I appreciate that."
"How will you get the word out?"
"It'll be on the wire. Which means I've got work to do." Making no effort to hide his excitement, Dummett got to his feet. "This is bound to get under TLC's skin. Either way. If he killed that lawyer, he'll want the credit. If he didn't, he'll be