The Lies that Bind Read Online Free Page B

remember.”
    â€œWas Justine charged with any crime for that accident?”
    â€œNothing to charge her with. The Porsche came over Lopez Hill, a semi was jackknifed across the road. No way to avoid it.”
    â€œJustine was driving a Porsche?”
    â€œYeah. It was Michael Velásquez’s car.”
    â€œWhere did he get a Porsche?” I was thinking out loud, which is a mistake when Saia is listening.
    â€œMaybe his grandmother gave it to him.”
    â€œMaybe.” But it didn’t sound like the purse-clutching Martha I knew. “Was Justine speeding or under the influence?”
    â€œShe was going close to seventy-five.” He shrugged, implying that was no big deal in New Mexico. “She took a Breathalyzer and came out clean. There were brake marks on that one.”
    â€œMartha didn’t consult me before she refused to take your Breathalyzer, you know,” I said.
    â€œShe was advised of her rights,” said Saia, “and told she had the right to call a lawyer. She declined.”
    â€œNice of the police not to put her in jail.”
    â€œHey, she was an old lady in a nightgown, full of Halcion and booze. What could they do? Put her to bed in a holding pen full of hookers? It looked like a simple hit-and-run until the investigation turned up the fact that Conover was Velásquez’s grandmother and Virga was driving the car that killed Velásquez.” Saia lit himself another Camel, though one still smoldered in the ashtray. You know you’re smoking too much when you’ve got one burning in the ashtray and another one in your mouth. I squished the butt in the ashtray with my thumb and rubbed it out, but he didn’t notice.
    The Halcion was something Martha hadn’t told me about either, but I kept that lack of information to myself. Not only had Martha had the means, motive and opportunity to kill Justine Virga, she’d apparently had a couple of uninhibiting substances in her system as well.
    â€œYour client told the investigating officer about the Halcion,” Saia continued. “Since she refused to take the Breathalyzer, we have to assume she’d been drinking too.”
    It was my turn to shrug. Presumably the APD would interview (or already had interviewed) the bartender at the AWC meeting. As that bartender could be held liable for serving an intoxicated person, there was a good chance he or she wouldn’t admit to serving Martha Conover two martinis. There might, however, have been witnesses.
    â€œDo I get a copy of the note?” I asked.
    â€œWhat note?” Saia replied.
    â€œThe one the police found in Justine’s pocket. They went into Martha’s house without a warrant, showed Martha the note and compared it to a sample they took from her typewriter.”
    â€œShe gave her consent; they didn’t need a warrant.”
    â€œThe police woke her up and walked in on her in the middle of the night. I’d say they were taking advantage of a respectable senior citizen.” Saia wouldn’t give me the note if it was evidence that would convict my client. If it would exculpate her, he’d have to produce it, but not yet. The note probably wouldn’t do either, but someone had typed it. I needed to find out who.
    Saia picked up the rubber band and stretched it between his fingers. He owed me a favor from a couple of years back, and the time had come to call it in. “You owe me one, Anthony,” I said. “Remember?”
    â€œYeah, I remember.” He reached into a folder on his desk and took out a piece of white paper. “Here. I made you a copy.”
    I unfolded the paper and read: “I knew this was going to happen, but I couldn’t prevent it.” It wasn’t quite as chilling as it had been when I first heard it, but it was close enough. Some letters were dark, some were light, indicating the original had been typed on a manual typewriter. The peculiarities