don’t know that, either.”
“What does your grandfather think? Have you asked him?”
Amanda hesitated. “My grandfather doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Peter’s answer was a displeased grunt.
“I know,” Amanda defended. “I just haven’t pressed him. He’s coming to my office this afternoon. We’ll talk then. He’s promised to tell me everything he can remember.”
“I hope his memory is excellent.”
“It is.”
She received another grunt, but this time Peter sounded more satisfied. She watched as he absorbed the quiet beauty of his surroundings. Timberlake Lodge always had the same effect on her. It was hard to believe that something as frightening and horrible as a murder could ever have taken place in such a sylvan scene.
She broke the silence that had fallen. “The police found her suitcase...did I tell you that? It was all packed and ready to go. Only for some reason, it was in the lodge’s potting shed. Well, not when they found it. Actually, it had been stolen. Whoever took it must have realized they didn’t have anything of value, so they dumped it on the highway between here and Belton. One of our police officers found it. It had her initials, M.L.I., and Granddad identified her clothing.”
Amanda lapsed into silence again, remembering the awful moment when Karen Keppler and Brick Bauer had come to the house, in uniform and on official business. And the way Karen had looked at her grandfather...suspiciously, as if she were already persuaded to believe that he had killed Margaret.
“Rather odd that it wasn’t with the body,” Peter mused.
“I know. If Granddad had done it, wouldn’t he have gotten rid of the suitcase, too? To make it look as if she had taken it? He knew Phil—Phil Wocheck was the gardener at Timberlake then. He knew Phil was in and out of the potting shed all the time, digging through things. Granddad couldn’t have expected the suitcase to stay hidden if he was the person who put it there...which he wasn’t.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’m sure!” she repeated.
“This Phil Wocheck. He’s the man you said testified before the grand jury? The man whose testimony seemed to carry so much weight?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Peter frowned. “I wonder what he knows.”
“We all wonder that!”
“You need all the information you can get, yet the prosecution is required to give you only your grandfather’s statements to the police. If you want more, you’ll have to file a motion.”
“I’m working on it now.”
“Good girl,” the professor approved.
Amanda started back up the hill, this time making sure to go slowly enough so as not to outpace her companion. What Phil had said to the police and then to the grand jury had been the subject of much speculation, both within the family and without, for the past few weeks. But Phil, observing the grand jury’s injunction not to speak of his testimony, would say nothing.
Frustration curled in Amanda’s stomach. She had so little to work on! She had no idea what the prosecution would throw at them. She had only the charge included in her grandfather’s indictment: first-degree intentional homicide, the worst accusation the State of Wisconsin could issue against a person.
The professor had started to puff again when two men appeared at the top of the pathway. One was tall, the other short. One moved with commanding assurance, the other with compact grace. Both had dark hair. When she recognized them, Amanda felt her breath grow shallow. She, too, might suddenly have gained forty pounds and forty years. Instinctively her hand reached out toward the professor, whether to warn him or to ask for protection, she didn’t know.
The professor glanced at her curiously, then he followed the direction of her gaze.
“It’s him,” she whispered tightly. “Ethan Trask.”
“Introduce me,” Peter said.
“I can’t! I haven’t met him yet!”
“Then you’d better introduce yourself.” Peter seemed amused by the turn of events. Or rather, by Amanda’s reaction. “He’s not a god,” he said. “He puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like I do.” He glanced at the beige trousers Amanda wore. “Just like you do.”
“I sit on the end of the bed and jam both my feet in at the same instant,” Amanda replied shakily.
Peter’s smile was no longer hidden. “Then that makes you special. Introduce yourself!”
The men were almost upon them. Amanda swallowed. She had already felt the sweep of Ethan Trask’s gaze and the much friendlier estimation of his companion. Of the two, she would much rather deal with the shorter man. She took a step sideways, signaling a desire to communicate.
“Mr. Trask?” she said. To her own ears, her voice sounded dry, strained. She could hear the fake attempt at confidence.
Up close, the special prosecutor was even more impressive than he had been the day before. He seemed taller, more intense, more determined, more handsome. His eyes were neither black nor brown, but an intimidating combination of the two. His dark brown hair was perfectly groomed, a tendency to curl tolerated but not encouraged. His features might have been carefully sculpted to give the image of strength—straight nose, firm jawline, sturdy chin, a mouth that was at the same time sensual and austere. The cut of his perfectly tailored suit bespoke a body that was muscular, athletic.
Amanda’s heart rate accelerated as he turned to look at her. Under his direct gaze she felt like a rabbit caught in a snare. “I, ah... My name is Amanda Baron, Mr. Trask, and I represent—”
Her name seemed to hit him like a lightning strike. It wasn’t so much that he jolted physically, but his mind seemed to snap to attention, focusing solely on her. It was all Amanda could do to continue. “I represent Judson Ingalls. This is Peter Williams, retired professor of law at the University of Illinois. He’s going to—”
“Amanda Baron.” Ethan Trask repeated her name as if he had heard nothing else she’d said.
Amanda smiled nervously. “Yes. I represent—”
“I know who you represent.”
Amanda shot a look at Peter, who in turn was studying the assistant attorney general. Her gaze then went to Ethan Trask’s companion. She was searching for a kind word, a kind face. She found it in the shorter man when he smiled at her. Still Amanda remained confused. She didn’t understand exactly what was happening. Ethan Trask sounded angry. Again attempting civility, she held out her hand.
There was a long moment before he responded, a moment that came close to insult. When finally his fingers closed over hers, they were brisk, businesslike. Amanda was quick to break contact. Her arm fell back to her side, but her hand still tingled.
“My assistant from the DCI, Carlos Varadero.”
