Free VC04 - Jury Double by Edward Stewart Page A

emptiness, of time overflowing like an ashtray.
    The light caught a group of framed photos hanging on the wall above the camp bed. She crossed the room for a closer look. In all, there were thirteen glossy black-and-white portraits.
    One was a group portrait of Leon and Kyra and Toby, posed in her father’s rose garden. Toby couldn’t have been older than six. Toby’s father, who had taken the picture, was present only as a shadow falling along the flagstone path.
    Another was a family Christmas portrait, taken when she and Kyra had been six, and their mother had still been alive.
    Her eye traveled across the eleven others. They were lawyers who had argued with or against Leon before the Supreme Court of the United States. Several had posed with their families. All were signed, but only one—a photo of Earl Warren in full regalia—was dated.
    The other ten had been photographed with their families. The homes of five had received obscene phone calls.
    What was it about the five— these five? Why had they been chosen?
    She went to the desk and lifted the gray plastic cover from the little Rolodex. Her fingers riffled through the cards. The five were listed—business and home phones.
    The screen door squeaked. Bob MacLeod stood in the doorway, shaking off raindrops. “I know it’s hard to believe a thing like this about your father. Believe me, it’s hard to believe it about my ex-partner.”
    “Why would Leon do it?”
    “He’s old. He’s breaking down. Losing his inhibitions. Old people sometimes develop sexual manias.”
    “Could there be a different explanation? What if someone wanted to hurt Leon? Destroy his reputation? He has enemies.”
    “But he as much as admitted he made the calls.”
    “He doesn’t remember things. Tim showed him the bills, Leon assumed he made the calls.”
    “I frankly find that hard to believe.”
    She stood frowning. “There isn’t even a phone here.”
    “Well, there certainly used to be.”
    “And even if there was, anyone could have walked in and made those phone calls. That door’s not secure.”
    Bob MacLeod examined the door latch. He swung the door back and forth. The hinges meowed. “Hardly.”
    She lifted a corner of the army blanket from the bed. “And look at this. Someone’s been using the bed. Leon wouldn’t sleep here—he has a bed of his own. With a mattress and inner springs.”
    “Solving the mystery is step two,” Bob MacLeod said. “Step one is making sure there’s no publicity.” He nudged back the cuff of his suit jacket and scowled at his watch. “I have to be going.” He darted a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be in touch.”
    The door slammed.
    She sat down on the edge of the camp bed. Her foot struck something. She looked down and saw a black plastic lump hiding under the bed. She crouched and pulled out the phone.
    She lifted the receiver. A dial tone stung her ear.
    She saw that the phone had an automatic redial button. Which meant the last outgoing call would still be registered.
    Curious, she pressed the button. The phone blipped. There was lag, and then a phone rang. Once. Twice.
    “Hi there.” The woman’s voice was recorded. “I welcome your call. No one is home at present—please leave your name, your number, the date and time of your call, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.”
    There was a beep.
    “I’m sorry. I must have dialed a wrong number.” Anne disconnected.
    She studied the cabin phone bill and saw that one number in Manhattan—a 427 exchange—had been dialed the same dates as the obscene calls. She tapped it into the keypad.
    Two rings. “Hi there.” It was the answering machine that she had just spoken to. She hung up.
    Now she studied the house phone bill. Calls to two New York City numbers—an 831 and a 929—had been made from the house on the same dates that the obscene calls had been made from the cabin. The 929 number always followed the 831.
    She dialed the 831 number. “Hello.” A