Opening Statement
The phone rang. Claire dropped the law review she was reading onto the coffee table and reached across the back of the couch for the receiver.
"Kincaid," she said.
" Claire?" a familiar husky voice asked, and Claire felt a reflexive clench in her belly. "It's Jack."
"I know," Claire said instantly, and then to cover: "No one else calls me this late." She shifted on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable.
"What's the time?" Jack asked.
"The time, Mr Wolf, is eleven past eleven," Claire said, crossing and then uncrossing her legs.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise it was so late." Jack's voice was oddly intimate through the phone, as if he was whispering in Claire's ear. "I was working on the Montay opening, I lost track of time. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"No," Claire said hastily. "Don't hang up. It's fine. Tell me about the Montay opening." She rested her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes to concentrate on what Jack was saying. She could almost believe she could feel his breath on her neck.
"We don't have a lot of evidence," Jack said.
"Uh huh," Claire agreed. She played with the top button on her blouse as she thought about the case against Elvira Montay. Mrs Montay had murdered her husband for money, she and Jack were certain of it, but the case was very much circumstantial. "But what we have is convincing." The button slipped loose and absently Claire moved down to the next one.
"We need to give the jury something to hold on to," Jack murmured. "A story about the case to make the facts compelling."
Claire trailed her fingers down the edge of her unbuttoned blouse. "That's not new. We always have to do that." She drew her fingers back up over her breasts to her neck.
"I'm uneasy about this one, thought," Jack said. Claire felt her nipples tighten as his voice resonated in her ear. Feeling wicked, she stroked one, and then the other, as Jack went on: "All the evidence points towards Montay being a complete bastard. The story we want to sell the jury is that Mrs Montay was a bad wife. Are you still there, Claire?"
"Uh huh," Claire sighed. If only he could see me … the thought was funny, and then she imagined McCoy in the room watching her as she ran her fingers around one peaked nipple and that wasn't funny at all. Her back arched involuntarily, a whimper escaping her lips. Oh god, if only he could see me…
"But I don't think that's the real story. I'm not sure what the real story is. And I worry that the jury will ask themselves the same question."
"Mmmm," Claire agreed. She slid her hand lower, imagining it was Jack's hand, listening to Jack's voice. The tingling warmth in her belly began to grow.
"Do you agree?"
"Oh, yes," Claire said. Oh god, yes. She yanked down the zipper of her jeans.
"Are you coming down with a cold?" Jack asked.
"A cold?" Claire asked, fingers stilling. "No. Why?"
"Your voice sounds funny," Jack said.
"No, I'm fine," Claire said. "Go on." Please go on. She moved the receiver a little away from her mouth so Jack wouldn't hear her breath quickening.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Oh, god, he's guessed, he can tell, Claire thought. An instant's embarrassment was followed by the sudden imagine of Jack on the other end of the phone, listening to her, imagining her. "I'm sure," she managed to say, bit her lip hard to keep quiet, heat flashing through her. Her mind cycled through Jack on the phone – Jack watching her – Jack touching her – Jack listening to her. "Hold on," she gasped, took the receiver away from her ear and pressed it against the couch cushion so he wouldn't hear the noises she made as fireworks went off inside her and she kicked the coffee table over.
As her breathing slowed she put the phone back to her ear. "Sorry," she said. "Something on the stove – boiling over."
"Did you turn it off in time?" Jack asked, sounding a little alarmed. Claire knew that if she told him she'd burnt down half the kitchen he'd be on his way over before she'd finished the sentence. She settled back on the couch, warmed by his concern – not to mention by the afterglow.
"Yes, it's fine," she said. "I got it in time."
"You shouldn't leave things on the heat," Jack said.
"I know." Believe me, I know! "What were you saying?"
Jack sighed. "Just that I don't know what it was that made Elvira Montay hit her husband with a hammer fourteen times. He was cheating on her, he humiliated her in public, but that was nothing new. She doesn't say he ever hit her or threatened to. She didn't leave him because she liked the money. So she killed him to hang on to the money."
"The tribulations of the wealthy," Claire said.
"Not something that's ever troubled my sleep," Jack said.
"Yes, if a woman ever beats in your head with a hammer it won't be for the forty-seven dollars in your checking account," Claire said.
"I told you to stop reading my bank statements," Jack said, and Claire laughed.
"It's funny, talking to you on the phone," Jack said.
"What do you mean?" Claire said.
"It's like you're leaning over my shoulder," Jack said. "Whispering in my ear."
"I know," Claire said. "I feel like that too."
"What would you like me to whisper?" Jack said slyly and Claire felt herself blush.
"How about ' Claire, you can have a raise,'?" she said.
"How about, Claire, I need you to solve my motive problem."
"You need me to tell you your motives?" Claire asked.
"Oh, my motives are perfectly clear to me," Jack said softly. "It's the motives of others that trouble my sleep. Take Mrs Montay. Why then? What made her snap?"
"It doesn't need to be any one thing, Jack." Claire said. "Maybe she thought everything could keep going the way it had been, that it would all be fine. One day she woke up and looked in the mirror and realised she was fooling herself. One day she realised she had to move forward, one way or another. So she did."
"With a hammer," Jack said.
"Takes all kinds," Claire said.
"Have you ever felt like that?"
"Like beating in a man's head with a hammer?" Claire asked.
"Like you couldn't keep fooling yourself," Jack said. "Like you had to move forward, one way or another."
"Sometimes," Claire said. "How about you?"
"I think I'm getting there, Claire," Jack said, and the sudden seriousness in his voice made Claire sit up a little.
"Then you know what to tell the jury about Elvira Montay," she said, refusing to take up his invitation.
Jack sighed a little. "I do," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow. You can read my draft. Tell me what you think."
"I will."
"Tell me what you think I should do," Jack added, again with that unexpected gravity that Claire didn't want to think about.
But that was unfair of her. What was going on between them might be a plane-crash in progress, but they were both co-pilots. Claire had been refusing to decide whether to assume the brace position or pull the lever for the ejector seat – but Jack had the right to make that decision as well. He had been very patient with her – especially, Claire thought, especially since he can't possibly avoid knowing that he could with five minutes concentrated effort completely eradicate my common sense.
He had not used his advantage – no matter how much she wished he would. That, as well as common courtesy, meant she owed him an answer. One way or another.
"I will," Claire promised. "I'll tell you, Jack."
"Okay," Jack said. "Because – because I'm waiting by the phone, Claire."
