He nodded, but she could tell he didn’t fully understand.
“So if you and Sidney are married, and you’re alone in your kitchen one night, and you say, ‘Hey, I feel like I shouldn’t keep secrets from you, so you should know that I’m a serial killer.’ You could invoke confidential communication and she would not be allowed to testify.”
Andrew was paying close attention now. “Where does it get tricky?”
“If Sidney tells a friend, ‘This is crazy, but Andrew told me he’s a serial killer,’ then that friend can be called to testify as a hearsay witness.”
The bottom part of his mask moved. He was chewing the inside of his lip.
Leigh dropped the bomb that she’d heard ticking the moment she’d spotted Sidney’s leather accessories and various piercings. “Or let’s say Sidney told a friend you did something kinky in bed. And that kinky thing is something similar to what was done to the victim. Then that friend could testify about that kink, and the prosecutor could claim that it showed a pattern of behavior.”
Andrew’s throat worked. His concern was almost palpable. “So I should tell Sid—”
“As your lawyer, I can’t tell you what to say. I can only explain the law so that you understand the implications.” She asked, “Do you understand the implications?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Hey!” Sidney was clomping toward them in chunky combat boots. Her mask was black with chrome studs. She was slightly less goth today, but still radiated an unpredictable energy. Leigh could’ve been looking at herself at that age, which was both galling and depressing.
Andrew said, “We were—”
“Talking about Callie?” Sidney turned to Leigh. “I swear he’s obsessed with your sister. Did he tell you he had an enormous crush on her? She’s his one hall pass. Did he tell you?”
Leigh shook her head, not to say no, but because she needed to wake up her stupid brain. Of course Andrew still had a crush on Callie. That’s why he kept bringing her up.
She tried to steer the topic away from her sister, asking Andrew, “How do you know Reggie Paltz?”
“We’ve been friends for …” He shrugged, because he wasn’t really paying attention to Leigh now. He was thinking about what she had told him about spousal privilege.
Sidney picked up on the tension, asking Andrew, “What’s going on, baby? Did something else happen?”
Leigh didn’t need or want to be here for the coming conversation. “I’ll get started with the investigator while you two talk.”
Sidney raised one overly arched eyebrow. Leigh realized her tone had sounded chillier than she’d intended. She tried to project neutrality as she passed the young woman in the hallway, fighting the urge to itemize every single part of her that she found annoying. There was no doubt in her mind that Sidney talked to her friends about Andrew. When you were that young and stupid, sex was all that you had going for you.
“Andy, come on.” Sidney dropped into blowjob voice. “What’s wrong baby boy, why do you look so upset?”
Leigh closed the door behind her.
She found herself in a cramped outer office with a metal desk, no secretary, no chair. There was a kitchenette along the side wall. She dumped the coffee in the sink then tossed the cup into the trashcan. The usual was on offer: coffeemaker, teakettle, hand sanitizer, a stack of disposable masks. There was an open door leading down a short hallway, but Leigh wanted to form an impression before she met Reggie Paltz.
White walls. Dark blue wall-to-wall carpet. Popcorn ceiling. The artwork wasn’t professional enough to be anything but vacation photos: a tropical beach sunrise, dogs sledding across the tundra, snowcapped mountain peaks, the Great Steps of Machu Picchu. A battered lacrosse stick hung on the wall over a black leather loveseat. Old copies of Fortune magazine were scattered across the glass coffee table. A tie-dyed blue rug straight out of an Office Depot catalogue sat like a postage stamp under the glass.
Younger than she’d guessed. Well-educated; you didn’t learn to play lacrosse in the projects. Definitely not a cop. Probably divorced. No kids, otherwise child support would’ve ruled out the exotic vacations. A college athlete who didn’t want to give up the glory. Probably an unfinished MBA on his college transcripts. Used to having money in his pocket.
Leigh availed herself of the hand sanitizer before going through to the back.
Reggie Paltz was sitting behind a desk that had taken its cues from the Resolute. His office was sparsely furnished, with another leather couch shoved against a wall and two mismatched chairs in front of the desk. He had the requisite leather blotter and masculine accessories of every man who’d ever had an office, down to a colored glass paperweight, a personalized business card holder, and the exact same sterling silver Tiffany letter opener that Leigh had bought for Walter a few Christmases ago.