"Yeah. I know. Bit awkward, though. Taking you out. But you gotta spring for a new outfit."
I smiled. "I'll survive."
"I'd like to pay--"
"No, Jack. Really. That's my definition of awkward."
Jack did not help me get my pretty frock. He had to do some shopping of his own, because his working wardrobe looked a whole lot like mine--jeans and casual shirts. He tried to argue that we had time for him to accompany me. While I'm sure he had absolutely no interest in helping me pick a dress, I suspect he was planning to slap down cash, in spite of my protests. So I told him I'd meet him in an hour and took off before he could follow.
It wasn't just about paying for my outfit. I didn't want to buy it in front of him because I had decided I wasn't just dashing into the nearest department store and grabbing something vaguely suitable off the sales rack. I was going to buy a date dress--the kind where I'm willing to flaunt the fact that I'm in good shape. It doesn't happen very often. I'm not comfortable being that woman. Maybe that means something, in light of my newly discovered past, but I think it's just the way I've always been. I'm not completely inept, though. I know how to wear heels and put on makeup and do my hair and even pick out a sexy dress . . . with a little help from the sales staff.
At four, I was in a huge lecture hall at Northwestern, listening to Sebastian Koss. Seeing him on the stage--and projected on several screens--there was no doubt this was the man we'd spotted at Drew Aldrich's townhouse.
Koss had gone to visit Aldrich last week. Aldrich had been alive when he arrived and dead when he left, and while it was always possible that an accomplice had snuck in to do the deed, it seemed a fair bet that Koss had killed his former client.
That day, Koss was speaking on privacy rights for deceased victims. It's a contentious issue and an increasingly important one. The age of cheap video recorders has given sadistic killers the perfect way to relive their crimes. They tape themselves raping, torturing, and murdering their victims. If found, those tapes are invaluable to the prosecution. But does it violate the rights of the deceased to show them in an open courtroom? Not only do all the jury members and journalists and courtroom observers see it, but there's the risk it will end up on the Internet, where anyone can view the horrific last moments of a life.
For myself, I wouldn't care if it meant my killer was punished. But what if there was a tape of Amy's rape and murder? Would I want anyone to see her that way? To remember her that way? Every time someone watched that tape, I'd feel as if she'd been victimized again.
I sat riveted by Koss's talk, even as students around me shifted and whispered, probably only here because they'd been assigned a paper on the subject. The audience was mostly students, but there were enough older adults that I didn't look out of place. Nor did Jack, sitting across the hall, near the back. I'd glanced at him once, before the talk began, to orient myself, but now I kept my gaze forward.
When the lecture ended, most of the students bolted for the door, but there were enough who'd been truly interested in Koss's talk that it wasn't easy getting near him. At least twenty crowded down at the front, either to ask a question or to simply listen to him a little longer. I'd been near the back of the hall, which meant I was now at the rear of that crowd, unable to even wriggle forward.
Koss answered questions politely, with a charming smile, but his gaze kept sliding to the side, looking for an escape route. When he announced that he'd be speaking locally again next week, I knew he was ready to bolt. And I was still a half dozen layers of students away from him.
"Please do come out and see me," he was saying. "Admission is free and if you sign up now, there's an informal meet-and-greet afterward, where we may continue the conversation. Today, however, I have a pressing appointment."
"Mr. Koss!" I called the moment he broke for breath, raising my hand to get his attention.
For a moment, as his gaze lit on me, his expression was blank. Then there was a flicker of "where do I know that face?" followed by what looked like a genuine smile. Koss motioned for me to wait and leaned over to the young man who'd accompanied him onstage to whisper something. As Koss took his leave of the group, the young man beckoned me to a side door.
"Mr. Koss would like to speak to you," he said. "I'll take you to the green room."
The "green room" was a small lounge with snacks and beverages. There was a security guard at the door, but he said nothing as the young man ushered me past. Koss stood inside, guzzling bottled water. He turned as we came in.
"Ms. Stafford," he said, setting the bottle down and extending a hand.
"Nadia, please. I'm surprised you recognized me."
"It took a minute, but I have an eye for faces."
"I know you're rushing off to another engagement . . ."
"Not really 'rushing.'" He smiled. "I have dinner plans, but they were only an excuse. Otherwise, it seemed I'd be there awhile. So I'm free for a chat. I presume that's what you wanted?"
I nodded. "It's about Drew Aldrich."
There was a flicker of surprise. Again, it seemed genuine enough. The problem was figuring out why he was surprised, and what it said about his involvement in my predicament.
"I'd heard of his death," Koss said. "An old colleague contacted me. I won't say I was sorry to hear of it. That was . . ." A brief tightening of his lips. "Not my proudest moment as an attorney. I presume you've learned that I was on his defense team."
"I have."
"Let's talk then. There's a place nearby where we can grab a drink."
CHAPTER 34
I'd like to think Koss's warm greeting meant he wasn't responsible for the hit on me, but I wasn't foolish enough to follow him into any empty buildings or down any dark alleys. Fortunately, he didn't try to lead me to any. He took me just off campus to a small pub, where we sat in a spot private enough to talk, but not so private that he could shoot me under the table and escape undetected.