gulped down more medicine. There weren’t any, he decided. His eyes moved through the darkness to the twelve- gauge shotgun mounted on the wall beside the window. He’d inherited the gun after his father’s death. A long time ago, when the world was a different place and the fields on the other side of the street were just fields and not graveyards. They used to shoot skeet together, just the two of them. Sometimes they’d leave the gun behind and just walk, spooking the pheasants hidden in the tall grass. He could see the gleam in his dad’s eyes as the colorful birds took flight. He could still smell the scent of his aftershave mixed with sweat when he hugged his father and kissed him on the cheek. Teddy hadn’t fired the gun since it came into his possession thirteen years ago. Instead, he preferred to look at it and dream about the way things were before they took his father away, accusing him of murder, and not protecting him from his own cellmate. Strung out and crazed, the man had beaten his father to death because he couldn’t get his hands on enough money to buy drugs. The man needed another hot load and would’ve done anything to get it.
Holmesburg Prison …
Teddy finished off the glass of vodka. The room was spinning. As he laid his head on the pillow and gazed out the window at the falling snow, he hoped he wouldn’t dream tonight.
EIGHT
Teddy poured a cup of coffee and walked down the hall to his office. Before he could get to his desk, Brooke Jones had picked up his scent and was in his face full-blown.
“Why didn’t you call me back last night?” she said. “This is a professional office. When someone leaves a message, you’re supposed to return the call. And don’t tell me you didn’t get it.”
He sat down, taking in her attitude as he sipped the hot coffee and gazed out the window. It was eight-thirty, and he was already working on his third cup. The vodka hadn’t helped. It had been a night of tossing and turning, fighting off his demons and nightmares, and waking up every hour or so in a cold sweat. By 5:00 a.m. the bed sheets were soaked through to the mattress and he’d had enough. Deciding to get an early start on the day, he got dressed and drove into town. It was a warm, sunny day-the weather as crazy as Brooke Jones.
“You’re not hearing me,” she said. “We’re going to trial in two weeks and you still have the motion papers. I want your files. I want all of them right now.”
He turned away from the window and finally looked at her. She was in a hurry again. All worked up over nothing and shouting orders at him.
“Who says it’s your case, Brooke?” he asked calmly.
“I was in court yesterday,” she shot back. “It’s my case. Barnett said so.”
“That was yesterday, and I appreciate what you did for me.”
“What are you talking about? I spoke with Barnett last night. He said it’s my case until you’re finished with whatever you’re doing for him. He’s pulling all your cases.”
Teddy had been in the office waiting for Barnett for more than an hour. When he tried reaching him by phone, he hit his voice mail just as he had last night. Teddy’s anger had subsided, and he was beginning to worry about the man. But now the anger was back. The feeling that he was being used.
“What time did you talk to him last night?” he said.
“After eleven. After you didn’t call me back. Now where are the files?”
She pushed his mail aside and started going through his desk as if it were her own.
“Please don’t do that,” he said.
She picked up another file and opened it. She must not have heard him. Teddy stood up, stepping between her and the desk.
“Get out,” he said.
She stopped and gave him a look. Her eyes narrowed.
“This is a favor,” she said. “Who wants a personal injury case anyway? I could care less.”
“If you don’t care, then stop whining and get out.”
“I’ve been here longer than you have. I’ve got more experience. Why is Barnett always asking you for help instead of coming to me?”
“I don’t know, Brooke. I’m not a mind reader. I’m just asking you to leave.”
He held her gaze, knowing she was seething. When she finally turned and stomped out, he sat back down and sighed in her wake. His head was throbbing, behind his eyes and just below the left temple. He opened his briefcase, grabbed the bottle of aspirin and popped the cap. As he chased the pills down with more hot coffee, he turned away from the door and looked at his office. Even though it was half the size of a partner’s office, he was grateful for the window and at least a partial view of the city. He slipped the bottle of aspirin into his jacket pocket and leaned back in the chair, gazing at the building across the street. He’d give Jones the files, he decided, but only if he had to. Only after he spoke with Barnett. There was still a chance Barnett could handle Oscar Holmes on his own from here on out. Still a chance Teddy could find his way back to the life he had before he stepped into the death house on Scottsboro Road.
Jill Sykes tapped on the door and gave him an anxious look.
“He’s here,” she said. “He wants to see you.”
Teddy followed her into the hall, ignoring his natural attraction for her the way he always did. But as he swept past her, he could smell the shampoo in her light brown hair, the faint scent of her perfume. He caught the spark in her eyes, and glanced at her angular face. She looked fresh, as if she’d slept the whole night through.
She smiled at him, then wished him luck. He nodded back, starting down the hall to the other side of the floor. When he turned the corner, he saw Brooke Jones exiting Barnett’s office with her tail down. Teddy filed the dirty look away as they passed each other and kept walking.
He found Barnett seated at his desk going through a three-ring binder. Teddy moved closer, but didn’t sit down.
“I thought we were gonna talk last night,” he said in an even tone.
Barnett kept his eyes on the binder, scanning a page quickly, then turning to the next. “Sorry, Teddy. I had my hands full. How bad was it?”
“About what you’d expect,” he said, “for a cannibal. You want to tell me what’s going on, or would you like me to guess?”
Barnett finally looked up. Not at Teddy, but at Larry Stokes, co-founder of the firm, peeking in the doorway with obvious concern. Stokes was ten years older than Barnett, his hair already as white as the clouds. And he was socially connected, which meant he spent more time acquiring clients and maintaining the firm’s political contacts than actually practicing law. Larry Stokes had never been much of an attorney, but he played the role well and the arrangement had proven successful for over twenty-five years. Stokes brought the clients in. Barnett handled the legal work once they signed an agreement and the firm’s accounting department received their retainer.
“I didn’t mean to be eavesdropping,” Stokes said to Barnett. “Is there a problem?”
“No, Larry. Everything’s fine. We still on for lunch?”
“I hope so.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
Barnett faked a smile, then closed the door and returned to his desk. Teddy kept his eyes on him. Barnett looked pale and washed out, and Teddy guessed the man had been up all night just as he had.
“I haven’t broken the news to Larry yet,” Barnett said. “Holmes has a history of mental illness. He should have been put away before it came to this. Before he hurt anyone.”
Teddy glanced at the binder Barnett held against his chest.
“It’s a copy of the murder book,” Barnett said, closing the binder and handing it over. “At least the start of one. It’s all yours. I want you to call the district attorney’s office this afternoon and make sure it’s kept up to date.”
There were two chairs before Barnett’s desk. Teddy slid one out and sat down without opening the binder.
“They’re working fast,” Barnett was saying. “They’ve got a witness, and the fingerprints match on both the body and the murder weapon. Same with the lip prints. If there was any question about Oscar Holmes, we’re past
