ten minutes late. He knew Jones was capable of this sort of thing. That for some reason he didn’t understand, she resented him. But as he passed the Criminal Justice Center, he caught a glimpse of Jones on the sidewalk outside City Hall. She was rushing toward the building entrance with her briefcase and lugging research files in a canvas tote bag that Teddy recognized as his own. Teddy had the motion papers in his briefcase. But the judge had already made his decision, so there was no real reason to bring any files at all. Unless you were Brooke Jones.
He crossed the street, zigzagging his way past City Hall to Market Street and picking up his pace again. Barnett amp; Stokes occupied the sixteenth and seventeenth floors at One Liberty Place, the tallest building in the city. Construction for One Liberty Place had been controversial because of the building’s height and what it might do to Philadelphia’s historic skyline. But when the developer had completed the job, no one said a word. One Liberty Place was a work of modern art that seemed to draw out the historic buildings so you could see them again. The skyline never looked better.
Teddy rushed through the building lobby, nodding at the guards and ignoring the Christmas carols over the PA system as he found his way to the elevators and made the quick ride up to the seventeenth floor. Racing past the receptionist, he pushed open the glass doors and legged it down the long hallway to Barnett’s corner office at the very end. Barnett’s legal assistant, Jackie, was on the phone and looked worried. As Teddy approached her desk, she lowered her eyes and waved him through.
“Where the hell have you been?” Barnett said as he entered.
Barnett was standing before his desk, loading his briefcase with files, various prescriptions from his doctor, even a backup battery for his cell phone. He appeared upset, more worried than his assistant, maybe even sick.
“I was due in court,” Teddy said. “What’s happened?”
“Where’s my fucking address book?”
Teddy moved closer and looked at the man’s desk. He noticed a copy of the newspaper opened to the society page. Barnett and his wife, Sally, had hosted a charity scavenger hunt benefitting Children’s Hospital last weekend, and the story, along with their photographs, had made the paper. Beneath the newspaper, Teddy could see a copy of
“I’m supposed to be in court,” Teddy said. “Brooke called. Now tell me why.”
“It couldn’t be helped. I should’ve called you myself, Teddy. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Before Teddy could respond, Barnett gave him a nervous look and added, “I need a big favor.”
Barnett found his address book underneath the magazine and threw it into his briefcase. As he yanked open a desk drawer and fished out a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol, Teddy noticed that Barnett’s hands were trembling.
“Someone’s been murdered,” he said. “I need your help.”
Teddy lowered his briefcase to the floor and leaned against the arm of the couch. It was a big office, luxuriously furnished, with a million-dollar view. For some reason, it appeared unusually small and insignificant just now.
“A girl,” Barnett went on. “Darlene Lewis. She was only eighteen-years-old. Shit, Teddy, she was still in high school. I’m in a jam, and I need your help.”
“Do they know who did it?” Teddy asked.
“Her mailman. A guy named Oscar Holmes. They’ve got the murder weapon. It sounds like they caught him in the act.”
Barnett shuddered. Teddy had never seen him act this way before and looked him over carefully. At six-feet- one Barnett was the same height as Teddy but bulkier by about fifty pounds. In spite of the extra weight, Barnett appeared in good shape and carried himself well. The man’s grooming was meticulous, his clothing handmade by a tailor Barnett visited once a year in Milan. His hair was a wiry mix of brown and gray, his eyes sky-blue and sparkling, even in the grim light of a conference room. But what struck Teddy most about the man was his face, usually overflowing with confidence and a measure of charm he could turn on and off at will. Jim Barnett was a master at litigation, his skills as a negotiator well known. Until now, Teddy thought. It looked as if the man had lost his self-control.
“What’s the favor?” Teddy asked.
Barnett forced the bottle of Tylenol open and gave him a look. “We’re representing Holmes,” he said.
A moment passed. Then Barnett shook two caplets out and swallowed them with whatever was in his coffee mug.
“We don’t do criminal law,” Teddy said, trying to suppress his concern. “No one here has experience.”
“We’ll get help if we need it.”
“Who is this guy? Why are we getting involved?”
“I’ll explain later,” Barnett said. “The girl lived in Chestnut Hill. She came from a good family. A nice, old- money family. The cops are still at the house, processing the crime scene under what they’re calling
Teddy wanted to say no, but didn’t. He had a revulsion for criminal law and had done everything he could to avoid it in school. His interest in law centered entirely on real estate. He wanted to work with architects and developers and build a career on something he could feel and touch with his hands. When he’d received a job offer from Barnett amp; Stokes, he jumped on it. The firm’s real estate department was the rival of every other firm in the city, accounting for almost a quarter of their business.
“Where are you going?” he asked Barnett.
“The roundhouse. Holmes is already there. The cops are probably trying to beat him into making a statement right now. I’ve gotta get there before he does.”
Teddy thought it over. The
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Teddy said. “If it’s another favor for someone, why not put them in touch with a criminal attorney who handles this sort of thing every day? This isn’t a personal injury case for the president of an oil company. This isn’t about money.”
“Listen to me, Teddy. I know what you’re thinking. I don’t like it either, for Christ’s sake. But I can’t be in two places at once. You’re driving out to the crime scene, and I’m heading over to the roundhouse. If they won’t let you in, and they probably won’t, then do the best you can from the street. Once you get a bead on things, I want you to get back here and handle the preliminary arraignment. I’ve gotta get home at a decent hour. Sally’s got something going on I can’t get out of. We’ll talk tonight-keep your cell phone on-then trade notes in the morning and figure out what the hell we’re gonna do. You’ve been like a son to me, Teddy. I need your help now.”
The door swung open and Jill Sykes walked in with a notepad. Jill had been a student at Penn Law one year behind Teddy and managed to get a job at the firm as a law clerk without knowing anyone while she prepared for her bar exams. She had a witty sense of humor and the ability to cut to the bottom line in an instant. Although Teddy had seen her on campus last year, even found her attractive, they hadn’t met until she was hired by the firm. Over the past three months, they had become good friends.
“Thanks,” Barnett said to her. “Did you get the address?”
She nodded, tearing a sheet of paper from her pad and handing it to Teddy with a look. It was Darlene Lewis’s address in Chestnut Hill. The murder scene. Barnett slipped the bottle of Tylenol into his jacket pocket and turned to Teddy.
“Now get going,” Barnett said. “And be careful. My guess is the district attorney will be there. The way I see it, we’re gonna cop a plea and then play let’s make a deal. I want to avoid headlines at all costs. Be polite, and don’t believe what you’re hearing around town. Alan Andrews is Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Osama bin Laden rolled into one pint-sized motherfucking asshole. He’s on the political fast track. We need to keep things friendly, you understand?”
Barnett’s charm was back. Teddy nodded, grabbing his briefcase and heading out the door.
