theories, and that sort of crap. Her book is a mishmash of the real stuff and what the conspiracy nuts believe.”
“Do you have any idea where she went?”
“No. I talked to her last night, right after she called the cops, but she didn’t tell me where she was. And this is the first I’ve heard that she was going anywhere.”
“If she calls you, will you let me know where she is?”
Sam looked uncomfortable. “You swear that you’re not going to arrest her, that she’s not a suspect in anything?”
“You have my word. I’m concerned that she might find Carl Rice and he might hurt her.”
“Then this Rice is real?”
“Yes. She did go out with him in high school, and she met him again right around the time that Congressman Glass was murdered. She told the police that Rice killed the congressman.”
“So, she’d be in danger if she ran into this guy?”
“She might be.”
Sam took a deep breath. “If she calls, I’ll try to find out where she is.”
“For the record, I promised Vanessa that I’d offer you protective custody.”
Sam shook his head. “Just have someone drive me back to the paper, and promise you’ll vouch for me if my boss asks any questions.”
CHAPTER SIX
As soon as Ami Vergano, attorney and single mother, was identified as the parent of the little boy who had rushed to Daniel Morelli’s side, helicopters from the TV stations buzzed her house, reporters started knocking on her door at all hours, and the phone began ringing incessantly. Ami tried to explain that she was only Morelli’s landlord, but the reporters wanted to know if he was her lover or Ryan’s father. By the time they grew bored and moved on, Ryan was a mess. Ami had tried to shield him, but he had seen his friend shot and bleeding, he had heard some of the cruel unending questions, and he had seen the distress they caused his mother.
Two days after the fight at the ball field, Ami walked an uncharacteristically subdued Ryan to his fourth-grade homeroom. She extracted a promise from the principal and Ryan’s teacher that they would not allow reporters, Ryan’s classmates, or anyone else to talk to him about the incident at the ball field. Ami hugged Ryan and reluctantly drove downtown. Her office was in an old brick building on Front Avenue, across the street from a waterfront park that ran along the Willamette River. Ami might have been depressed, but the weather was balmy and the sun promised a happy day. In a few hours, speedboats would be tearing past sleek watercraft with multicolored sails and the park would fill up with dog walkers, women pushing strollers, and kids playing hooky.
An Irish bar occupied the ground floor of Ami’s building. The entrance to the upper floors was between the bar and a travel agency. On the third floor, the elevator doors opened across from a firm that built websites. Down the hall to the right was an architect’s office. At the other end of the floor was the suite where Ami shared space with a three-person law firm and two other sole practitioners. A Hispanic woman with a baby; a neatly dressed black man; and a blond woman wearing aviator glasses, a tan blouse, and jeans were seated in the reception area. Ami had no scheduled appointments, so she assumed that none of the people in the reception area were waiting for her. As she stopped at the reception desk to get her messages, the receptionist leaned forward.
“The woman in the tan blouse is here for you,” she whispered. “She doesn’t have an appointment.”
After checking her messages to make certain that there was nothing urgent, Ami walked over to the blonde.
“I’m Ami Vergano. I understand you want to see me.”
The woman stood up. She didn’t smile or offer a hand. “I hope you have some time free. If you’re busy, I can wait.”
“Can you tell me what this is about?” Ami asked warily. If this was another reporter, Ami was going to commit mayhem.
The woman looked at the other clients. “I’d prefer to speak to you in private.”
Ami led the way to her broom-closet-size office at the rear of the suite. The window looked down on the bar’s parking lot. Diplomas covered one wall, and another displayed a seascape that she’d taken as a fee from another artist for whom she’d written a contract with a gallery. There were two client chairs, a credenza that ran beneath Ami’s window, and her desk, which was covered by pleadings, memos, letters, and law books. A picture of Ami, Chad, and Ryan stood on the credenza, and a picture of Ryan sat next to her phone.
“How can I help you, Ms….?”
“Kohler. Vanessa Kohler. I live in Washington, D.C. I flew into Portland late last night.”
Ami’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t fly all the way to Oregon to consult with me on a legal matter, did you?”
“Actually, I did. I heard your name on CNN. They said that you’re a lawyer. They also said that Daniel Morelli was living with you.”
Ami glared at her visitor. “Are you a reporter?”
“Mrs. Vergano, I do work for a newspaper, but I’m not here for a story.”
“What paper?” Ami demanded angrily.
Vanessa sighed. “I’m employed by
“Ms. Kohler, the press has made my life and my son’s life hell for the past few days. I’m not sure I trust any reporter. But even if I believed you, I couldn’t help you. I don’t practice criminal law and my only contact with it is a required course I took during my first year in law school. I am not competent to represent anyone facing any kind of criminal charges, let alone something this serious.
“But even if I were a great criminal lawyer, I couldn’t represent Dan. You never represent someone you know. And there’s a potential conflict of interest. I’m a witness. I saw what happened. The DA could call me and I’d have to testify that I saw Dan stab Barney Lutz in the throat and throw that policeman to the ground. So, you see, there’s no way I can do what you want me to do.”
Vanessa leaned forward. She looked intense. “I don’t care about all that. What I need is someone who can get me in to see Dan. I called the hospital. They said he’s being held in a secure ward. They won’t let anyone but his attorney visit him. You can get a message to Dan. Maybe you can get me in as another attorney or an expert witness.”
Ami’s anger boiled up again. “This sounds like a ploy to get an interview.”
Vanessa gripped her hands tightly in her lap to control her mounting frustration. “I told you, I am not here as a reporter. I care for Dan and I want to help him. I’m probably the only person who can help him. There are things I know, things he knows. He could use his knowledge to cut a deal.”
“What things?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that.”
Ami decided to put an end to the meeting.
“Look, Ms. Kohler, this isn’t going to work. I’d get disbarred if I lied to the police so you could see Dan. I might even be arrested. You’re going to have to find another attorney.”
“When you talked about Dan on TV, it sounded as though you cared for him.”
“I do like Dan, but I’ve only known him for a short time.”
“He’s a very good man, Mrs. Vergano, but he’s been wounded emotionally. He needs our help. I know how to help him, but I have to see him first.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you, Ms. Kohler.”
Vanessa took a check for $25,000 out of her pocket and laid it on the blotter. Ami stared at the check longingly. How she could use $25,000.
“I must see Dan before it’s too late,” Vanessa said. She sounded desperate. “You have no idea how
