“What was that about?” said Quinn.
“Robert Gray,” said Strange.
“That boy you inherited from Granville Oliver.”
“He’s in a bad place right now. I’m gonna try and get him into this program, where a church kind of adopts a kid. It’s a citywide thing, and I’ve heard it works. Might be just what Robert needs. This guy Winston, he’s started a similar program for addicts here, too.”
“Sounds good.”
“If I can swing it, we’ll get him into a family up near us, so we can have him on the football team, too.”
Quinn looked at his friend across the bench. “Derek Strange, always looking to save the world.”
“A kid or two, maybe,” said Strange. “That would be enough for me.”
Chapter 24
STRANGE and Quinn entered courtroom 19, where the Oliver trial was in progress, after a thorough security check. The heads of a few spectators and several law enforcement types turned as they walked in and took their seats. Strange and Quinn did not return their stares.
Judge Potterfield, rotund and jowly, had asked attorneys from both sides to approach the bench for a consultation. Phillip Wood, sharply dressed and freshly shaved, was on the stand. Granville Oliver sat placidly, his stun belt beneath his blue suit, staring at Wood through nonprescription glasses.
The prosecution’s questions for Wood resumed. His testimony had been rehearsed and came off that way. It could have been recorded as a primer for the life, D.C.-style, complete with name checks of familiar clubs, go-go bands, motels, skating rinks, favorite models of automobile, brands of champagne, Calico autos and AK-47s. Wood was asked about Bennett Oliver, and if Granville had ever discussed killing his uncle or having him killed.
“Granville told me he suspected his uncle Bennett was gettin’ ready to flip to the Feds,” said Wood. “They had his uncle talkin’ about a buy on a wiretap and they were gonna send him up. Granville thought his uncle was gonna cut a deal.”
“What were Granville’s thoughts about that?” said the prosecutor.
“Objection,” said Ives. “Mr. Wood’s interpretation of the defendant’s thoughts calls for speculation.”
“I’ll rephrase, your honor. Did Granville Oliver ever
“He said it was time for Bennett to be got.”
“To be got?” said the prosecutor.
“To be killed. Next thing I heard, Bennett Oliver was dead.”
“I see.” The prosecutor paused for effect and softened his tone. “Do you love Granville Oliver, Mr. Wood?”
“Yes,” said Phillip Wood, looking straight at Oliver. “That’s my main boy right there. I love Granville like my own blood.”
Oliver’s expression remained flat and unreadable.
Judge Potterfield called a short break in the proceedings. Strange caught the eye of Raymond Ives, Oliver’s primary defense attorney, and head-motioned him to follow.
Strange and Quinn met Ives, immaculate and trim in a William Fox pinstripe, outside the courthouse. They stood on the sidewalk of Constitution where the bus and car sounds would serve to mute their conversation. A man who looked like a federal cop watched them, standing near the building’s front steps among the cigarette smokers, not smoking himself.
“Maybe we should discuss this alone,” said Ives.
“I don’t have a problem with him being here,” said Strange, speaking of Quinn.
“Okay,” said Ives. “I went over the message left at your house. You say the voice was the voice of a white man.”
“Same one, probably, who called my office on Ninth and spoke to my wife. This is no gang member leaving me death threats. Those boys in Southeast want to fuck with me, they’d do it direct. This here’s not their style.”
“The voice spoke of your conversation with Kevin Willis down at Leavenworth.”
“I got nothing from Willis on the Oliver case.”
“Right. I reviewed the transcripts of your tapes.”
“And?”
“At several points Willis talks about people in protective who are hot or who are about to flip. He’s referencing potential witnesses who have nothing to do with the Oliver trial. These are cases that are still pending, Derek.”
“Make your point.”
“They have grounds for an obstruction charge.”
“You should have warned me about that.”
“I did warn you.”
“I don’t remember you sayin’ anything.”
“I went over it with you before you left town; it’s in my notes of our meeting. Now, understand, if the government wants to go after your license or prosecute you further, they’re within their rights to try.”
“The Feds had Willis set me up.”
“Maybe. That would be damned hard to prove.”
“You want me off the case?”
“If you dropped out now, I’d understand. But I need you more than ever. What I’m telling you is, you’ve got to be aware of the possible situation you have here. Let’s assume we’re talking about the FBI. They can bug your office, your house, your bedroom, even your car.”
“I know all that.”
“They can monitor your phone conversations, including your cell. At the very least you ought to be communicating with your people through pay phones.”
“Whatever,” said Strange.
“You don’t seem too concerned.”
“I’m staying on this.”
“Okay. Good. When the time comes to resolve your problem, I’ll represent you, gratis.”
“I was counting on that.”
“In the meantime,” said Ives, “you heard the testimony in there. I need something from the Stokes girl, if there is anything, right away. Something to refute Phil Wood’s testimony that Granville hit his own uncle or had him hit.”
“I’m working on it,” said Strange.
He asked Ives about what they could do for the girl and her son. Ives described the arrangements that could be made. When he was done he said, “I don’t need to tell you to watch your back.”
Strange and Ives shook hands. Quinn and Strange walked toward the Caprice.
“Hope you’re hungry,” said Strange.
“It depends.”
“The Three-Star Diner.”
“That Greek place where your father worked,” said Quinn.
“We’re meetin’ a Greek,” said Strange. “So it makes sense.”
