55
The sequestration hotel had plied the jurors with a breakfast tray of bagels, Danish, and coffee, set on a credenza in the conference room. Ralph Merry hovered over the leftover food and coffee. He'd eaten the same cherry Danish every day for two months and he couldn't wait to check out of this place. First thing he'd do was travel and stay in better hotels than this one. Maybe take a cruise, too, with the wife. But right now he had a mission to complete.
Ralph shook a Styrofoam cup from the upside-down stack next to a bronze plastic jug of coffee. He kept his back to the jurors, who were sitting around the table listening to Christopher yammer like a bleeding heart. Ralph couldn't tell how many of them were buying it. He had to assume a worst-case scenario. There was no margin for error. Zero tolerance. He couldn't cross a man like Elliot Steere.
'Who wants more coffee?' Ralph boomed. 'Anybody else for fresh coffee while I'm buying? How about you, Mrs. Wahlbaum? Mrs. Williams?' Ralph kept his voice cheery, like he was barbecuing with his wife and grandkids. Who wants hot dogs? Who wants hamburgers? Same thing.
'I'd love some coffee, Ralph,' Mrs. Wahlbaum said.
Ralph grinned. 'No problemo, young lady. How would you like it?'
'Extra cream and sugar.'
'Roger dodger, my dear.' Ralph poured Mrs. Wahlbaum a tall cup of coffee. Steam curled from the top. 'Christopher? Want another cup of hot brew?'
Christopher looked at his Styrofoam cup. It was empty and he'd had enough coffee for the morning. 'I guess not. Thanks anyway.'
A miss. 'Come on, Christopher. If you're gonna convince me to convict that rat bastard, you're gonna need some hair on your chest.'
Megan laughed. 'No way, Ralph. Christopher's trying to get rid of unwanted hair. Right, Christopher?'
'There you go,' Christopher said with a smile. He liked the way Megan was looking at him. She was a pretty girl except for the blue-painted fingernails, but he supposed they were considered sophisticated in Philly.
'Christopher,' Ralph said gruffly. He glanced from Christopher to Megan and didn't like what he saw. No time for tomfoolery like this. 'Have some coffee. I'll pour one for you and Megan, too.'
'Okay, I'm addicted to coffee,' Megan said. 'I get the latte at Starbucks. Do you like Starbucks coffee, Christopher?'
'I never tried it,' he answered. He had to get out more. 'But I'll take a cup, too, Ralph.'
KABOOM! A direct hit on the second shot. Cheered, Ralph picked up the plastic pitcher and began to pour. 'How do you take it, soldier?'
'Cream and sugar.'
Ralph filled Christopher's cup with hot coffee and slipped the packet of powder from under his cuff. He palmed the packet, grabbed two packs of sugar, and tore the end off all three together. Then he poured the sugar and the powder into the hot coffee, stirred with a plastic stick, and tucked the leftover plastic back under his cuff. His heart thudded as watched the powder dissolve, but he was no coward. His resolve didn't waver.
'Don't forget mine, extra sugar and cream,' called Mrs. Wahlbaum.
'Got you covered, young lady,' Ralph said. He set Christopher's coffee aside so he wouldn't get it confused with the others, and poured the other coffees.
'How about me, Ralph?' Wanthida asked. 'I take mine black.'
'Hold your horses, darlin'. Christopher asked first and he's the foreman. He's the one doin' all the work.' Ralph picked up Christopher's coffee, walked over to the table, and handed it to him. 'See if I put enough sugar in, Chris.'
Christopher took a quick sip. 'It tastes great. Thanks, Ralph. Appreciate it.'
'Sure thing,' Ralph said, and had to remind himself that Christopher wouldn't die. He'd just get a tummy ache and spend some time in sick bay. He'd be out in two days, after the verdict was in and Steere had walked. Ralph would hold up his end of the bargain. The payoff would be deposited in a special account. Ralph couldn't wait to call his literary agent. They damn well better put his picture on the cover. 'Let me get those other coffees,' he said, and hustled away.
56
Marta only reluctantly skimmed the list of handwritten numbers in Darning's notebook and half wondered if they represented money or account numbers. There were no patterns she could discern. The police would do better. 'Three minutes left, kiddo,' she said, testy at the associate sitting next to her on the futon.
'Four minutes.' Judy hunched over the computer file spread on the coffee table. 'You're right about this file. These are records used to make driver's licenses. It's a database, a computer file of driver's licenses.'
'It doesn't tell us anything, and I have no idea what the notebook means. It's a bunch of eight-digit numbers. That's it. Two minutes and we roll.'
'These numbers are eight digits, too.'
'What numbers?'
'The numbers at the top of each field,' Judy answered, pointing. 'The operator's numbers, from the driver's licenses.'
Marta looked over. The way the numbers were spaced, she hadn't noticed. Hmm. 'Probably just a coincidence. There are about four thousand records in the computer file. How many numbers are in the notebook?'
Judy looked at Marta in astonishment. 'About four thousand. Holy shit,' she said, but Marta tried not to jump to conclusions.
'So there are four thousand numbers in the notebook and four thousand driver's licenses in the file. We don't know if there's a connection.'
