“No,” I said without looking up from the overpriced beer menu. “Kind of a mystery at this point.”
“Well, try him again tomorrow. Something just arrived you might like. Your favorite, an IPA.”
I nodded with a shrug, because life is too short for cheap beer. He filled a schooner glass, and I took a foamy sip. The India Pale Ale was definitely not from India, probably was an ale, but it was fairly pale. I would at least give it that.
The bartender had just started a tab for me when my phone vibrated in my blazer pocket. I answered it, but the caller was not Richard Kostas. The woman on the line spoke in a stern, professional tone and identified herself as Chester County Sheriff Amanda Tompkins. I paid for my beer and left a tip as the sheriff explained why she was calling. I quickly left Gertrude’s and stepped back into the thick, chilly fog.
This was the kind of night I probably should have stayed home, built a fire, and slid the deadbolt shut like everyone else in Bridgeford. This was not the kind of night I wanted to head down to the waterfront to watch the sheriff pull the body of my no-show client out of the Chesapeake Bay.
Opossum Creek was too far away to walk. I returned home, climbed into my 1970 Barracuda, and drove away from town along Ocean Highway. Inland, the fog started to dissipate. Only my headlights illuminated the dark road that meandered past the recently harvested cornfields and the occasional patches of bleak forest. Finding the sheriff would be a challenge, but then I saw flashing blue-and-reds in the distance lighting up the cloudy fog clinging to the shoreline. I rolled to a stop. Police cruisers lined the side of the country lane with their headlights shining across the surface of the black water. Farther ahead, two paramedics zipped up a body bag on a gurney, which they hefted into the back of an ambulance. I was still taking in the scene when a uniformed police officer approached and waved me out of my Barracuda.
“Mr. Seagraves?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I replied as I slowly exited the vehicle, keeping both hands visible.
“Thanks for coming down. I wasn’t sure you’d make it. I’m Sheriff Tompkins.”
“How’re ya, Sheriff? Not the best night to be out. You got me curious. Why call me?”
“Seems you know this guy. We’re early in the investigation. Just before sunset, a fisherman reported a body floating at the mouth of this creek. Took a while for the divers to find him, with the low tide pulling out toward the bay and all. Meanwhile, my deputy found an abandoned SUV not far from here and ran the plates. The medical examiner will confirm the ID, but we’re reasonably sure who he is. His name’s Richard Kostas.”
“Still doesn’t explain why you called me,” I replied.
“There was a pocket calendar in the car. Your business card was paper-clipped on today’s page, so I called.”
“You get search warrants pretty fast around here, huh?”
The sheriff leaned back a bit and gave me an uncertain smile, as if she had just remembered that I was an attorney and now the game was on.
“No warrant, Mr. Seagraves. Exigent circumstances. Besides, the calendar was open on the passenger seat in plain view.” She casually held up a thin black flashlight to show me how she had examined inside the car without a court order. “Mr. Kostas had a three o’clock appointment with you.”
“A pocket calendar?” I asked. “That’s so twentieth century.”
“Yeah, everyone’s digital now. Strange because we’ve just learned that this guy had a high-tech job at Benton Dynamics … well … at least up until last week. A position there means he’s got a security clearance. I’m working on a timeline. How long was he at your law office today?”
“He wasn’t. Didn’t keep his appointment.”
“Your secretary called him?”
“No, she was off today. Kind of part time.”
“So you called?” the sheriff asked. Her expression seemed increasingly puzzled.
“Yeah, well,” I replied. “Around three-thirty, give or take. Left a voicemail. I tried texting and email, but nothing.”
Sheriff Tompkins paused, looking closely at me with a single raised eyebrow. “What can you tell me about your client, this Mr. Kostas?”
“Not much. I’m not sure I’d even call him a client. I hadn’t met him yet, just a phone call. He dropped off a Writ of Summons and Complaint filed by Benton Dynamics. I can tell you what’s in the public record. His former company alleged that he misappropriated computer files and proprietary data. Benton Dynamics wants an injunction against him. He was looking for a lawyer.”
“Misappropriated?”
I turned away from the pulsing red and blue lights atop the police cruisers. “A twenty dollar word for stealing. Well, alleged at this point. I was looking forward to his initial consult. Corporate espionage cases don’t come by every day.”
Sheriff Tompkins said tersely, “Let me get this straight. You never actually met him?”
“Not in person. Looks like I won’t now.”
She squinted her eyes, holding them on me long enough to make me feel uncomfortable, which I guessed was on purpose. Then she asked, “When did he call you? What’d he say?”
“Come on, Sheriff. You know the rules. Even the first call is covered by attorney-client privilege. Look, I wish I could help …”
She frowned her disappointment, apparently hoping I would blab away for a few minutes before catching myself. Sheriff Tompkins crossed her arms and lifted her chin to let me know that she was not giving up easily. “A minute ago, you weren’t sure you’d even call him a client.”
I shrugged, tangled up in my own words.
Before I could explain further, she added, “Besides, he’s dead.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Call the State’s Attorney, if you like. It’s the position I’m required to take. Look, I came down here. I’m willing to help, at least as far as I can.”
She scuffed her feet on the gravel roadway a few times. In the glow of the headlights, I could see
