“I’m glad you asked that, because I had eggs, pancakes, and bacon. My client wants me to be well nourished and strong for the fight ahead, since he is looking forward to a full vindication in a court of law.”
On the last show, I am part of a panel of “experts,” all of whom are defense attorneys and/or former prosecutors. They wax semi-eloquent about the case and have two things in common. None of them has the slightest knowledge of the facts, and all of them think Daniel will be convicted.
The host takes calls from viewers, and their comments and questions are considerably more troubling. On my previous high-profile cases, while the public naturally assumed the accused was guilty, they weren’t worked up about it. In this case, passions have been stirred, and their hatred of Daniel and by extension his lawyer, me, is palpable.
I leave the studio and go home, where Laurie is waiting for me. She’s gone to the trouble of making me a late dinner, which is why I neglect to mention the thirty-five thousand potato chips I had between interviews.
We stare at each other during dinner. I’m staring at her because she possesses a casual beauty that quite literally and quite frequently takes my breath away. Since she doesn’t do much gasping when I enter a room, my guess is that she’s staring at me for a different reason.
“I’ve never seen you like this, Andy.”
“What does that mean?”
“When you take on a case, you jump in with both feet. Like you can’t wait to attack it. And the tougher the case, the more anxious you are. But not this time. This time you’re a different kind of anxious.”
I nod. “I feel like Scott Norwood is lining up to kick a field goal.”
“That’s a little too cryptic for me,” she says.
“I’m a big Giants fan, you know that, and when they were in the Super Bowl against the Bills, I was pumped. I mean, I really wanted them to win. But I also took the over, because I thought it was a very good bet.”
By now Laurie must realize this is not going to be the most intellectual of discussions, but she plows on. “What is the over?” she asks.
“You can bet on whether the two teams combined will score over or under a certain number of points. I thought the Giants would win a high-scoring game, so I took the over.”
“Got it,” she lies.
“So it gets to the end of the game, and the Bills kicker, Scott Norwood, lines up to try a field goal. If he misses, the Giants win, but the game would stay under the number. If he makes it, the Giants lose, but it would be over the number. So if the Giants win, I lose the bet. If the Giants lose, I win the bet.”
“Andy, I think it might be time to get to the point.”
“Okay. I hated that moment. I hated being torn, rooting both ways. When I win, I want to win, no reservations. I don’t feel that way about Daniel yet. As his lawyer, I have to fight for his freedom, but I don’t know if he should be out on the street.”
“So maybe you should drop the case.”
“Maybe I should. But then maybe I shouldn’t be a defense attorney. Because that’s what defense attorneys do: We represent people that might be guilty. And only by giving them the best defense possible do we get to find out if they really are.” I’m lecturing her with condescending bullshit, and I force myself to stop.
“He’s got money. He’ll get a good lawyer. It doesn’t have to be you.”
“That’s true,” I say unconvincingly.
“But his father’s your friend.”
She is right, of course. It’s all about Vince. She can see right through me. “You make me feel naked,” I say.
She looks at her watch. “I was hoping by now you would be.” She comes over and kisses me, takes me by the hand, and starts leading me to the bedroom.
“Now, this I have no reservations about,” I say.
“What?” she asks.
“I never think about Scott Norwood when we’re making love.”
“I do,” she says.
• • • • •
MARCUS CLARK IS the most frightening human being I have ever seen. His body appears made of iron; if he should break a bone, I believe the doctor would weld it together. His bald head is so cleanly shaven I can see my cowering, wimpy, skin-and-bones, pasty-white reflection in it. But even more intimidating than his appearance is his manner, his presence. He rarely talks, and moves slowly and deliberately, yet he projects pure menace.
The notable exception to this is when he is with Laurie. When he sees her, his face lights up, or at least softens, and he sometimes even speaks in sentences upwards of three words. I have an involuntary tendency to hide behind her when he is in the room.
He’s come to my office this morning to get his assignment. Marcus is a private investigator who was very helpful taking over when Laurie was under house arrest and unable to aid in her own defense. His techniques, while I don’t really want to know the particulars, are extraordinarily effective in developing information.
Laurie, Kevin, and I are going to investigate the local murders, but I have a feeling that the murder of Daniel’s wife could factor into this case at some point. That is what I want Marcus to look into. It will mean his spending a great deal of time in Cleveland. I could send Laurie instead, but Marcus’s absence will have significantly less effect on my sex life.
“He killed his wife?” Marcus asks me.
“No, he’s our client. Our clients don’t kill people. They’re accused of it, but we brilliantly prove that they’re innocent.”
“You want me to find out who killed her?”
I nod. “In a perfect world, yes. But I’ll settle for whatever you can learn.”
“When?”
“As soon as you can. Edna’s gotten you an open plane ticket, and we’ll make a hotel reservation for you.”
“No spa,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t stay at hotels with spas. And it’s gotta be near a Taco Bell.”
“Anything else?” I ask.
“Ice machine.”
I look at Laurie, but she looks away. I’m going to have to deal with these travel issues on my own. “Right,” I say, pretending to make notes on a legal pad. “No spa . . . Taco Bell . . . ice machine . . . you want regular cubes or the kind with those holes in them?”
I’m taking a risk poking fun at Marcus, but he lets me off the hook by ignoring me. He grunts that he can leave immediately, so I hand him over to Edna to make the travel reservations.
Kevin goes off to meet the husband of Betty Simonson, the grandmother who was the killer’s second victim. I’ve assigned myself to check Nancy Dempsey, the first victim, but I’m at least temporarily unable to get in touch with her husband, so I decide to join Laurie in investigating the third murder, that of the street hooker. Linda Padilla, by far the most prominent of the victims, will be the last one we look into, and we’ll all focus on that.
The vacant lot where the third victim’s body was found is a scary place, even though it’s only eight o’clock in the evening, five hours before the estimated time of death, one A.M. It’s in an industrial area of Passaic, which obviously has two distinct shifts of workers. The day shifters are those who carry a lunch pail and work in the factories; the night shifters carry condoms and work on their backs.
