MARCUS CLARK IS a terrific investigator, but that is not what initially comes to mind when one thinks of him. Focusing on his investigating talents first would be like somebody asking for your view of Pamela Anderson, only to have you respond that you hear she’s a pretty good bowler. It may or may not be true, but it’s not “top of mind.”
Marcus is the scariest person I have ever seen, and there is no one in second place. He is cast in bronze iron, impervious to fear or pain, and possesses a stare that makes me want to carry around a piece of kryptonite, just in case.
He has been one of my key investigators since even before Laurie went to Wisconsin, and has displayed an uncanny knack for getting people to reveal information. They confide in him, operating under the assumption that they can talk or die. I, for example, would tell Marcus whatever he wanted to know, whenever he wanted to know it. And I would thank him for the opportunity.
Because I seem to have an involuntary knack for pissing off dangerous people, I sometimes employ Marcus as a protector, a bodyguard, rather than an investigator. That’s why I’ve called him into the office this morning. I’ll probably have a need for him to gather information at some point, but right now that takes a backseat to my need to stay alive.
I stop on the way in to drop my car off so that they can replace the window that’s been shot out. They drive me to my office and promise to bring me the repaired car before the day is out.
I’ve had Kevin come in for this meeting as well. When I meet with Marcus, I like as many other people in the room as possible. It makes me feel safer, although if Marcus wanted to do me harm, the Third Infantry on their best day couldn’t help me.
All I really need to tell Marcus is that some people tried to shoot me and that for whatever reason, it’s very possible that I am a target. His job is to keep me safe and alive, pure and simple. But because I have respect for Marcus’s investigative skills, and because I think he should have as much information as possible about whom he might be dealing with, I tell him all I know about the Richard Evans case.
My recitation of the facts takes about ten minutes, and Marcus is either silently attentive or asleep the entire time. His eyes are open, but that doesn’t really mean anything one way or the other. Kevin sits as far away from Marcus as is possible while remaining in the same room.
When I’m finished, I wait for him to comment, and after twenty long seconds it’s obvious that is not going to happen. I prompt him with “So that’s it. Any questions?”
“Unhh,” says Marcus. Marcus is a man of very few words, most of which are not actually words.
“Will you need anything from me?” I ask.
“Unhh.”
“Can you get started right away?”
“Yunhh.”
I don’t quite know how to end this, so I turn to Kevin. “Kev, you got anything you want to add?”
He shakes his head a little too quickly. “Not me. Not a thing. Nope.”
Marcus gets up to leave, without my asking him how he will perform his protective functions. I’ve learned long ago that he will be there if I need him, and I won’t see him if I don’t. It’s comforting to me, though I’ll certainly miss our little chitchats.
As he reaches the door, it opens from the other side, and Karen Evans is standing there. She is one of the most talkative people I know, but the sight of Marcus stuns her into silence. Her eyes widen, and her mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“Oh, my God…,” she says, once Marcus has left. “Is he on our side?”
I nod. “He is.”
She breaks into a wide smile and smacks her hands together, generating more of her infectious enthusiasm. “This is gonna be great!”
I had not asked Karen to come to the office, and I’m not a big fan of unannounced visits. “What are you doing here, Karen?”
“I don’t know… I’m just real nervous, and excited… and I thought I could hang around and help. You know, run errands, get coffee… I spoke to Edna and she was okay with it.”
“Edna was willing to give up running errands and making coffee? You must be quite the persuader.”
I tell her that she can hang around now but that she should call before coming by in the future. I understand her excitement, and as a person who knows her brother and knew his fiancee, she can be helpful. However, I do not instantly share all information with my clients, and I can’t have her rushing to him with constant updates.
I turn on the television to follow press reports about the shooting on the highway last night, and it’s being treated as a pretty big story. They’re calling it a random shooting, though the fact that I was one of the intended victims is duly noted, as is my recent representation of Richard Evans.
“You got shot at?” Karen asks, but I don’t bother answering, since she’s just learned the answer to her question from the television.
Instead I pick up the phone and call Pete Stanton in his office. Even though the state police are handling the shooting case, I’m hoping that Pete can use his police contacts to find out what he can about the dead shooters.
When Pete hears that it’s me calling, he says, “Let me guess… You need something.”
“That’s amazing… How could you possibly have known that?”
“Well, we’re already meeting at Charlie’s tonight, so you’re not just calling to say hello. And the last one hundred and forty-seven times you’ve called me in my office it’s because you needed something.”
“Do you have any idea how much you’ve just hurt me?” I ask. “I’ve just been through a traumatic experience, actually a near-death experience, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so emotionally vulnerable.”
He’s unmoved. “Can we get to it already?”
“Well, you know I was shot at last night.”
“That’s the good news,” he says. “The bad news is, they missed.” Then, “I’ve already put in a couple of calls.”
“What does that mean?”
“To find out what I can about the shooters,” he says. “That is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“You are a goddamned legend, and just for that, I’m buying at Charlie’s tonight.”
“You got that right.”
I send Karen out to get some doughnuts and Necco wafers, with specific instructions to try to find a package of all chocolate Neccos, which are far superior to the multicolored kinds. It’s about time to put her to the test.
I use the time for a quick strategy session with Kevin. As I see it, there are three possibilities behind this case. One is that Richard is guilty and the prosecution’s position was completely correct. While that still may be true, it doesn’t help us to consider it.
The second possibility is that whatever is behind this centers on the murder victim, Stacy Harriman. Among the problems with this is that it doesn’t make much sense that the murderers would kill her and take Reggie off to safety. If their goal was simply to kill Stacy, they would likely have just left Reggie on the boat with Richard. Even if they were somehow dog lovers, to have taken Reggie in the midst of committing the crime seems very difficult to believe.
The third possibility is that Richard was framed solely because of Richard himself. Either he had made an enemy or he knew or had something that could be dangerous to someone else. This seems to be the most fertile ground for us, especially because of his job with the Customs Service, and will first require an in-depth interview with Richard.
Karen comes back with a sack of doughnuts, jelly and cream filled, and three packages of chocolate Neccos, which she holds up triumphantly. I could send Edna out this afternoon, give her until a year from August, and she would not manage such a feat.
“Kid,” I say to Karen, “I think you’ve got a future in this business.”
* * * * *
I STOP AT home to feed and walk Tara and Reggie.
