'Well, obviously we don't give advice on how to resolve individual
cases as hearings officers, but we are their attorneys in their status
as city employees. It's a complicated relationship. All the more
reason for me to make sure we dot our is and cross our t's, which I
assure you I will do by tomorrow.'
'I'll do the search myself, if that helps. I'm an attorney too, and I
won't disclose anything that shouldn't be disclosed.'
Unfortunately, Coakley knew that's not how attorney-client privilege
works. 'But you don't represent the city, so I can't let you fish
around in the files without reviewing them first. If you knew
specifically what you wanted, I could look for it right now and give it
to you, assuming nothing needed to be red acted I got the impression,
though, that you won't know what you're looking for until you find
it.'
'I think that's probably right. I know she was having a problem with
one of the appellants in a public housing eviction case. Both her
clerk and her friend mentioned that he'd written letters to Clarissa
that she found threatening, but they didn't know his name. Is there
some way you could track that down, short of doing an entire review of
her office?'
'Should be.'
I told him everything I knew so far about the case.
'Let me see what I can find out. You want to wait here, or should I
call you?'
'I'll wait. Thanks.' He seemed to find my choice insulting.
Five minutes later, I felt my pager go off. The MCT number again.
I took the liberty of using the phone on Coakley's desk to return the
call. This time, I was expecting Johnson to pick up, but the voice
that answered 'MCT' belonged to someone I'd known for fifteen years:
Chuck Forbes.
The first time I saw Chuck screech his yellow Karmann Ghia into the lot
at Grant High and then step out in his washed-out 501s, I was hooked.
As much as I didn't want to be, I had to admit I still was.
I hesitated a moment too long. 'Hi, it's Samantha Kincaid. I think
Detective Johnson might have paged me?'
'You need to shake the salt water out of your ears, Kincaid. It's
Chuck.'
'Oh, hey. What's going on?'
'Two weeks in Hawaii, and that's all I get? What's going on? Bad news
is going on, but Raymond's standing over my shoulder waiting to break
it to you. Everything all right?'
'Sure,' I said. 'Why wouldn't it be?'
'Ray's glaring at me,' he said, 'so I'm going to hand you off. But
call me later, OK? I want to hear about your trip.'
I had tried to play it cool, but Chuck and I were way past
new-relationship head games. 'And I want to tell you all about it. I
missed you, Chuck.'
'Yeah. Me too,' he said sweetly, before handing the phone to
Johnson.
'They found a body in Glenville. I'm heading out there now.'
'Is it Clarissa?' I asked.
'We don't have an official ID yet, but, yeah, looks like it's going to
be her.'
What I felt at the moment couldn't have been about any meaningful
personal attachment to Clarissa Easterbrook. But I nevertheless felt
myself go empty at the confirmation of what I'd already been
suspecting, and I wondered how I was going to handle a job that would
make this feeling routine.
'Kincaid, you still there? I got to bounce.'
'Sorry, yeah, I'm here. Tell me where it is, and I'll meet you there,'
I said, fishing a legal pad from my bag. The lead detectives needed to
arrive at the crime scene as soon as possible, so it was mutually
understood that I'd have to fend for myself. I scribbled down a street
address that Johnson told me corresponded to a construction site at the
outer edge of the suburb of Glenville.
'I need to take care of a couple things and pick up a county car, but
I'll meet you guys out there as soon as I can. Call me if you need
anything.'
I walked out of Coakley's office, telling his assistant that something
had come up and I needed to leave.
'He went down to Judge Easterbrook's office, if you want to try to
catch him,' she offered.
