Dennis Coakley was leaving Clarissa Easterbrook's chambers as I was
walking down the hall. He carried a legal-sized manila file folder and
a small stack of documents.
'You really crack the whip, don't you? Here I thought I'd worked
pretty fast.'
I tried to muster a smile. 'I'm sorry. Something came up at the
office and I need to head back. I thought I'd try to catch you on my
way out.'
'Good timing, because I think I found what you were looking for. Looks
like this is it,' he said, holding up a file labeled Housing Authority
of Portland v. Melvin Jackson. 'No privileged information there, so I
had Clarissa's assistant make copies if you want to just take them with
you.'
He handed me about twenty pages of paper that had been clipped
together.
'I'm sorry I can't do more for you right now, but, like I said, I'll do
the review as fast as I can.'
I let him think I was satisfied leaving it at that. For now.
I started to head directly to the county lot by the Morrison Bridge to
pick up a car, then remembered Russell Frist's admonition not to run
the case solo if it turned into a murder.
I stopped in the office, hoping Frist would be in an afternoon court
appearance. My plan was to leave him an e-mail so he'd know how hard I
tried to follow his advice. Unfortunately, he was at his desk shooting
the shit with Jessica Walters. I rapped on the door to interrupt.
'Good to see you, Kincaid. I was beginning to wonder whether this
morning's screening duty was enough to chase you out of here,' he
said.
'I'm not so easily chased.'
'There you go. Don't let this guy push you around.' Jessica was
getting up from her chair. 'I'm out of here. VQ after work?'
The Veritable Quandary was a veritable institution of downtown drinking
and a longtime hangout for the big boys at the DA's office. Russ told
Jessica he'd stop by for a quick beer, then asked me if I wanted to
join them.
'I doubt I can make it. Something's come up and I'm actually on my way
out to Glenville.'
'Anything having to do with Glenville is my cue to leave,' Jessica
said. 'Russ, I'll catch you later. Sam, if I can't get you a beer
tonight, we'll do it next time.'
'So,' Russ asked, 'what in suburbia could possibly be more important
than a Monday-night drink?'
'Ray Johnson just called. I don't have the details, but someone found
a body near a construction site out there. The unofficial ID suggests
it's Easterbrook.'
To my surprise, Russ made the sign of the cross. 'Damn it. Just once,
I'd like to see a happy ending on one of these cases.'
I was tempted to ask whether he was sure what ending was happier:
closure for the living left behind or the hope that remained in a
missing person's absence? I kept the thought to myself.
'I told the MCT guys I'd meet them out there,' I said. 'Are you coming
with me?'
'You think you're ready for this, Kincaid?'
'Look, Russ, I appreciate the concern, but if I didn't think I was
ready, I wouldn't have accepted the rotation. You told me this morning
you thought I was in over my head, so I'm asking if you want to go.
Make up your mind, because I'm leaving.'
'You've been on a call-out before?'
I flashed my best sarcastic smile. 'You know I have, Dad.' All new
DDAs tag along on a homicide call-out when they first start in the
office. If you counted the scene at my house a few weeks ago, I guess
I'd been to two.
'Fine, then. I'm switching into good-boss mode. If you don't think
you need me, go on your own. But page me if you need me, promise?'
I gave him my most earnest assurances while he wrote down his pager
number.
'I'm sure I'll be fine,' I said.
'I'll limit myself to two beers at VQ just in case. Call me later,
just to let me know what's up?'
It was fair enough, so I told him I would.
