Private Lives

favorably of you.” The lawyer frowned, then spoke again. “It was the first time he’d been forthcoming since he engaged my services.”

When Laird cleared his throat and hesitated again. Matt began to realize that the lawyer was uncomfortable.

I wonder if he’s got sweaty palms, Matt thought.

“I called you because I’ll listen to whatever you have to say, but first I want to ask a favor,” Laird finally said. “Mr. Winters — that’s how he’s been referring to himself of late — has all but barricaded himself inside his house, using a screening system to ignore most calls. I’d like you to go and see him.”

“I don’t know.” Now it was Matt’s turn to hesitate. “The last time I went out there…”

His voice trickled off.

Stewart Laird nodded. “I know what happened during your last visit. But I also know that when he spoke about you, James Winters actually became animated. I hadn’t seen him act that way since the Net Force Internal Affairs report was issued.”

The lawyer was doing his best to maintain a poker face, but Matt could see the concern in the man’s eyes. “Some people think that all a good legal defense requires is an effective lawyer to argue the case. Your friend Mr. Winters should know better. An apathetic client can sabotage a case as badly, or worse, than an inept attorney.”

Laird’s eyes snapped. “I am not inept. In fact, I have a reputation for being good at what I do. If you want to help James Winters’s defense, you might pay him a visit. My office will bear the charge of round-trip car service.”

The look Laird now sent Matt could almost be called pleading. “I’ve had clients who were innocent, and clients who were guilty. I think I can tell the difference. It…concerns me when I see an innocent man seem to lose all sense of hope.”

15

Matt had barely finished the note telling his parents where he’d be when the gleaming car provided by the law firm rolled up outside his house. Almost before he had time to think about what he’d agreed to, he was in the Dodge sedan on his way to the Maryland suburb where James Winters lived.

The good news was that the driver was beating the rush-hour traffic. The bad news was every minute of this smooth trip brought Matt that much closer to his face-to-face meeting with the captain. Matt wasn’t sure what he would find when he arrived. But it wasn’t likely to be good. Stewart Laird had not struck him as a man who was easily shaken.

Obviously, the way James Winters was taking the developments in the murder case had his lawyer worried.

Not Captain Winters, but Mr. Winters, Matt thought. That has to be a bad sign.

The driver finally broke the tense silence. “You a witness or something?” he asked.

“What?” Wrestling with his thoughts, Matt had barely heard the question.

“I asked if you were a witness or something,” the driver repeated. “Usually, we wind up shuttling people who work late in the office, with the occasional personal delivery or family emergency. I know all of the partners’ kids, so that lets you out on the last bit. You look like you’re going to blow a valve back there, so I figured maybe you’re some kind of surprise witness the firm is keeping under wraps for a big case.”

For a crazy minute Matt felt the desire to go along with the guy. He could probably spin out some sort of story. After all, his folks were always watching courtroom holodramas. It would take his mind off…

But that brought his mind right back to the problem he would face when this ride was over.

“A friend of mine is in trouble,” Matt finally said. “I’ve been asked to talk to him, to help put his mind at ease.”

“Yeah, kids today, always getting into something weird. Myself, I blame the Net. Back when I was a kid, all we had was TV and the movies. You guys may laugh at the old stuff as ‘flatfilm,’ but that was real entertainment. We never had problems back then….”

Right, Matt thought. Back when Washington had the highest per capita murder rate of any city in the country.

He let the driver talk on, thinking Matt was going to visit another teenager, until they finally arrived in Winters’s neighborhood.

“Huh,” said the driver. “Nice enough area. Isn’t that always the way?”

He pulled up on the street. “I’ll wait for you here until you’re finished.” The man gave him a conspiratorial wink. “No need to hurry. It’s all on the law firm’s tab.”

Matt took a deep breath and walked up the drive. The last time he’d been here — barely two weeks ago — the place had been crawling with Net Force I.A. technicians. Now Winters’s house looked deserted. The lawn was overgrown, obviously way past due for mowing, and the flower beds needed weeding.

I guess the captain isn’t coming outside to take care of yardwork, Matt thought.

Mr. Winters, Matt corrected himself.

Well, he probably wouldn’t want to mow, or paint, or even bring out the garbage, if that meant having people stare at him as if he were an animal in the zoo. Or, worse, if they were trying to thrust microphones into his face and ask him inane questions.

Winters had clearly disappointed the camera crews posted outside the house by not offering holo opportunities of any sort. At least the network vans were gone now, working the standard news cycle on some other story. An old saying popped into Matt’s head. “The moving finger writes and, having writ, moves on.”

Except in this case it was more like “The news ruins a life, and having ruined, moves on.”

What was he going to find inside this house?

Matt reached the door and rang the bell. No answer. He should have realized it wouldn’t be as easy as all that. How many reporters, camera crews, photographers, and just plain curious idiots had rung this bell since Winters’s appearance on Washington People?

Actually, Matt was surprised to hear the faint sound of chimes inside. If he’d had to put up with this much nonsense, he’d have disconnected the doorbell.

Unless, of course, the chimes were announcing an incoming call….

Matt waited a minute. No chimes. Then he hit the button and heard the faint sound. Okay, he wasn’t just standing out here like an idiot.

No, he was. Winters wasn’t answering his bell.

Matt tried a couple more short taps. Then he had it. He stretched out his thumb and just leaned on the bell. The faint sound of never-ending chimes seemed to travel up his arm.

The briefest movement at the window caught his attention. The drawn drapes had twitched. Someone was taking a look outside.

Matt let up on the bell, and a second later the door opened. There stood James Winters, staring at him.

Well, at least the captain’s still shaving, Matt thought. He’d had this wild mental image of Winters turning into a stereotypical hermit, with long hair, a beard, and wild, red-rimmed eyes.

James Winters’s face was thinner, the flesh seemingly stretched tighter over the bones of his skull. There were a few new lines at his eyes and on his brow. His expression was full of surprise as he took in his visitor.

“Matt!” Winters said. His voice had a strange, rusty sound to it.

Not surprising, Matt realized. If the man was staying in his house and not answering the door or the phone, who would he talk to, except himself?

And that might not be a good thing.

Winters seemed to remember his manners. “Come in!” he invited. “Sorry about the door. Last time I bothered to answer, there was some jackass with a camera and an autograph book. Called himself a murder buff. I was almost tempted to let him see how a murder worked — firsthand.”