was a reporter, or had come for another case. Something about her was unmistakably arresting. It wasn’t style or polish. If anything, she looked like she’d had a rougher night than Nat. Her hair stood out like Viv’s, and her clothes were frumpy-brown corduroy pants, a bulky white peasant blouse, no coat. Part of the attraction was her heart- shaped face, classic features in all the right places. Full lips were set in a determined pout, smoldering or ultra- serious, depending on your interpretation. But what really set her apart was her eyes. Deep brown, bright and alert, they broadcast a beacon of needful intensity. Even in repose, she was a woman of urgency.
A door opened up front. In came Gordon, followed by a policeman who took him to a chair on Nat’s side of the room. He looked pretty good, considering. Red-nosed but clear-eyed, and he had shaved. He studiously ignored Nat.
The judge followed, tall and ungainly, late fifties. He shrugged on a black robe over jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. No shave for him, and Nat could have sworn there were toast crumbs in his stubble. Just the sort of fellow you could imagine shaking his head and saying, “It’s only a busted hose, but we gotta pull the engine.” He sat at the desk and cleared his throat just as Viv entered from the rear and took a seat a few rows behind Nat.
“Looks like everybody’s here,” the judge said. “I’m Darrell Dewey, and over there by the flag is Officer Willis Turner. Welcome to the town court of Blue Kettle Lake, State of New York. We are now in session.”
He glanced at some papers.
“What’ve we got, Willis, two cases?”
“A drunk and disorderly from guess who, along with the celebrity professor.”
Dewey peered down his nose at Gordon, who smiled at the description.
“And where is our friend Mr. Wellborn-now there’s a contradiction in terms. You gonna bring him out now, or wait till we’re done with this one?”
“His wife brought breakfast. He’s still eating.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet. Then let’s get to it. The case of Ashford County versus Gordon Wolfe. I take it you’re Professor Wolfe?”
“Yes, sir.” His voice was clear, strong.
“Lawyered up?”
“Don’t need to.”
Dewey raised his eyebrows and looked around, as if someone might volunteer.
“You might want to reconsider. Especially since it’s my understanding that certain federal authorities-your peanut gallery over there-have taken a keen interest.”
“Need one even less as long as they’re involved.”
“Your business. And mine is to set bail. Officer Turner has requested, presumably at the urging of
Viv gasped. Gordon smiled.
Dewey continued, “Frankly, I can’t do that in good faith on a simple possession of stolen goods charge, which as far as I can tell from the paperwork is all we have at this point.”
“Go ahead, Your Honor,” Gordon said, looking far too confident for his own good. “Won’t bother me. I don’t intend to pay no matter what the amount.”
“Suit yourself. But this is my courtroom, and I’m setting bail at twenty-five grand.” He slammed the gavel down as if hammering a dented fender. “Willis, go see if Ed Wellborn can squeeze us into his social schedule.”
The policeman went to fetch the other man while the judge fiddled with paperwork. Nat slid down the pew toward Gordon, who finally acknowledged him with a wink.
“Viv says you’ve made camp with the barbarians,” he whispered. Not angrily, but with a twinkle in his eye.
“Not exactly. I just-”
“Don’t worry, Nat. I understand completely. It’s the first thing they’ve done right. Just do as they say. Inspect everything carefully and diligently, and tell them exactly what you find. Or more to the point, exactly what you
“You act like you know what they’re looking for.”
“More than you do, apparently.”
They were on sensitive ground, especially with Holland only twenty feet away.
“Don’t get nervous,” Gordon said. “I won’t ask you to say anything you shouldn’t.”
It was already their most congenial conversation in years. Maybe jail agreed with him.
“So you’re not posting bail?”
“I’d just as soon stick it out in here than out there where they are.”
“You need anything? Your meds, maybe?”
“Viv brought ’em over. Could sure use a drink, though.”
“Can’t help you there.”
“Didn’t think so. How ’bout some pens and paper, then? Tell Viv to send some over.”
“I can take care of it.”
“No. You concentrate on your work. It’s the best thing you can do for me, even though Viv doesn’t know it yet. The faster the better. But the most important thing is that you proceed thoroughly and professionally. The way you always do.”
His first compliment in ages, and it still had the power to please.
“You sure you don’t want a lawyer? I could make some calls.”
“Hell, Nat, they planted those boxes. The way I figure it, they’ve been setting this up for quite a while. Where do you think that story in the
“The feds?”
“The kid that wrote that had more of my military records than you’d even get from a freedom of information request. You really think that’s the work of a second-year journalism student?”
“Why bother?”
“Flush me out. Give them leverage.”
“For what?”
“Except I’ll be the one with the leverage. You’ll see.”
“For
“Just do your job, Nat, and your employers will be ready to deal. The sooner you finish, the sooner your old professor gets out of this chicken coop.”
“Unless they move you to some federal chicken coop.”
“That’s the last thing they want.”
“Let’s go, sir.” It was the cop, Willis Turner, who had arrived with the other prisoner. Gordon stood, then stooped toward Nat for a final word.
“Actually, there is one thing you can do. Tell your Mr. Holland that as long as he’s going to all this trouble, maybe he should give me some protection. This place is wide open.”
“Protection from what?”
“Her, for starters.” He nodded toward the mystery woman in the peasant blouse, who to Nat’s surprise had moved to the front row just across the aisle. “She’s a damned nuisance. But it’s the others that really worry me.”
“What others?”
“Holland will know. Just tell him.”
Typical Gordon. Playing up the drama for all it was worth, now that he was the center of attention. The cop led Gordon away before Nat could ask more, and the old man’s age showed in the stiffness of his first steps. Nat thought he heard a sob from Viv in the back, but Gordon was grinning as he went out the door.
Nat turned, half expecting Holland to be glaring in disapproval. But the only person paying any attention was the young woman, who looked away quickly, as if she had been eavesdropping. Maybe she was his federal minder. He tried staring her down, but she kept her eyes averted, and he was too intimidated by her looks to introduce himself.
When he stood to leave, he was mildly disappointed that she didn’t follow. Oh, well. If she really was with the FBI, he supposed they’d be meeting soon enough.
