“May I make a phone call now?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
Adam lifted the receiver and dialed. He found that his fingers were having trouble finding the buttons but, in the end, they did not betray him. He listened to the faint ringing on the other end. Then the click of the receiver being picked up and Monty’s expectant voice.
“I need you. They’re here.”
THIRTY-TWO
by Anne Hunter staff writer
Adam Lee, brother of criminal defense attorney Montgomery Lee, was arrested in his home in the upscale Peachtree Battle neighborhood of East Atlanta. Adam Lee is charged with the murder of his wife, Rachel Lee. Mrs. Lee’s body was discovered by her husband Oct. 3 in their home. Mrs. Lee died as a result of repeated blows to the head. It was initially believed these fatal blows were inflicted by the couple’s mentally retarded son, Albert Lee, who has a history of violent behavior. Montgomery Lee, in a move that many legal analysts call highly unusual, is defending his brother. Neither brother could be reached for comment. Also highly unusual, it has been reported that Leo Hewitt will be handling the prosecution for the district attorney’s office. Mr. Hewitt gained notoriety three years ago for his mishandling of key evidence in the trial of child killer Frank Guaraldi. Mr. Guaraldi was subsequently freed only to be caught less than a month later with the corpse of a young girl. The district attorney’s office denies any involvement of Mr. Hewitt in the Lee case.
Bob Fox crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the waste-basket. “Un-fucking-believable. What were you thinking, Paula?”
“Anne Hunter doesn’t have a clue as to what goes on in this office. I let Leo ask a couple of questions on my behalf.”
“A couple of questions?”
“What can I say? I’m just an old softy. He asked me what I was working on, and I told him about the case I was building against Lee. He begged me to let him help out. What could I say?”
“Judging from past experience, you should have said no.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Ahh, hell, Paula, I don’t care if you gave Leo a taste. We can’t hold him down forever. But I’ve got to be totally honest with you. What distresses me is that you went behind my back on this thing.”
“I know.”
Paula sat across from Fox in his office. His neatly trimmed, nearly white hair, in addition to his name, had earned him from the press the nickname “the Silver Fox.”
“I want you to know that the effort you’ve put into this case hasn’t gone unnoticed. Yes, I know, it’s time to forgive and forget, but one thing you must never forget is who you work for.”
“You’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” His career was only now beginning to recover from the blemish of Leo Hewitt and the Guaraldi fiasco. The fact that Leo had never gone public with Bob’s refusal to admit the hotline tapes of the Conners woman into evidence was not lost on Bob Fox. He was well aware that Leo could have told the press that Fox had demanded that the tapes be illegally destroyed. These little facts had tempered his view of Leo. Leo had accepted his role of scapegoat. Of course, had he gone to the media with tales of wrongdoings and dirty deeds, Bob would simply have denied any knowledge of the tapes and Paula would have backed him up, because Paula was a team player and Paula knew where to stake her loyalties, which was why Paula was sitting across from him now. But Leo’s willingness to take the burden of blame was not lost on Bob. The wounds had healed, and retrospect showed that there was blame enough for everybody. Of course, Leo could never again be given a position of trust, but he was willing to let the man be forgiven, and if Paula wanted the same thing, he’d give it to her.
“You made this case, and I know it. Who do you want backing you up in court? Anybody you want.”
“Anybody?”
“Name your man. If Leo’s who you want, just say so. I defer to your judgment. I told you, I’m ready to forgive and forget.”
Paula thought carefully before she spoke, her mouth drawn into a tight, neat line. “I’m not. I can forgive, but I can’t forget. I don’t believe Leo can be trusted. Sure, he makes a fine errand boy when I’m building a case, but I want someone I can trust backing me up in the courtroom. You say name my man? Okay. I name you.”
THIRTY-THREE
In the interview room, Adam sat at the bare table and watched through the wire-reinforced glass windows as guards and visitors walked by. One of the guards, a blank-faced hulk of a man with tattoos crawling up his meaty forearms, unlocked the door and held it open for Monty. Monty walked in under the guard’s arm and tossed his briefcase across the table.
“I’ve got an in with the judge’s clerk, and it looks certain bail will be denied. You need to prepare yourself for that. I could scream and yell, but it might be smarter to just roll over, stay in the judge’s good graces. This thing will get some news play, so bottom line is it’s political.
“Political or not, I just don’t understand why I am here at all.”
“Apparently the DA’s office has got some pretty damning evidence against you.”
“How could there be evidence against me? There is no evidence. There is no crime.”
“Does the name Constance Perkins mean anything to you?”
“Constance?”
“Also known as Violet.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? What the fuck do you mean, ‘Oh’? Look, Adam, it’s time to fess up. Who is Violet Perkins?”
“I had an affair with her. I told them that.”
“Told who?”
“Leo Hewitt.”
“Goddamn! I should never have called that fucking sawed-off prick.”
“So what do I do?”
“There’s nothing. You have to wait. For the trial. I’m sorry. They’re not gonna allow bail.”
“So I have to stay in jail. What am I going to do?”
Monty took out a yellow legal pad and uncapped his pen. “You’re going to tell me. Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Adam, if there were nothing to tell, you wouldn’t be in jail on murder charges. Now tell me. I want to know who you were fucking, who you weren’t fucking, who is Violet Perkins, and what she could know about you that’s got the prosecution so goddamn happy. I want to know what happened the last time you saw Rachel alive, why you left her alone with Albert knowing full well his history of violence. I want to know why there wasn’t a single drop of blood on Albert when there was bloodspray on the walls and ceiling. But the first thing I want you to tell me is, did you kill her?”
“This is insanity.”
“Be that as it may, I have to ask you. I have to know, Adam. Did you kill her?”
“No. I loved Rachel.”
THIRTY-FOUR
He was feeling like a million bucks. No, make that two million. And, surprisingly, Leo found, he wasn’t even worried about the phone ringing. He knew it would ring in its own good time. Nothing had gone wrong so far; why would something as little as that all-important phone call disappoint him now? Everything had come together so nicely, so fucking… orgasmically, that Leo could hardly believe it was actually happening. Yes, the sensation was sexual, it felt so all-consuming. It was what he’d hoped for-absolutely and without a doubt, it was what he had hoped for-but he had never dared dream it would actually happen. Even if he had dared dream it, he would never have dreamed of everything coming together so perfectly, like two bodies coming together for intercourse. Violet, the Watkins couple, everything. Everything had merged just beautifully.
Around him, the office workers busied themselves in their cubicles, but today Leo was unaware of their presence. Today he didn’t even notice the four tiny walls closing in on him, the lamination peeling in long spidery strips from his desk, or the pinch of the surplus chair that was too tight for his round bottom. Today was the day everything was going to change.