It’s all I can do not to moan. I’ve got almost twenty-five million dollars in the bank, and this guy is mortgaging his farm to pay me to help his son? “You’re mortgaging the farm?” I ask, just in case I heard wrong. I’m hoping what he really said was, “And the remainder as soon as I can have the money wired from my Swiss bank account.”
He nods. “Right. But don’t worry. Even with the damage from the fire, it’s worth at least that.”
“Why don’t you give me the twenty-five hundred and hold off on selling the farm until we get a better idea of how things are going to proceed?”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Positive.”
He comes with me to the jail, and within a few minutes we’re in to see Jeremy. Jeremy shares his father’s relief that I’m going to represent him. I tell Jeremy that he will have to sign a document appointing me as his counsel, and he vows to sign it the moment he gets it.
My next stop is the courthouse, where I fill out an application for pro hac vice, which will be presented to the judge. It’s to allow me to practice on this occasion in Wisconsin, even though I’ve never taken or passed the bar here. It’s a mere formality, and the clerk assures me it will be acted on quickly. This case is going to be a high priority in the Findlay judicial system.
I’ve got to rent a house; there is no way I can spend any length of time in that hotel. I stop off at the only real estate agent in town, Janice Taylor, who tells me that I am one lucky guy. It turns out, and I want to pinch myself to make sure that it’s true, that ninety-five-year-old Betty Camden recently died, and her family decided just this week to put her place up for rent.
Janice takes me over to see it, and it further turns out that Betty, bless her dear heart, had a yard that Tara will like to play in. She also has a houseful of furniture, which may be antiques or just old stuff. I can never tell the difference. If antiques are things from another time period that are highly valued in their old age, wouldn’t my sweatpants qualify?
Sealing the deal is the fact that the late, great Betty also had cable television, so I take the place even before I hear what the rent is. Besides, what am I worried about? I’ve got a twenty-five-hundred-dollar retainer.
I’m going to need to go back to Paterson to get some more things, close up the house, etc., but I want to do it quickly. Therefore, I don’t want to drive, and since I still won’t put Tara in the bottom of a plane, I call Laurie at her office. I bring her up-to-date on what’s going on and ask her if I can leave Tara with her for a few days. She makes no effort to conceal her delight at the prospect, especially since tomorrow is Saturday and she’ll have a couple of days off to play with her. Tara will be thrilled.
Tara and I spend a quiet evening by the television set and get to sleep early. Laurie comes by at seven in the morning to pick Tara up; I briefly wonder why she didn’t want me to drop her off. Is there some reason she doesn’t want me to see where she lives or who she’s living with? Doesn’t she know I’ll just pump Tara for the information when I get back?
“By the way,” I say as they get into the car, “that Lieutenant Parsons guy I met the other night… not much in the looks department, huh?”
“You don’t think so?” she asks with fake surprise.
“You and he good friends?”
She nods. “I’ve known him since grammar school.”
“So you know his wife also?” I ask, growing more pathetic by the moment.
“He’s not married,” she says. Then, “Andy, do you think in a million years I would stoop to having a relationship with someone who works for me?”
“You worked for me,” I point out.
She nods. “I never said you wouldn’t stoop that low.” She and Tara then pull away, leaving me with still another conversational defeat.
I fly from the nearby Carwell Airport to Milwaukee, from where I’ll fly to Newark. It’s not until I’m on the plane that the full impact of what has transpired hits me. I’m going to be spending months in Findlay, Wisconsin, working a probably unwinnable case. And in the background, or the foreground, or who knows where, will be Laurie.
After landing I head straight for my office, where I’ve arranged for Edna to be waiting for me. I had called ahead and asked her to find me temporary legal secretarial help that can freelance for me in Findlay.
She surprises me by being on top of things; she has located a firm in Milwaukee that will provide whatever secretarial help I need. She also promises to check in on my house every few days to make sure it hasn’t burned down.
I had also asked Kevin to do some research on Center City and the Centurion religion, and he’s characteristically prepared a complete report on it, which is waiting on my desk.
I go through some paperwork, trying to clear things away, since I’ll be spending so much time in Findlay. The clearing process is made easier by the fact that I have no current cases, so it barely takes me a half hour.
I head down to the Tara Foundation to tell Willie Miller the news. I dread doing this, since I’m essentially abandoning him and leaving him with the total responsibility of caring for the rescue dogs. First I tell him about the situation in Findlay and then the fact that I’m planning to spend quite a while there.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” he says. “Sondra and I got it covered.”
“You can hire some help, you know. I’ll pay for it.”
“Not necessary. I’m telling ya, Sondra and I got it covered.” He can see I’m feeling guilty, and he tries to head it off. “Andy, we like doing this, you know?”
I nod. “I know, but I still appreciate how easy you’re making it for me.”
“I’m more worried about what you’re running into up there,” he says.
“How’s that?”
“Firebombing houses ain’t something you’d be real good at dealing with, you know?”
Until this moment I haven’t thought about myself being in any kind of personal danger, but Willie might be right. People who hate someone so much that they’ll firebomb his house might not take too kindly to the lawyer trying to get him off. “I can take care of myself,” I say, even though we both know I can’t.
“Oh, yeah,” he mocks, “I forgot.” Then, “Why don’t you bring Marcus with you?”
Willie is talking about Marcus Clark, who I’ve employed as a freelance private investigator on recent cases. Marcus has a number of unusual attributes, but the one that most stands out is that he is the scariest, toughest person on the face of the planet. Bringing Marcus to Findlay would be like bringing a bazooka to a Tupperware party.
“I think I’ll wait and see how things go.” While Marcus and Findlay would not be a great fit, Willie’s question causes me to focus on the fact that I will need an investigator up there. My not thinking about that until now is a sign of how poorly prepared I am at this point. When I get to Findlay, I’ll ask Calvin for a recommendation. I can also ask Laurie; she’ll be familiar with the local talent, and she knows what I look for in an investigator.
I spend my last evening in civilization at Charlie’s with Pete and Vince, watching sports and overdosing on crisp french fries and beer. Their attitude about my going is similar to what it would be if I were being sent to Afghanistan to chase after the Taliban; they’ve decided that I must be miserable, and they take it upon themselves to make me feel better.
Pete says, “I had a cousin who lived in Indiana, which is like around the block from Wisconsin, and he said it’s not even that cold in the winter.”
Vince nods vigorously. “Right. You don’t really feel it. It’s a dry cold.”
“And they practically invented beer up there,” Pete says. “You can drink a different beer every day for the rest of your life, and not try them all.”