“I’m going to need you to come inside anyway so the detectives can take a statement,” the officer told Amanda.
“That’s okay. We’ll just be hounded by the reporters if we stay outside,” Amanda said just as Karl Burdett raced out of the courthouse followed by some of his staff.
“What happened?” he asked Amanda.
“A sniper took a shot at Mr. Marsh.” Burdett turned pale. Amanda pointed to the place where the police had gone. “He was probably on one of those buildings.”
“This is terrible,” Burdett said, more to himself than Amanda. He looked stricken as he walked over to confer with one of the police officers, leaving Amanda confused by the DA’s reaction, which seemed wrong somehow, even given the upsetting event she had just witnessed.
CHAPTER 32
Amanda had reserved rooms for Charlie and Dennis in a boutique hotel on the outskirts of downtown Portland. Levy chattered nonstop during the ride to the hotel but Charlie barely uttered a word. Amanda attributed his silence to trauma from the assassination attempt, but Charlie was thinking about Nathan Tuazama.
Charlie was exhausted when Amanda parked at the hotel. Levy invited them into the bar for a drink, but listening to the reporter drone on about himself was more than they could bear. Amanda begged off for both of them by saying that she had several matters to discuss with her client.
When the elevator stopped at Charlie’s floor, they walked down the corridor to his room. Charlie was about to slide the key card into the slot when he saw that the door was ajar. His mouth went dry and his pulse accelerated. He should have run but he wasn’t thinking straight and he pushed the door open.
The room looked like Hurricane Katrina had whipped through it. The mattress was off the bed and a knife had been taken to it. Stuffing from the mattress mixed with the contents of Charlie’s drawers and closet, which were strewn across the floor. The television had been dismantled and the air-conditioner had been ripped from the wall and taken apart.
Amanda phoned the front desk and told them to call the police. When she hung up she turned to her client.
“All right, Charlie, what’s going on here and does it have anything to do with the box I just stashed in my new safety-deposit box?”
“Probably,” Charlie answered nervously.
“Am I putting myself in danger because I’ve helped you?”
Before Charlie could answer, Amanda’s cell phone rang. She fished it out of her purse and saw that Mike Greene was the caller. Amanda excused herself and walked into the hall.
“I just heard about the shooting at the courthouse. Are you okay?” Mike asked.
Amanda could hear the concern in his voice. This wasn’t the first time Amanda had had a brush with death. Mike had been with her right after her hairbreadth escape from the serial killer the press had nicknamed the Surgeon and shortly after she’d survived a home invasion by professional killers while she was representing Jon Dupre. Amanda was glad he’d called. Knowing that Mike cared for her was as calming as a cup of chamomile tea.
“I’m fine. I was shaken up right after the shooting but I wasn’t hurt at all.”
“Do you want me to come over tonight? I can bring Chinese.”
“I think that’s a great idea. Look, I’m in the middle of something. Let me call you when I’m through and we’ll figure out tonight.”
Amanda disconnected just as the manager and hotel security stepped out of the elevator. After a brief look around, the manager told Charlie that he would move him to another room. Shortly after that two Portland Police officers walked in. While they were interviewing Amanda there was another knock on the door. Charlie turned. The man standing in the doorway looked familiar. When he saw Charlie was having trouble placing him, he held his hands out at his sides as if the greater exposure would solve Charlie’s problem.
“It’s me, Charlie,” the man said. “Mickey Keys, your agent.”
CHARLIE TOOK A good look at his onetime agent and crime partner as he escorted Keys to the end of the hall, where they would have some privacy. Keys was thin; not in a physically fit way but in the way someone looks when they’re not eating well because they can’t afford food. The collar of his shirt was frayed and the elbows of his jacket were shiny. There were lines on his face that hadn’t been there twelve years ago. His skin had a waxy pallor and there were dark circles under his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked.
“What do you mean, Charlie?” Keys said, flashing a tense smile that made him look desperate. “I’m your agent, your business manager. As soon as I heard you were back in the States, I got on the first plane West. I figured you’d need someone to set up appearances, handle your contracts. You know, like the old days.”
“I’ve already got a contract for a new book. If I’m not on death row, my publisher will handle the bookings.”
“You can’t cut me out, Charlie. We have a contract, too,” Mickey said, pulling a wrinkled and stained sheaf of papers out of his jacket pocket. “This is a copy, in case you lost yours. It makes me your agent.”
“Our agreement ended when you cut a deal with the feds.”
Keys pushed the papers at Charlie. “There’s nothing in our contract that lets you out of our arrangement. I’m entitled to fifteen percent of everything.”
Charlie held his hand in the air, refusing to touch the contract. “You’re not getting a penny. You sold me out.”
“I had to. They were going to make me do hard time if I didn’t come clean about the Inner Light scam and the second set of books. You were in Batanga, protected. I was out on a limb, all by myself.”
“A business relationship requires trust, Mickey. How can I trust you after what you did?”
“What I did was three years in a federal lockup while you were getting blow jobs on a tropical beach.”
“Hey, man, I’m sorry you went to jail, but Batanga was no cakewalk. I’d have traded places with you in a nanosecond if I’d known what I was getting myself into. Why do you think I’m here facing a death sentence?”
Keys dropped the tough posture and his shoulders sagged.
“Look, Charlie, I’ll level with you. I’m desperate. The feds took everything. I’ve been working as a telemarketer, because no one will hire an ex-con to do anything else. I live in a hotel room with roaches. You’ve still got the money in your Swiss account and all this new dough. I had to give my money back as part of the plea bargain. I’ve got nothing.”
“I can give you a few bucks, if that’s why you’re here.”
Keys reddened. “I don’t want a handout. I want back in the game. I want to be a player, again.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
“I’ll hire a lawyer. I’ll sue and I’ll win.”
“Do what you gotta do,” Charlie said before walking back to the chaos in his room.
Keys leaned back against the wall. When he had pulled himself together, he started walking to the elevator, his head down, looking utterly defeated.
“Mr. Keys.”
Mickey looked up and found Charlie’s lawyer blocking the way.
“Can I talk to you?” Amanda asked.
“We’ll do our talking in court when I sue your client for breach of contract,” Keys answered, trying to sound like the tough negotiator he’d been before his fall.
“I don’t know anything about your business problems with Mr. Marsh. I’m his criminal attorney.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You were at the Westmont when Congressman Pope was shot, weren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you be willing to talk to my investigator?”
“About what?”
“Anything you saw that will help us get a handle on what happened.”
Keys looked incredulous. “You want me to help that ungrateful prick after what he just did to me?”