"Don't judge the book by its author, Mrs. Tannenbaum. It's really a very sensitive work. A coming-of-age story. He handles the subject of his protagonist's abuse with such tenderness that you almost forget what Greig did to those children. Still, Maxine felt it shouldn't have been published, solely because Greig wrote it. Do you agree with her?"
Darius's question was strange but Betsy decided to play along.
"I'm opposed to censorship. I would not ban a book because I disapproved of the person who wrote it."
"If the publisher bowed to pressure from, say, women's groups and withdrew the book from circulation, would you represent Greig?"
"Mr. Darius "Martin."
"Is there a point to these questions or are you just making small talk?"
"Humor me."
"I could represent Greig."
"Knowing that he's a monster?"
"I would be representing a principle, Mr. Darius.
Freedom of speech. Hamlet would still be Hamlet, even if Charles Manson wrote it."
Darius laughed. "Well put." Then he took a check out of his pocket.
"Tell me what you think, after reading this," he said, placing the check on the desk between them. The check was made out to Elizabeth Tannenbaum. It was for 58,346.47. Something about the figure was familiar.
Betsy frowned for a moment, then flushed when she realized the sum was her exact gross income for the previous year. Something Darius would know only if he had access to her tax returns.
"I think someone has been invading my privacy," Betsy snapped, "and I don't like it."
"Twenty-five hundred dollars of this is your fee for this evening's consultation," Darius said, ignoring Betsy's anger. "The rest is a retainer. Place it in trust and keep the interest. Someday, I may ask you to return it. I may also ask you to represent me, in which case you may charge me whatever you believe the case is worth over and above the retainer."
"I'm not certain I want to work for you, Mr. Darius."
"Why? Because I had you investigated? I don't blame you for being angry, but a man in my position can't take chances. There is only one copy of the investigative report and I'll send it to you no matter how our meeting concludes. You'll be pleased to hear what your colleagues have to say about you."
"Why don't you give this money to the firm that handles your business affairs?"
"I don't wish to discuss this matter with my business lawyers.
"Are you being investigated in connection with a crime?"
"Why don't we discuss that if it becomes necessary."
"Mr. Darius, there are a number of excellent criminal defense attorneys in Portland. Why me?"
Darius looked amused. "Let's just say that I believe you are the most qualified person to handle my case, should representation become necessary."
"I'm a little leery of taking a case on this basis."
"Don't be. You're under no obligation. Take the check, use the interest.
If I do come to you and you decide you can't represent me, you can always give the money back. And, I can assure you, if I'm accused I will be innocent and you will be able to pursue my defense with a clear conscience."
Betsy studied the check. It was almost four times the largest fee she'd ever earned and Martin Darius was the type of client a sane person did not turn down.
"As long as you understand I'm under no obligation," Betsy said.
"Of course. I'll send you a retainer agreement that spells out the terms of our arrangement."
They shook hands and Betsy showed Darius out.
Then she locked the door and reentered her office. When Betsy was certain Darius was gone, she gave the check a big kiss, gave a subdued whoop and whirled around. Betsy was — allowed to indulge in immature behavior from time to time.
Betsy was in a terrific mood by the time she parked her station wagon in her carport. It was not so much the retainer, but the fact that Martin Darius had chosen her over — all the other attorneys in Portland. Betsy was building a reputation with cases like State v. Hammermill, but the big-money clients were still going to the big-name criminal defense attorneys. Until this evening.
Rick Tannenbaum opened the door before Betsy fished her key out of her purse. Her husband was slender and an inch shorter than Betsy. His thick black hair was styled to fall across his high forehead, and his smooth skin and clear blue eyes made him look younger than thirty-six. Rick had always been overly formal. Even now, when he should be relaxing, his tie was still knotted and his suit coat was on.
"Damn it, Betsy, it's almost eight. Where were you?"
"My client didn't come until six-thirty. I'm sorry."
Before Rick could say anything else Kathy came tearing down the hall.
Betsy dumped her briefcase and purse on a chair and scooped up their six-year-old daughter.
"I made a picture. You have to come see," Kathy yelled, fighting to get down as soon as she received a hug and kiss from her mother.
"Bring it to the kitchen," Betsy answered, lowering Kathy to the floor and taking off her jacket. Kathy streaked down the hall toward her bedroom with her long, blond hair flying after her.
"Please don't do this to me again, Betsy," Rick said, when Kathy was far enough away so she wouldn't hear. "I felt like a fool. I was in a meeting with Donovan and three other lawyers and I had to tell them I couldn't participate any longer because I had to pick up my daughter from day care. Something we agreed is your responsibility."
"I'm sorry, Rick. Mom wasn't available and I had to meet this client."
"I have clients too and a position to maintain in my firm. I'm trying to make partner and that's not going to happen if I get a reputation as someone who can't be relied on."
"For Christ's sake, Rick. How many times have I asked you to do this?
She's your daughter, too. Donovan understands you have a child. These things happen."
Kathy rushed into the kitchen and they stopped arguing.
"This is the picture, Mom," Kathy said, thrusting forward a large piece of drawing paper. Betsy scrutinized the picture while Kathy looked up at her expectantly. She was adorable in her tiny jeans and striped, long-sleeve shirt.
"Why Kathy Tannenbaum," Betsy said, holding the picture at arm's length,
"this is the most fantastic picture of an elephant I have ever seen."
"It's a cow, Mom."
"A cow with a trunk?"
"That's the tail."
"Oh. You're sure it's not an elephant?"
"Stop teasing," Kathy said seriously.
Betsy laughed and returned the picture with a hug and kiss. "You are the greatest artist since Leonardo da Vinci. Greater even. Now let me get dinner ready."
Kathy ran back to her room. Betsy put a frying pan on the stove and took out a tomato and some lettuce for a salad.
"Who is this big client?" Rick asked.
Betsy didn't want to tell Rick, especially since Darius wanted his visit kept secret. But she felt she owed Rick the information.
"This is very confidential. Will you promise not to breathe a word if I tell you?"
"Sure."
"Martin Darius retained me, tonight," she said, breaking into a huge grin.
"Martin Darius?" Rick answered incredulously.
"Why would he hire you? Parish, Marquette and Reeves handles his legal work."
"Apparently he thinks I'm also capable of representing him," Betsy answered, trying not to show how much Rick's reaction hurt her.
"You don't have a business practice."
"I don't think it's a business matter."
"Then what is it?"
"He didn't say."
"What's Darius like?" like? Betsy thought about the question. What was Darius like?" Betsy answered just as Kathy hurtled back into the kitchen. "He likes to be mysterious and he wants you to know how powerful he is."
"What are you cooking, Mom?"