“Look, who are you working for? Me or the D.A…? If he ain’t gonna deal, I want a trial. This whole thing wasn’t my idea anyway. Gary Barrick planned it out and I ain’t taking the whole thing on my shoulders.”
The attorney started to rise.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you think about what I said.”
“Sure. Say, can I see your paper for a minute?”
The attorney looked put out, but he handed the paper to Eddie. Eddie unfolded it. The headline read:
TWO ARRESTED IN MURRAY-WALTERS SLAYINGS. SEVEN-YEAR-OLD MYSTERY BELIEVED SOLVED.
Eddie scanned the story quickly. Then he concentrated on the picture of the girl. It had to be her. The attorney was getting impatient, so Eddie handed him the paper. He began to smile.
“Thanks a million,” he said, pumping the attorney’s hand. The attorney looked confused and smiled back, heading for the door. Eddie sat back down to think. For once the breaks were going to go his way. He could feel it. The attorney stopped at the door and cast a puzzled look at Toller. Toller waved at him.
“So long, asshole,” he thought to himself. “I won’t be needing you anymore.”
Mark found Esther Pegalosi’s address listed in the phone book, but decided against calling. Esther’s apartment was in an older section of town. The building it was in looked as if it was well maintained. Esther’s name was typed on a paper tag that had been affixed to a metal mailbox. Mark rode up in the old cage elevator he found in the lobby. The elevator ascended slowly and Mark could hear the gears and chains clanking and straining. The car shuddered to a stop on the third-floor landing and Mark stepped into the dark corridor. Esther’s apartment was at the end of the hall. He knocked, then rang the buzzer.
There was no sound inside and he rang again. This time he could hear the sound of bare feet padding toward the door. There was a snapping sound and Mark guessed that he was being scrutinized through the peephole.
“Mrs. Pegalosi?” he said.
“Who is it?”
“My name is Mark Shaeffer, Mrs. Pegalosi. I’m an attorney and I’d like to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Could I step in for a minute? It’s difficult talking through the door. If you want identification, I can slide one of my cards under the door.”
Mark heard the snapping of locks and chains and the door opened enough for him to hand in a business card. The woman who took it was attractive in a slutty way. She was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt and her long black hair was unkempt, but the breasts that jiggled under the tee shirt were large enough to attract Mark’s attention and her dark complexion and large brown eyes appealed to him. She scrutinized the card through reading glasses, then started to hand it back.
“What is it you want?”
“I was retained to represent Bobby Coolidge, an old friend of yours. He’s in jail charged with a very serious crime. You testified at the Grand Jury and I’m interested in what you said.”
The woman was obviously alarmed and she looked as if she might shut the door.
“This will only take a few minutes of your time. I am as interested in finding out what happened as the police. Maybe Mr. Coolidge is guilty…”
“Yes,” the woman almost shouted. “He did it.”
“Well, in that case, I certainly want to talk to you so that I will know how to advise my client. Why do you think he’s guilty?”
“No, I won’t discuss it. They said I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone if I didn’t want to and I’m not.”
“Who said this, Mrs. Pegalosi?”
“Roy…Mr. Shindler and Mr. Heider.”
“Mr. Heider, the district attorney?”
“Yes. He said I didn’t have to talk to anyone if I said no.”
“Well, that’s right. I certainly wouldn’t want to force you to talk to me if you didn’t want to, but Bobby has been charged with murder. He could spend the rest of his life in jail. It certainly won’t hurt you to talk to me and if there is some mistake, your talking with me might help clear it up.”
“I can’t talk…I won’t talk about it.”
“Mrs. Pegalosi, you’ll have to answer my questions in court if you testify. Why are you worried about talking to me now?”
“Please. Go away. I don’t want to talk about it.”
There was a tinge of panic in Esther’s voice and Mark flinched when she slammed the door. He was angry and, for a moment, he thought about pounding on the door until she opened it. Then he realized that he had no right to talk to her and his anger focused on Philip Heider for having counseled Esther the way he had.
Mark looked at his watch. It was getting late. He had the addresses of Pullen, Shultz, and Hollander. Shindler, he guessed, based on Esther’s statement, was probably a cop. He decided to try Thelma Pullen.
Mark arrived back at his office at seven. He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and called his wife. The phone rang a few times before Cindy answered it.
“Mark?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you? I called your office and all they said was that you were out investigating a case.”
“Not just a case. You’ll never guess who I’m representing.”
Cindy sensed the excitement in Mark’s voice.
“Who?” she asked, cautiously.
“Did you read the paper today? The front page?”
“Yes.”
“I have just been retained to represent Bobby Coolidge, one of the two men charged in the Murray-Walters case.”
“The murders?” she asked hesitantly.
“The very same.”
There was a pause.
“Mark,” she asked, “do you feel that…? A murder is so serious. Do you think you have the experience?”
Mark was disappointed and angry. He had expected Cindy to be as excited as he had been all day. Now she had killed it for him. It was her insecurity that she was projecting onto him. Her inadequacies.
“Yes, I can handle it,” he answered in a more subdued tone.
“Are they paying you a lot?”
“I’ve asked for ten thousand,” he said. This had been his big surprise, but she had deflated his enthusiasm with her fears.
“Ten thousand! Oh, Mark!”
Now she was excited, Mark thought bitterly. Not about the fact that someone thought enough of my ability to hire me to represent someone on a case this big, but because of the money.
“Have they paid you yet?”
“I have to call this evening to make certain that they can come up with the money.”
“Then you’re not certain you’ll get it?” she asked in a disappointed tone.
“No. I have to call now.”
There was another embarrassed pause.
“When will you be home?”
The truth was, at this moment, he would rather not have gone home at all.
“In a while. I’ll call you before I leave.”
“Mark, I’m really happy you got the case.”
A little late, he thought. Out loud he said, “I’ll see you,” and blew her a kiss and hung up.
He took a deep breath and checked the Coolidge file for Sarah’s number. He felt a curious excitement when he dialed it. Partly because he would soon know about the fee and partly, he realized, because he wanted to talk to her again.
“Sarah? This is Mark…Mark Shaeffer.”
“Oh…yes?” she asked anxiously.
“I told you I’d call tonight. Remember?”
“Yes. About the money. Did you see Bobby?”
“We talked for about an hour at the jail. I’ve been out all afternoon talking to witnesses. Tomorrow I’m going to meet with the district attorney.”
“How does it look?”
“I can’t tell yet. The one witness I wanted to talk to the most wouldn’t talk to me. I talked to two other people, but nothing they said seemed to connect Bobby with the crime. I’ll learn more about the case tomorrow, hopefully, from the D.A.”
“How was…is Bobby?”
“Pretty low. I told him you would visit on Sunday. I’ve arranged for you to see him in a private interview room, instead of with the rest of the prisoners in the visitor’s room.”