“I’ve been out partying every night.”
“Andy, please tell me what happened. I don’t remember anything.”
She doesn’t even recall what I’ve already told her, so I relate the details of the incident that I know, and I can see her racking her brain to recall that morning. She draws a blank. “I don’t even remember getting up that day,” she says.
I nod. “The doctor said that was likely, but that your short-term memory might return over time. What about longer-term memory?”
“I think I’m okay,” she says. “Test me.”
“Do you remember when you said you would worship and adore me forever?”
She smiles and manages a very slight shake of her head. “Nope. Drawing a blank.”
“Laurie, does the name Jimmy Childs mean anything to you?”
She thinks for a few moments. “Should it? Because if I should know it, I’m failing the test.”
“He’s the guy Marcus said was the shooter.”
“Marcus is after him?”
I nod. “Yes. He didn’t take too kindly to somebody shooting you.”
“Marcus will kill him, Andy.”
“I’ve heard worse ideas,” I say. “But Pete thinks Marcus might have his hands full.” I go on to tell her what Pete related about Child’s résumé. Laurie is as baffled as to who could be behind this as I am.
We’re interrupted by a team of therapists coming in to work with Laurie. Feeling incredibly relieved by her condition, I take the opportunity to go down to the Tara Foundation, to check out how things are going, and to find out from Willie Miller how Tara and Waggy are doing.
I am delighted to find out that he has brought the two of them with him to the foundation, rather than leaving them alone at home. They like hanging out with the rescued dogs, especially Waggy, since it gives him an unlimited number of wrestling partners.
Tara seems a little out of sorts. This is probably the longest she’s gone without seeing me in a few years. I hardly ever take vacations, and if I do I bring her with me. I’m going to have to provide a ton of biscuits and some serious two-handed petting to get back in her good graces for this one.
Things at the foundation are going well. Willie and his wife, Sondra, have placed eleven dogs in homes this week. I feel guilty that I haven’t been helping out, and Willie feels guilty that he hasn’t visited Laurie, so we call ourselves even.
Willie of course wants to be brought up to date about everything, and I do so. He is not worried about Marcus’s ability to handle Jimmy Childs or anyone else on this planet. Willie holds a black belt in karate and is afraid of no one, but he once told me he couldn’t last ten seconds with Marcus.
“Maybe me and Sondra should be careful,” he says. “Waggy the psycho dog is bad luck.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that woman had him, and she got killed in the explosion. Then Laurie had him, and she got shot.”
Willie is not smiling when he says this, and he shouldn’t be. He’s pointing out the coincidence that two people who seemed to be in control of Waggy got killed. I am angry at myself that I didn’t even think of it.
I don’t believe in coincidences, especially where murders are involved. They might exist, but it doesn’t make sense to act as if they do.
I tell Willie to be careful, and not to tell anyone that he has Waggy.
Just in case.
IT’S TIME FOR ME TO TALK TO MY CLIENT.
There is no sense in our trying to construct a strategy to counter the prosecution before we know Steven’s version of the events. And time is a-wasting…
Kevin makes the arrangements, though I go to see Steven by myself. I find the first significant meeting like this, the one in which the client is called on to state the facts as he sees them, to go better when it’s just one-on-one. Clients seem to open up more.
Steven is clearly relieved to see me and hear that I am staying on the case. He expresses the proper concern for Laurie, but he is certainly more focused on his own predicament. I have to admit, if I were facing life in a seven-by-ten-foot cell, I’d be a tad self-centered as well.
What Steven has been living is not a life. He spends twenty-three hours a day in his cell, eats food just south of miserable, and is treated with a complete lack of respect and dignity. Any ability to control any part of his own existence has been taken away from him, and the desperation in his eyes is the same I have seen countless times with countless clients. I imagine it’s sort of like being a Cubs fan.
What Steven doesn’t fully realize is that, compared with most of the inmates, he is living life in the fast lane. Because he has not been convicted of anything, he is isolated from the other inmates in a cleaner area with relatively kindly guards. Should he be convicted, he’ll look back on these days with a wistful nostalgia.
I decide to hit him right between the eyes with my first question. “Steven, where were you the night of your father’s murder?”
He doesn’t blink. “I was home until about seven o’clock, then I drove to Paterson.”
“Why did you do that?”
“My father called and asked me to. He said he had something to show me that I needed to see right away.”
“Did he say what it was?” I ask.
“No, but he sounded upset, and I was worried because my father never sounded upset. He was always in complete control of everything.”
“And you had no idea why?”
Steven shakes his head. “I assumed it had something to do with his work.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“He had just been very intense and secretive about it lately. But his calling me might have had nothing to do with that. He certainly wasn’t doing any of the work in downtown Paterson.”
“Did you meet your father that night?”
Steven shakes his head. “No, I went to the restaurant he specified, I think it’s called Mario’s, but he never showed up. He told me to wait outside, but after about an hour I went in and had a beer. I waited another hour after that, then tried to reach him on his cell. When I couldn’t get him, I went home.”
This part of the story checks out. Steven got a parking ticket outside Mario’s, probably when he was in having his drink, which is how the police and prosecution knew he was there. Walter Timmerman’s body was found about two blocks away.
“Why didn’t you tell any of this to the police?”
“They never asked; they never talked to me at all. Then they arrested that other guy, and I figured he had done it, so I didn’t think to go to them with it. Is that somehow bad for me?”
“We’ll deal with it,” I say, even though we may not be able to. “Were you and your father close?”
“Yes and no. It was kind of day-to-day.”
“He took you out of his will.”
Steven surprises me by laughing. “About a hundred times, but he always put me back in so he’d have something he could threaten me with.”
“But you didn’t care?” I ask.
“No, and it drove him crazy. I mean the money would have been nice, but having an actual, real-life father would have been nicer. Once I enlisted in the marines, things were never the same between us.”
“He was opposed to that?”
“As opposed as a human being could be. Which I’m sure a shrink would say is why I joined.”
“And you became an expert in explosives.”
He nods. “Is that why they think I blew up the house?”
“It doesn’t help,” I say. “What did you and your mother argue about that day?”
“Stepmother.”
I nod and stand corrected. “Stepmother.”
“Waggy. She didn’t care about dogs at all, but he was a possession she wanted, because of who he was. A future champion.”