I take a deep breath and wait for my life to stop flashing in front of my eyes. In this case, if Laurie hadn't stopped me, I would have been alone in a bathroom with Queen Kong.
I'm nothing if not a quick learner. “Laurie, maybe you should go see if there's anyone else inside.”
“Maybe I should.”
Laurie goes inside and comes back out moments later.
“The coast is clear, macho man.”
I nod and enter. Except for possibly with my mother when I was too young to remember, this is the first time I have ever been in a ladies’ room. It turns out I haven't missed that much.
This particular ladies’ room is as unenlightening as it is unimpressive. There had been specks of blood near the telephone, and the police version of the crime was that Denise was struck over the head, and then dragged outside into the alley. Since there was no evidence of sexual molestation, I'm not sure why the assailant didn't kill her right there, but he clearly did not. The blood would have been everywhere.
Laurie and I go out into the alley where the body was found, which is no more than fifteen feet down a hall from the bathroom door. The hall cannot be seen from the main area of the restaurant, so if Denise were unconscious and unable to scream, it makes sense that she and her assailant would not have been noticed. She most likely was unconscious, both because of the blood in the bathroom and the fact that there were marks on the back of her shoes indicating that she was dragged down the hall.
While there is obviously no good place to be brutally murdered, this alley is particularly without dignity. Various establishments throw out their garbage in and around a group of Dumpsters against the far wall, and there are so many stray animals picking at it that they must be required to make a reservation. “Two rottweiler mixes, table for two? Yes, we're running a little behind. Care to have a drink from the gutter while you wait?”
One of the more puzzling aspects of this is what the eyewitness was doing here in the middle of the night. Willie's lawyer, Hinton, barely touched on this at trial, but then again, he barely touched on anything. He seemed to have no strategy, no coherent focus, and no desire to probe until he found weaknesses in the prosecution's case.
We hang out at the scene for a little while, not saying much, each of us lost in our own thoughts about how horrible that night must have been for Denise McGregor. I try to picture Willie Miller committing this crime, but I can't. I try to picture anybody committing this crime, but I still can't.
I drive Laurie back to the office, since that is where she left her car. She mentions the photograph, and I realize I haven't thought about it all day. I'm having lunch the next day at Philip Gant's club. He had called and invited me, saying that he wanted to “catch up,” but really wanting to know how things are between Nicole and me. I'll take advantage of the situation to ask him about the photograph. I'll do this because I need to find out information about rich people, and Philip is the proverbial horse's mouth.
Nicole is asleep when I get home, and I realize with a flash of guilt that I'm glad about that. I need to get the upcoming days straightened out in my mind, so that events don't just whiz past me. I want to be alone with a glass of wine and Tara, not necessarily in that order.
As I sit sipping the wine, I reflect for the fifty millionth time on the fact that I discovered Tara in an animal shelter. She was two years old and had been abandoned there by an owner who was moving and had no room for her. She was going to be killed-“put down” is the term shelters use-and I adopted her on her last day.
I don't care if those people were moving to a phone booth; they should have made room for Tara. What they deserve for almost causing her death is to be put in a cell next to Willie Miller. But, of course, I'm glad they didn't keep her, since if they had I wouldn't be sipping wine and petting her. Life for Tara is extraordinarily simple; she wants to be with me and have me pet her head and scratch her stomach. Experiencing that simplicity helps me right now.
I plan my strategy, legal and personal, for about an hour, and then I fall asleep in mid-scratch. I'm in the same position two hours later when the phone rings. It's the warden's office at the prison, informing me that Willie Miller has been attacked by two knife-wielding inmates and is in the prison hospital.
I briefly consider whether to call Laurie and tell her what's going on, but decide against it. It would not serve any useful function other than to provide company and a slight easing of my discomfort at having to drive to the prison at three o'clock in the morning. I'm going to be a big boy and do this on my own.
A guard meets me at the main gate and takes me to the prison hospital. He does not know Willie's condition, and unless I am a terrible judge of human behavior, he couldn't care less.
He brings me to Willie's room and leaves me there to fend for myself. The room is darkened and Willie is asleep, so I find myself standing there, unsure what to do. I don't want to wake him; he might be badly injured and very weak. On the other hand, I don't want to spend the entire night waiting for him to wake up.
“What the hell you looking at?” It's Willie's voice, but in the darkness I can't see his lips move.
“Willie?” I ask. It's a short, dumb question, followed by another. “Are you awake?”
“Shit, yeah. You think you can sneak up on me in the dark? 'Cause there's two guys down the hall that thought they could sneak up on me too.”
“Are you hurt badly?” I ask.
“Nah, just a few slices on the arm.”
He proceeds to tell me that two men approached him in the rec room and attacked him with sharpened kitchen utensils. They were unaware, as I was as well, that Willie is a black belt in karate. Within moments they were unconscious, and Willie had only a few minor cuts to show for his troubles.
I'm upset that Willie had to go through this, which makes me the only one in the room who feels that way. Willie is positively giddy.
“Man, that was the most fun I've had in seven years,” he says, cackling with laughter. “Those guys thought I was dead meat. You should have seen what I did to them. They had to get them off the floor with a shovel.”
“I'm glad you had such a good time,” I say. “It's really brightened my night as well.”
The sarcasm is pretty much lost on Willie. As I'm leaving, he says, “And I've got you to thank, man.”
I stop at the door. “How's that?”
“They mentioned your name. Said they were going after me 'cause you don't know when to lay off. That was just before I busted 'em up.”
This takes me by surprise. “You mean they went after you for a reason? It wasn't just a random attack?”
Willie laughs at my prison naet “Random attack? There ain't no such thing in here, man. Nope, whoever sent them had a reason, and I'll bet he paid big bucks to get it done. You must be gettin’ somewhere, man.”
I don't think I'll share this with Willie, but the only thing I'm getting is confused. Somebody tried to have Willie killed because I am uncovering something. I see three minor problems with that: I don't know who that somebody could be, I don't know why they would go after Willie, and I've uncovered absolutely nothing.
I offer to have Willie moved into solitary confinement for his own protection, but he acts as if I am trying to steal his bicycle. He promises he can take care of himself, which seems to be a promise he can keep.
I head home for a restful three hours sleep, knowing full well that I'll be just as confused in the morning.
KEVIN IS WAITINGFOR ME AND CHOMPING ON his second raspberry turnover when I arrive at the office in the morning. Edna has already drawn him into her morning crossword puzzle, and is showing off her skills. He is suitably impressed, as she knew he would be. I hear her tell him that he has a flair for crosswords; she says it in an offhanded way, like Joe DiMaggio might have said to a rookie, “Nice arm, kid.”