"Would you ask Mr. Bisher and the other gentleman to hold on for a couple of minutes? And, Hilda, when you've done that, would you come back and bring your notary's seal?"
The woman left, and Schaefer turned back to Hoyt. "Now, Henry, I think you're beginning to get an idea of your position. If you leave this office without signing that document, I promise you that the world is going to fall on your clients and their football player." Schaefer took two pens from the drawer and placed them before the two men opposite him. Hilda entered with her notary's stamp and stood at the end of the table.
"Al, this is an outrage!" Hoyt began. "If you think you can bulldoze me into…" Hoyt stopped and watched Bake Ramsey as he leaned forward, picked up a pen, and signed the document. Hilda moved to his side, stamped the document, and signed it. Hoyt watched this ceremony apprehensively, then tried once more.
"Al, I'm going to have to consult-"
"Henry," Schaefer interrupted, "you and I both know that you already have your client's authority to settle. Now let's get this over with."
Hoyt's shoulders slumped. He picked up the pen, signed the document, and the trusty Hilda notarized it. Schaefer retrieved the documents and stood up. "Thank you, Henry. I'll expect the funds on my desk by noon tomorrow, as our agreement stipulates. A check on your firm's trust account will be fine. I'll return a copy of the agreement with Ms. Barwick's signature when she's out of surgery."
"All right," Hoyt said dispiritedly.
"Hilda, will you show these gentlemen to the freight elevator? I think they'll want to avoid some people at the main entrance to the building. And tell Furman Bisher and the gentleman from the AP that I won't be available today." Schaefer followed them as far as the reception room. When they had gone, he peeled off two hundred-dollar bills and gave them to the detectives. "Thanks, fellas," he said, shaking hands with both of them. "I'll see you next time." As Schaefer returned, smiling, to his desk, he reflected that he had just paid his office rent for the next several years.
CHAPTER 4
Schaefer arrived at Piedmont Hospital carrying a small suitcase, his briefcase, a shopping bag from the fancy grocer across the street, and two dozen yellow roses. He found Elizabeth Barwick sitting up in bed, sipping orange juice through a glass straw. He took it away from her and set it on the bedside table. "You shouldn't be drinking straight orange juice," he said, opening half a bottle of champagne and adding some to her glass. "It should be diluted." He handed her the glass.
She did not immediately drink. "Al, I've been thinking about my demands since we last talked. I think I overreached, and I don't want you to feel badly if you get less. I've figured out how to do what I want to do for about a hundred thousand."
Schaefer wagged a finger. "Business later, first roses." He laid the flowers across her lap. "This room needs a little more color."
"Thank you, Al, they're very nice."
"I want you to know that I would have been here sooner, but Harry Estes wanted me to wait until you were a day away from the surgery. How are you feeling?"
He looked closely at her. All he could see was her eyes and a strip of face where the mouth was. It was obvious that her long hair had been cut. A tight cap of gauze was wrapped around her head. "I'm feeling well, if a little anxious. Harry says it went extremely well. I'm leaving the hospital tomorrow."
"About that,"
Schaefer said, "I have some news." He handed her a key. "That's to your new apartment. It's a sublet-the owner is traveling for the next three months. It's on a nice street in the Virginia-Highland area. It's roomy, sunny, and it has a grand piano, if that makes any difference."
She smiled. "Not much. I haven't played since high school."
He knocked on the suitcase. "Hilda took charge of the clothes; she said you'd look funny if I chose them, so she got you a couple of changes-some underthings, too."
"Thank Hilda for me."
"I sold your car to a friend of mine, got fifty-two thousand for it. That was halfway between the wholesale and retail price." He handed her a deposit slip. "I put it in your account."
"I'm very pleased with that."
"Now, about your settlement. First of all, we didn't talk about what you'd have to give in the arrangement. I had to promise them you'd never talk about what happened with the press, and that you wouldn't press any criminal charges against Ramsey."
"That's reasonable, I guess."
"How much did you say you could get by on?"
"A hundred thousand or so. Less, since you got such a good price for the car."
"Well, you're going to have to get by on"-he looked at the deposit slip in his hand-"six hundred sixty-six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six dollars and sixty-six cents." He handed her the slip.
"What?"
"I hit Ramsey and the team for half a million each. I figured that if the steroids have affected him the way you say, the team's as liable as he is. Your medical bills will come to me; I'll see that the team's insurance company settles them."
She stared at the deposit receipt. "You mean, I have over seven hundred thousand dollars in cash in my bank account right this minute?"
"That's right. My standard fee in these situations is a third of the settlement. The car money is in checking; the rest is in your savings account. Your banker likes you a lot." He handed her a card. "I think you should call Bill Schwartz at the Private Banking Division of the First National Bank just as soon as you're able. He'll help you maximize your earnings."
She took a long swallow of her orange juice and champagne. "Could I have some straight champagne, please?"
Schaefer produced two glasses and poured for them both. "What are your plans, Liz?"
"Healing and work. I'll tell you more about my plans later." She sipped her champagne. "Can I ask for one more favor?"
"Shoot."
"Will you buy a gun for me?"
"When I said 'shoot,' I didn't mean it literally."
"Will you?"
"No. And I don't want you to buy one for yourself. Don't worry, sweetheart, he isn't going to bother you; he's too afraid of me. I hosed him down pretty good. By the way, there's an exhibition game in New York this weekend; you can get into the house."
"Good. I'm anxious to wipe the slate clean."
"Baby, it's about as clean as it's ever going to get. Not many people get this kind of a fresh start. Make the most of it, but don't blow the money."
"Don't worry, my needs are going to be very simple for a while."
"Harry wants you to see a shrink. I think it's a good idea. You've got to be a very angry lady at the moment, whether you know it or not."
"I've got an appointment on Monday."
Schaefer set down his glass and stood up. "You finish the bubbly for me. I've got to be in court in an hour."
"Give 'em hell."
"You know it."
"Thank you, Al."
"Don't thank me; I did pretty good for myself."
"I'm glad."
"Something else; I had a good time doing it."
"That's always important."
"You remember that, kid. Whatever you're going to do, have a good time doing it."
Schaefer left the room and whistled his way down the hall. Doing well by doing good. He loved it. The following day, Elizabeth Barwick checked out of Piedmont Hospital and vanished. The following weekend, her mother's furniture, her cameras and darkroom equipment, and everything else that belonged to her disappeared from the house she had shared with Baker Ramsey. Over the next several weeks, one by one, her friends received a phone call. The conversations were much the same:
"Hi, it's Liz."
"Well, hi! Where you been keeping yourself?"
"I've been on the move. Bake and I called it a day."
"Sugar, it's about time. All your friends think so."
"It had to be done."
"Let's get together."
"I'd love to, but everything is so hectic. I'm going to be traveling for a while, and I've got so much to do."
"Around the world?"