1
“Mr. Parish, guess what?”
Warren glanced up, a bemused smile on his face as his apprentice burst through the office door, hair awry and face animated. “What covers a lot of territory, Cecil, and these plans are due to be filed in the next day or so. I don’t have time to play guessing games.”
Cecil’s face reddened, making the track of freckles across his nose even more prominent. “Sorry, sir.” His discomfort lasted less than a minute. Unable to contain his excitement, his voice rose as he blurted out, “They arrested Martin Harris for Mr. Turner’s murder.”
A slight tic began under Warren’s left eye, and he removed his glasses then rubbed his temples. “When?”
“This morning. It’s all over the news.” Cecil dropped his backpack and flopped into the chair across from the desk. “I knew you didn’t watch the news, so I ran all the way here to tell you.”
Cecil was salivating to impart the juicy story of the torrid affair between Miranda Harris and James Turner. Warren hated gossip, and he already knew the sordid details. He’d spent days talking Martin out of a lawsuit against the firm.
Three weeks had passed since James’s body had been pulled from the bay. Warren had known him all his life. The two had graduated high school together, and Warren had been best man at James’s wedding and was godfather to his little girl, Cindy. When James had fallen on hard times and asked to join his architecture firm five years ago, Warren hadn’t hesitated to hire him. The two of them had worked side by side seven days a week, building the firm from a small one-man operation to a huge successful business that pulled in clients from all over the world. James had been charismatic, and everyone loved him. Warren had loved him too, until he found out what he was really like.
Warren’s shoulders slumped with guilt. When Martin asked his firm to design the monstrosity of a home his new wife wanted, he’d turned the job over to James. And he’d ignored his suspicions when he’d looked at the timeslips James turned in showing countless evening visits with Miranda. If I’d paid more attention, an innocent man wouldn’t be in jail for a crime he didn’t commit.
“I’d prefer not to talk about it, Cecil.” Warren signed the plans he’d spent the morning working on, rolled them up, and handed them to Cecil. “Take these down and get three copies made.”
Cecil took the plans, his face crestfallen and somewhat humorous. “Yes, sir, Mr. Parish.” He turned at the door, about to speak again, then changed his mind, closing the door softly behind him.
Warren sighed and walked to the picture window overlooking Main Street. We should have known it would come to this. Martin Harris was a good man, but even good men tipped over the edge occasionally. Finding his wife in bed with James Turner had destroyed him. Warren had tried to help. He’d supported Martin through the divorce and enrolled him in counseling. In the end, nothing had worked. Not only had Martin lost his wife, but his severe depression throughout the divorce had sent him into a six-month drinking and gambling fiasco that had cost him his fortune. The man was penniless. But he didn’t kill James Turner.
Turning away from the window, Warren booted his computer, pulled up a search engine, and typed in “defense counsel Corpus Christi Texas.” He drifted through the search results—one name popped up on the pages over and over for criminal defense: Honorable Marcus Dade. He clicked on one website and read the long list of client testimonials. Warren recognized several of Dade’s clients. Most of them, he was fairly sure, were guilty of the crimes they’d been charged with, yet Dade had gotten them off or managed to plead their crimes down to lesser charges. He didn’t know what evidence the police had on Martin. He knew Martin had publicly threatened James several times. He’d even driven to James’s house and fired a shot through the front door. To Warren, all that seemed circumstantial, but perhaps it had given them probable cause.
Warren grabbed a Post-it note and jotted down the office address. He glanced at his watch. He could walk to the office and make an appointment. Probably best not to leave a phone trail anyone can trace.
The wind was vicious, and Warren walked quickly, covering the space between his office and Dade’s in less than fifteen minutes. He was glad he’d opted to wear the new trench coat Claire had bought him for their anniversary. A storm was brewing, and he would be lucky if he made it back to the office without getting drenched.
A beautiful redhead greeted him with a smile as he struggled to close the door against the wind. “Windy out there, isn’t it?”
Warren returned her smile, wondering for a moment why people always stated the obvious. “It appears to be.”
“Can I help you?”
“I’d like to make an appointment with Mr. Dade.”
She flipped pages on her calendar. “He has some time free next Wednesday at three.”
“I was hoping for something sooner,” Warren said. “It’s sort of an urgent matter.”
Her phone beeped, and she held up her hand. “Give me just a moment.” She picked up the phone and listened intently as she flipped back through the pages of her calendar. “Yes, sir.”
She smiled at Warren again, showing even, white teeth as she replaced the receiver. “It must be your lucky day, Mr…?”
“Parish. Warren Parish.”
“We have an opening tomorrow at nine. Would that work for you?”
“That would be perfect.”
She pulled a form from a file on her desk. “Just fill in your name, address, and the nature of your visit.”
Warren quickly filled in his name and address. He hesitated over the nature of his visit, jotted down “personal,” and handed the form back to her. “I would prefer not to put the nature of my visit in writing. I’ll be more than happy to pay a consultation fee.”
“That won’t be a problem, Mr. Parish.” She handed him a business card. “My name is Helena. We’ll see you tomorrow at nine.”
2
“You sure know how to pick them. Parish is a real gem,” Helena said, as she walked into Marcus’s office the next morning and handed him a copy of the report she’d run the night before. “He not only looks like money. He smells like money.”
She perched on the corner of his desk. “Although I have to admit, he reads like a saint. The man doesn’t even have a jaywalking charge. Loving husband, attentive father, honest businessman who stands behind his work, and generous supporter of numerous charities. Net worth a little over five million, all earned honestly as far as I can tell.”
“Must be something you missed,” Dade said, glancing through the background check.
“His partner, James Turner, was murdered three weeks ago, but they arrested someone for that. And there’s nothing unusual about his murder. Affair with a married woman, caught in the act, husband threatens and eventually kills. Old story, new players.”
The door to the outer office pinged, and Helena hopped off the desk. “Must be our guy. Can I sit in? I’m dying of curiosity.”
“Not this time.”
Marcus pulled a legal pad from his desk. He didn’t really need to make notes, but he did it for the clients who expected it. He’d had a near-photographic memory for years. Sometimes it was a blessing, other times a curse.