owners of the office park who happen to be your clients as with the
police."
"Samantha, you're embarrassing yourself," he said.
"No, she's not." It was Russ. "What's embarrassing is your attempt to
bully this office. You assume that because we're prosecutors, we're a
bunch of bloodthirsty rednecks. As for the bureau's delay homing in on
Jackson, your client wasn't exactly forthcoming. The cops had to get
their information from the workers on the site, and funny they seemed
to be under the impression that it was union work."
Talking about the Glenville development project brought Mrs. Jackson's
words back to me.
"Who is your client anyway, Roger?" I asked.
"I told you," he said. "Dr. Easterbrook came to us through OHSU."
He knew exactly what I was talking about. "Who's in charge of the
construction in Glenville?"
"I wasn't aware that the DA's office had taken over the operations of
the National Labor Relations Board. For what it's worth, the nonunion
work on the site was permissible."
"So tell me who the client is. I want to know how they came to hire
Melvin Jackson. From what I've heard of him, I'm not sure I'd want him
to mow my backyard, let alone hire him on a major development
project."
But Roger was done talking to me. He stood up and offered Duncan his
hand. "Duncan, unless you have any more questions, we'll be on our
way. Please let me know your decision once you've made it."
Then I got a glimpse of how Duncan Griffith had earned his political
reputation. When he took Roger's hand, I could tell his grip was firm.
"The decision was made before you interrupted me with the theatrics,
son. We'll be asking for life without parole. You might want to
consider knocking the last twelve minutes off Dr. Easterbrook's bill.
Now, if it's all right with you, I'll walk you out so I can thank your
client for coming in."
We were still rehashing the events of the meeting when Duncan returned.
"Anyone got a problem with that?"
No problems. "Very good then," he said, knocking on the table as he
walked out. "Oh, and by the way, Samantha, your ex-husband's a major
asshole."
I don't think Duncan realized he was dropping a bombshell. I
hightailed it out of the room while my coworkers were still begging for
the tawdry details of my short-lived marriage.
A few minutes later, Russ came into my office.
"I hope you didn't mind me sticking up for you back there. I know you
had everything under control, but, Jesus, what a prick."
"And they say chivalry is dead," I said.
"Yeah, well don't let the word out. I've got a reputation to
protect."
"Don't worry. One act of semi decency won't make a dent," I said,
smiling. "So I was surprised Duncan made a decision. You think it was
because of the racial politics or to appease the husband?"
"Christ, Kincaid, you're almost as bad as your limousine-liberal ex.
Duncan might have done it because he thought it was the right thing to
do."
I suppose with politicians it's the decisions that count, not their
reasons for making them.
"So how long were you guys married?" Russ asked.
I felt like I owed him at least the party line. "Not long. Things
were all right for a few years in New York, but they fell apart when we
moved to Portland." Then I surprised myself by not stopping in the
usual place. "We seemed to have a disagreement over the appropriate
use of his penis."
Russ almost spit out the coffee he had just sipped.
"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "A little too much information?"
"No, just a well, it was a funny way of putting it. You're not one of
those girls, are you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I know I haven't been any
kind oigirl since I was seventeen years old."
"Excuse me, Gloria Steinem. You're not one of those crazy women who
always goes after the bad boy, are you? First it's that guy, now it's
Forbes. You know something none of the other women around here know,
or do you just like to flirt with disaster?"
"I've known Chuck Forbes since I was fifteen years old, and he's
nothing like Roger Kirkpatrick."
The silence was not just uncomfortable. It made me wonder what
everyone in the office must be thinking. And saying.
"Sorry," he said, "it's none of my business. You ready for the prelim
tomorrow?"
I was grateful for the change of subject. "Piece of cake," I said.
"Was it just me, or did Roger seem reluctant to give us anything about
the owner of the Glenville property?"
Russ shrugged his shoulders. "He's probably no different from the rest
of those private-firm fucks. Acts like the big man, but when push
comes to shove he's scared shitless of his clients. You don't need it,
but if you're really curious, call one of the paralegals in the
child-support enforcement unit. They're pros at running down
property-owner records."
Maybe I would.
"If I don't see you, good luck tomorrow," he said. "Do you know who
the judge is yet?"
"Prescott."
"Got news for you, Kincaid. You could be looking at a long day."
Kate Prescott is the slowest judge in the courthouse. A big
fund-raiser for the Democratic Party, she came to the bench a year ago
from a large corporate firm. She tries to make up for her lack of
litigation experience by being thorough. I had a plea fall apart once
in her courtroom when a transexual prostitute who'd been through the
system a hundred times finally gave up on the process. In her words,
"Honey, if I knew it was gonna take this long, I'd have asked for my
trial. If I'm losing time on the street, it might as well be
interesting."
If Prescott didn't move things along, Jackson's prelim could be
painful.
"Page me if you need anything," Russ offered. "And, Kincaid, for what
it's worth, any guy who'd even think of stepping out on you is clearly
out of his mind."
Now that might ruin Russell Frist's tough-guy reputation.
Roger's show was not the only power play I'd have to contend with that
day. As I was getting ready to leave, Duncan called. Before he got to
the point, he had to dress me down for my outburst in the meeting.
"Don't get me wrong," he said, "it wasn't what you said that was the
problem. He deserved every word of it. But when I'm in the room,
you've got to trust that I'll handle it."
"Does this mean I'm fired?"
"I'll give you a Get Out of Jail Free card for that particular
outburst. Your reward for being married to the jerk. But, seriously,
over time I hope you'll stop trying to carry the load all on your
own."
"I'm independent, sir."
"Tell me about it. So don't freak out that I'm calling to give you a
heads-up. T. J. Caffrey just called. He's rabid. Seems your defense
attorney has subpoenaed him to the prelim."
I couldn't say I was surprised. Slip knew he stood little chance of
getting the case kicked at a preli
m. He was trying to give us a
preview of the mess he'd create for us at trial. Fortunately, Duncan's
own trial experience wasn't too far in the past for him to recognize it
was inevitable too.
"I told him there was nothing I could do," he said, "but his attorney
wants a courtesy sit-down with you tomorrow morning. I told him you'd
oblige."
It gave me something to look forward to.
Nine.
Grace had left a voice mail while I was in Duncan's office. "Hey,
Sammikins. Want to grab some dinner tonight? And before you say
you're busy, I'm just warning you; you're turning into one of those
women who dump their girlfriends when they're getting laid. I'm
thinking cocktails and truffle fries."
That could only mean one place: 750 ml, a cool but cozy Pearl District
wine bar. Even though we were the only declasse martini drinkers in
the joint, the main attraction was the french fries tossed in white
truffle oil.
Grace likes her drinks the color of Maybelline nail polish, and this
week's preference was a ginger-infused something or another. Beach
vacations aside, I usually stick with the standards, switching
periodically between my favorite gin and my favorite vodka. Tonight,
Bombay Sapphire beat out Grey Goose.
I tried to fight Grace when she told the bartender to jazz it up for
me, but Grace just couldn't help herself. When a guy's that gorgeous,
she'll find any excuse to talk to him.
He turned away to muck up a perfectly good olive by stuffing it with
bleu cheese, and Grace's eyes were anywhere but on me. "Ahem, my dear,
but I do believe you accused me today of ignoring my girlfriend in
favor of the boy du jour."
"Well, in your case, that'd be the boy du decade."
It dawned on me that her jab was accurate. Literally. Truly
pathetic.
"Now does this mean we're going to have an evening without the boy
talk?" she asked.
"Unless you've got something."
She eyed the bartender again. "Not yet," she said, smiling and taking
another sip of her pink drink. In truth, Grace has a fairly routine
dating life, but she enjoys hamming up the sex goddess persona. "So
why didn't I hear from you last night? Another evening with Chuck?"
"I'm afraid so. We're moving toward boring domesticity remarkably
quickly."
I thought about mentioning the weirdness with my father, but talking
about it would only upset me more. The truth was, I knew I'd been
keeping myself busy to avoid calling him. Part of me was afraid he
might actually tell me whatever he was holding back. From the look on
his face the other night, it seemed pretty disturbing.
Instead, I talked about work, confessing my guilt over the accusatory
tone I'd used the previous day with Susan Kerr.
"Susan Kerr with sort of wild brown hair? A little older than us?"
"Wild to you, maybe, but take a look at who you're talking to.
Actually, she had it pulled back when I saw her."
"That's because her hair's completely uncontrollable. She's a
client."
"What do you think of her?"
"She's awesome my kind of chick. Did you really accuse her of sleeping
with her dead friend's husband? I don't even want to think about how
she handled that."
"No, luckily I kept that suspicion to myself and found out the visit
was perfectly innocuous. But I did ask whether she thought it was
possible Clarissa was having an affair."
"I suspect even that was enough to set her off." It was.
Grace shrugged her shoulders. "She always speaks her mind. She
started coming in probably a year before her husband died, right around
the time I opened. When word started to leak he was losing it, she was
ferociously protective. I remember her telling me about this one woman
who was the source of most of the gossip. Susan found out the cow had
a nasty little coke habit, cornered her in the gym, and threatened to
out her unless she started singing another tune."
"I didn't realize the two of you were so close."
"We're not," she said with a laugh. "But that's what Susan's like an
open book. Hell, she seemed proud of it, and why shouldn't she be? She
was sticking up for her husband. The sad part is, I heard later that
the husband got wind of what she'd done and had the nerve to take her
to task for it. Rumor is, Susan got so pissed at the ungrateful fuck
she flung his humidor of Cubans into the fireplace."
"I guess I'll try not to make her mad," I said. "She's worried that
the trial's going to turn into an attack on Clarissa's character."
"And, of course, there's no chance of that, right?" Grace asked
facetiously.
"Let's just say between Susan Kerr and you the other day at Greek
Cusina, I've gotten the message."
She touched my forearm and smiled. "I'm just giving you a hard time,
sweetie. I know you do what you can. What else has been going on? Oh
my God, I almost forgot to ask any run-ins with Shoe Boy?"
I gave her a blow-by-blow of Roger's visit to the office.
"You had quite the busy day today, didn't you? Have another
martini."
A second wouldn't kill me. "He's screwing up my judgment. I feel
total confidence in my case against Jackson. Then he pisses me off,
and I find myself wanting to complicate things, just so we're not on
the same side."
"Sorry, hon, but it doesn't sound like there's much to complicate. I
believe this one's what your buddies call a slam dunk."
I told her what Mrs. Jackson said about her son's sudden employment at
a well-funded suburban construction site.
Grace shook her head. "That's probably not unusual. Development out
there has gotten so out of control it's attracting some pretty low-rent
people. I wouldn't be surprised if some little outfit got in over its
head and tried to trim the budget by hiring the cheapest labor it could
find."
"Well, I'll tell you what complicates things. One of Griffith's
political cronies has been subpoenaed by the defense and is going to
raise a stink tomorrow."
"Holy shit, Samantha. If this case gets any hotter, you're going to
wind up on Court TV."
"No, Grace, you can't give me a new haircut." She was disappointed
that I'd seen right through her. It takes more than a martini or two
before I let her get too creative.
"So who's the crony?"
"I really can't say, Grace."
"Oh, yes, you will. You can't tell me a little, then not disclose.
Against the rules."
It was pretty sensitive information, but, hell, this was Grace. We
told each other everything. I even told her about my most embarrassing
trial story, the time I reached into my suit jacket for my Sharpie pen
and pulled out a Tampax instead. She never told a soul.
I leaned in so close to her ear that I almost fell off my bar stool.
She was shocked.
"Oh .. . my .. . God. And he's supposed to be such a do-gooder."
"Maybe they're all pigs."
"Don't be bitter," she said, throwing her maraschino cherry stem at me.
Chewing on another french fry, she said, "Now if you're looking for
coincidences, he'd be what you're looking for."
"Maybe I should have passed up that second drink, because I'm not
following."
"You know. The thing with the Metro Council."
I didn't know.
"A second ago, you said it was a coincidence that a fringy guy like
Jackson was working on the Glenville site. But the real coincidence is
that your defendant dumped the victim on a property that's smack dab in
the middle of a Metro controversy."
"What's that office park got to do with Metro?"
"I told you all about this at Greek Cusina. Remember? The second
Lockworks I was going to open? Not to be rude, Sam, but sometimes I
could swear that you can't chew and listen at the same time. And given
the way we eat, that could be a major problem."
"Hey! I was listening. You weren't sure if the growth was going to
continue, but prices were already high, so you backed off."
"Right," she said, "and the reason prices are so high is that everyone
thinks Metro's going to expand the urban growth boundary right in that
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