“It sure is. Are you sick of Bass Creek already?”
“Absolutely not. I just thought I might like to spend a few hours at the ocean. As a matter of fact, I know this may sound a little forward, but I was thinking of asking you to come with me if you weren’t too busy.”
Jack felt a shiver of apprehension. “I’d love to,” he told her. “Unfortunately, I’ve got some work to do.”
Molly was clearly disappointed. “At least let me take you out to dinner tonight since you paid for me last night.”
Dinner was okay. Dinner he could handle. “That would be great. Where would you like to go?”
“How about the hotel? Everybody says their steaks are good.”
“They are. How about I meet you there at, say, seven?”
“Excellent!”
Neither one of them had noticed that all other conversation had stopped as Bill, Eddie, and Hannah-who had lingered within earshot after bringing Molly’s order-all eavesdropped on their conversation.
Having surrendered to dinner once again, Jack made his exit.
When he arrived at the office, Jack immediately called Dr. Donald Wong in San Francisco.
“He’s very busy,” Dr. Wong’s secretary told Jack. “I’ll have to ask him to call you back.” Jack provided the incentive for a prompt return call.
“Would you tell him that Jack Tobin called? I’m the new attorney on the Benny Avrile case. He might have seen the story about the case in the New York Times on Sunday. I want to find out if he’s still interested in being an expert for us.”
Jack had taken Bruce Sentner’s opinion about Dr. Wong to heart. He had no intention of using him as an expert. The documentary evidence the doctor had prepared-the charts and diagrams-were another story altogether.
His ploy worked. Mentioning the New York Times got Dr. Wong’s attention. If a big-shot lawyer was representing Benny Avrile, then there was more money to be had in the way of expert witness fees. Dr. Wong called Jack thirty minutes later. They arranged to meet in San Francisco to discuss the case and go over the exhibits the following Saturday.
When he hung up the phone, Jack typed a letter to Dr. Wong confirming the meeting and also requesting that the good doctor have all the exhibits ready for him to see. Finally, he confirmed that Dr. Wong had already been paid six thousand dollars for his services to date. He finished with the words, If there is anything in this letter that we did not discuss or is inaccurate, please notify me immediately. He then sent the letter next-day delivery before calling Henry.
“We’re going to New York on Thursday night and San Francisco on Saturday morning.”
“For what?”
“I’ll brief you on the way.”
“You’re sure you need me?”
“I’m sure.”
“You know I hate to fly. I’ve already been to New York once.”
“I know. I was with you.”
“You’re sure? All the way to San Francisco?”
“Especially San Francisco.”
The restaurant at the Bass Creek Hotel was like a slice of Old Florida. The oak paneling looked and felt like it had been there since the days of Andy Jackson. The ornate bar was made of oak as well, as were the tables and the floor. The chairs were leather. The long-stemmed fans hanging from the twenty-foot-high ceiling added to the atmosphere. It had once been a place where the upper crust convened, and it held a little of that feeling still.
“I love this place,” Molly told Jack when they were seated.
“It’s been here a long time,” Jack said. “Years ago, this was the place for a steak and a good cigar.”
“A man’s place,” Molly replied. “All you need to do is look around to see that.”
The waitress took their drink order. Jack had Wild Turkey neat. He never drank bourbon except when he was in the bar or the dining room at the Bass Creek Hotel. It was a bourbon type of place. Molly had white wine.
“So, how was the beach?” Jack asked.
“Oh Jack, it was terrific. It was a beautiful day. I spent the whole afternoon bodysurfing and I’m going back tomorrow.”
“I guess your love affair with Bass Creek is definitely over now.”
“Not at all. I’ll be here until next Wednesday. Jack, why don’t you come over tomorrow afternoon and swim with me?”
“I’d love to, but I have to go to New York the day after tomorrow, and I have some work to do before I leave.”
“That’s the second time you’ve given me the ‘I’d love to but’ routine, and we’ve only known each other for two days. I’m starting to get a complex.”
“I guess I could drive over for a few hours, swim, and have dinner and be back here at a decent hour. We don’t fly out until Thursday evening.”
“Great! How long are you in New York? I’ll be back there next week.”
“I have a hearing on Friday, then I’m headed for San Francisco.”
“I must be slipping. I should have found this information out already. Are you a lawyer, Jack?”
“Yeah, I’m representing a guy named Benny Avrile in New York. It’s kind of a high-profile case. You may have heard of it.”
“Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. I don’t usually read about that stuff. If a movie star or somebody in the fashion industry was on trial, I’d know all about it.”
Jack laughed.
“It’s hard to believe-a handsome man like you and a lawyer to boot. How is it that you’re unattached?”
They had come to the tough part. Jack knew that this question would come up eventually.
“I lost my wife to cancer a year ago.”
“Oh Jack, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Of course you should have. It’s a natural part of getting to know somebody. It’s okay, though, and I’m okay. It’s time for me to get on with my life. So, what’s your story? A beautiful woman like you vacationing in a small town on her own-that’s a bit unusual.”
Molly blushed. “Yeah, I guess. I was engaged for about a year to a wonderful man-at least, in many ways he was wonderful. He was just too intense-a workaholic. I have a stressful job, and to come home every night to a man who couldn’t relax-it was too much. I had to break it off.”
They both sat in silence for a while, thinking about their lost lives.
“I think we need another drink,” Jack finally declared as he signaled the waitress.
They relaxed and kept it light after that. Jack had a strip steak and Molly a filet. Afterward they took a walk along the river. It was a clear night once again, and a light breeze was coming off the river. Molly slipped her hand inside Jack’s as they walked. His first inclination was to pull away, but he didn’t, and after a few minutes he actually began to feel comfortable.
Jack finished up his preparations for Benny’s hearing on Wednesday morning and convinced himself that a dip in the ocean would be refreshing. He called Molly’s hotel on the way and left her a message that he would be there at two.
The hotel was midsized-five stories high. The lobby was elaborate and expensive-looking, but nothing really fit together. The floor and the walls were marble, while the furnishings and the art had that casual Key West feel. Molly was waiting in the lobby, a big smile on her face. She kissed him lightly on the mouth, took his hand, and led him to the elevators. She pushed the button for the top floor.
The room-it was actually a suite-was spectacular. The floors were marble throughout, even in the kitchen. The sliding glass doors off the living room area opened onto a patio that had a magnificent view of the ocean. As Molly and Jack walked to the patio they were serenaded by the sound of the waves pounding the shore.
“This is quite a place,” Jack remarked.
“It’s an upgrade. One of the few benefits of working in sales. I love watching the waves roll in. It’s so relaxing.”
Molly showed Jack where the bathroom was, and he changed into his bathing trunks.
The ocean was everything Molly had advertised it to b
e. The waves were high but not too dangerous for bodysurfing, something Jack had not done in a long time. He quickly regained the form he had first acquired as a teenager on Rockaway Beach and was soon riding the waves like an expert. Molly was even better. Jack watched as she dove toward the shore ahead of a wave, her long, well-toned arms smoothly and swiftly carrying her along until she caught the wave at its crest and let the ocean propel her forward. She had a perfect body for surfing-and everything else in the universe.
“Let’s see who goes the farthest,” she challenged him, her smile as bright as her little red bikini.
“You’re on.”
They started a contest, riding wave after wave. Molly was lighter and beat him every time. She would roll over on her back at the shoreline, watch him still coming in, and laugh in triumph. More than a few times Jack had the urge to sweep her up in his arms.
Afterward they stopped at the tiki bar on the beach.
“Give us a couple of those drinks with the umbrellas in them,” she told the bartender.
“To the victor!” Jack toasted her when the pina coladas arrived.
“To the runner-up!” Molly replied, raising her glass.
They stayed at the tiki bar for a couple of hours, talking and laughing about nothing in particular. It had been quite a while since Jack had felt so carefree and alive. They were both a little tipsy when they finally headed for the room to shower and get ready for dinner.
Jack sat on one of the high chairs out on the patio looking over the ocean while Molly took the first turn in the shower. It was already dark outside, and the moon lit up the beach.
“Jack,” Molly suddenly called to him from the living room.
Jack turned to the sound of her voice. Molly was standing in the middle of the living room, her figure silhouetted by the light from the kitchen behind her. She had shed the little red bikini.
“I think we ought to skip dinner,” she said as she walked toward him.
Jack swallowed hard. She was standing next to him now, and he put his arms around her although he had no idea what he was going to do next. “You know, I noticed today that you ride the waves very well. Were you a surfer in your younger years?” he asked, his voice stuttering.
Molly sat in his lap, her naked skin rubbing up against him. “What an interesting question to ask at a moment like this,” she said as she kissed him lightly on the lips.
“I was just curious,” Jack replied, still not acknowledging what was happening.
“Well, the answer is no, Jack. I’ve never been a surfer. I wanted to keep that a secret. A woman has to retain her mystery, you know.”
“I guess so,” Jack mumbled as she leaned over and kissed him again. This one was longer and much sweeter than the last.
Right then he knew he wasn’t going to make it home that night.
50
“Where were you last night?” Henry asked when they were seated on the plane the next evening, waiting for takeoff.
“Why?” Jack asked rather defensively.
“Well, I called you around midnight because I’d forgotten what time we were leaving and I got no answer.”
“Maybe I was sleeping.”
“Jack, this is me, remember. I know your habits. You could be in a dead sleep and still answer the phone at three o’clock in the morning.”
“Well, I was out.”
“Out where? There’s nothing open at midnight in Bass Creek.”
“What are you, my mother or something?”
“You don’t have to get so defensive. I was just wondering where you were. You’re the one with all these conspiracy theories about people getting murdered. I’m just trying to make sure you’re not one of them. You’re lucky I didn’t come over there last night. I certainly thought about it.”
“I’m sorry, Henry. I was in Vero Beach with a woman.”
“A woman? Last week you couldn’t go on with your life, and this week you’re seeing hookers?”
“She wasn’t a hooker.”
“She wasn’t? As of last Friday, I was the only one around here in your life. This is Thursday.”
“I met her on Monday.”
“Oh? You met her on Monday and you’re sleeping with her on Wednesday. Is that what they call a whirlwind romance?”
“What’s with all these questions? I’m a grown man, you know. I can run my own life.”
“I know you can, Jack. I’m just a little concerned that’s all.”
“About what?”
“Look, you’re a strong person, but you’re just a little weak right now in the emotional department.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Henry. This is just a fling.”
“A fling? You, Jack Tobin, are having a fling?” Henry raised his voice a little on the remark, and the woman sitting next to them in the aisle seat looked up from her book and gave Jack a distasteful look.
“You’re ruining my reputation, Henry,” Jack deadpanned.
“All right, all right. Forget I mentioned anything.”
Spencer Taylor was perfect in every way. Detective Nick Walsh had referred to him as a peacock: his hair was perfectly groomed to look perfectly natural-there was some kind of gel holding it, but it wasn’t noticeable. His suits were impeccably tailored. He was just the right size-about six feet tall-and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his well-toned body. He had perfect diction, and he smiled when he spoke, to let you know how pleasant he was and how much he enjoyed talking to you. The perfect gentleman, he was bright and confident without a trace of arrogance-at least, not that anyone could see on the surface. Even his name had a perfect ring to it-Spencer Taylor.
Prosecutors came in many sizes and shapes, but the good ones were usually either bulldogs or, on rare occasions, smart, smooth, and silky. Spencer was clearly the latter. The bulldogs were normally career guys who really believed in truth, justice, and the American way. Guys like Spencer were filling out their resumes on their way to private practice and a life of representing rich drug dealers, white-collar criminals, and celebrities. Spencer had only stayed this long at the district attorney’s office because he thought he had a shot at the top job.
Spencer was delighted when he heard that Jack Tobin was going to represent Benny Avrile. Sal Paglia had been a blow-hard and in many ways an easy mark. Jack Tobin was a formidable opponent, at least by reputation, and Spencer relished the opportunity to do battle with him and in the process enhance his own standing.
When Spencer received Jack’s emergency motion requesting an expedited production of documents, he immediately called the attorneys for the telephone company and Carl Robertson’s estate and invited them to lunch. They met at O’Malley’s, a little Irish pub on Worth Street. Spencer was his usual charming self. He had never met Samuel Mendelsohn, the attorney for the estate, or Gary Hunt, the telephone company’s counsel.
Before his untimely death, Sal Paglia had bragged to Spencer that Benny’s father had paid him twenty-five thousand to represent his son. Sal had even told Spencer how he had talked Luis into refinancing his house to get the money. Spencer had filed the information away, never thinking that it might be useful one day. As he was formulating a plan to thwart Jack’s emergency motion, he realized that day had arrived.
“Gentlemen,” Spencer said to the two attorneys sitting across from him at O’Malley’s. “The district attorney himself wanted to be here today to meet with you, but he was unable to get away. He wants you to know, however, that he considers this case the most important one in the DA’s office right now. You are, of course, aware of all the publicity it has received. Mr. Jacobs and I believe that Mr. Tobin has filed this emergency motion in order to delay the trial. We cannot let him do that, and we need your help.”
Sam Mendelsohn protested immediately. “He’s asked for five years of financial records. Mr. Robertson was a very busy man, even though he was retired. We can’t produce that type of information in a week. The judge will have to delay the trial.”
&nb
sp; “Ours isn’t that big a problem,” Gary Hunt offered. “Still, it will be very costly for us to get the information that quickly.”
“I think we need a game plan for Friday’s hearing, gentlemen,” Spencer told them. “And I can tell you the judge is not going to listen to ‘We can’t do it.’ The defendant is on trial for his life. He is entitled to this information, even though it is totally irrelevant and isn’t going to help him one bit. On the other hand, this case has been pending for a year now. The judge does not want to continue it. I suggest that you fellows go back and figure out how much it will cost in manpower hours to comply with this ‘impossible’ request. Then, at the hearing, instead of telling the judge that you cannot comply, you tell him how much it’s going to cost to comply. You see what I mean? You’re giving him an option. I suspect that he’ll make the defendant foot the bill and that the defendant won’t be able to pay the freight. He spent all his money on his last lawyer. So you’ll be getting what you want-you’ll just be doing it in a roundabout way.”
“That’s beautiful,” Mendelsohn said. “This Tobin guy won’t know what hit him. I’ll get the numbers together.”
“I’ll do the same,” Gary Hunt added.
The press was waiting outside the courthouse on the Friday afternoon of the hearing. Henry had decided not to attend, so Jack was alone. As he walked up Centre Street toward the courthouse, a throng of reporters followed, shouting questions as they surged forward. Jack didn’t say anything until he reached the courthouse steps. He knew they were looking for some kind of quote that they could then bounce off the governor and keep the war of words going. Sal had been great for that. Jack, however, was not going to play their game.
“Look,” he told them, “this is a minor hearing to obtain certain records for trial. I don’t expect it to take more than fifteen minutes.” He then refused to say anything more and headed into the courthouse.
Spencer Taylor had already given his interview, telling the reporters that the state had no objection to the request. “The state is just interested in seeking justice as quickly as possible.”
The Law of Second Chances jt-2 Page 26
