ONCE OUTSIDE THE COURTROOM, Marcus planted himself directly in the opposing attorney’s path. “I can’t believe you started in with those sleight-of-hand tactics.”
Hamper Caisse touched the knot of his tie, nodded to a passing attorney, and replied with a casual sneer. “What is this, you don’t have a case so you go after me?”
“I’ve been around this block with you before. You’ve got a statewide rep for tactics that would make a streetwalker blush.”
“You’re the one who resorted to shabby tactics in there. You’re grabbing at straws and wasting everybody’s time.”
“What happened to the common courtesy of picking up the phone and informing opposing counsel what you intend? Has backstabbing and deception become your modus operandi?”
“We’re not gathered here for a tea dance. I didn’t get dressed up so I could ask you to waltz. Your client is a menace. For all I know he’s done something horrible to that little girl.”
By now every eye in the lobby was upon them. “You know as well as I do there’s nothing behind those accusations except your own overheated imagination.”
“That’s just the sort of allegation that’ll have you begging the review board to let you keep hold of what career you’ve got left.”
“Not to mention those outrageous claims about a custodial agreement.” A thought occurred to him then. Marcus decided there was no reason not to probe. “When was the last time you had contact with Sephus Jones?”
There might have been a flicker in those flat gray eyes. “Who?”
Maybe Marcus was just looking too hard. But he continued just the same. “A no ’count chicken thief who works over at the quarry. I wonder if there’d be any mention of the man among your former clients.”
“If he’s a habitual offender, probably. Since I deal with twelve, maybe thirteen hundred cases a year. Can you even count that high, counselor? Do you even remember what it’s like to carry a full caseload?”
“You wouldn’t also happen to count among your associates somebody who knows how to forge a corporate check? I’m asking on account of how some things don’t add up unless I factor you into the equation.”
Hamper slung his briefcase within a hairbreadth of Marcus’ nose. “You don’t have the first tiny idea of the hornet’s nest you got yourself stuck into. I intend to stake your client out in the dirt, strip him bare, and flay him alive! And you’re gonna be sprawled in the dirt right there alongside him!”
Marcus remained in the courtroom foyer and endured the solemn condolences of the legal fraternity because he had to. The fact that so many were sincere in what they had to say about Charlie Hayes only made his torment worse. With some relief Marcus spotted Omar Dell hovering on the group’s fringe, and excused himself to walk over.
The court reporter wore a form-fitted navy suit with a pale blue chalk-stripe and matching knit silk tie. “Glad to see you able to make it today, counselor.”
“You wrote up the story?”
“ ‘Local Attorney Escapes Assassination Attempt.’ By Omar Dell, staff reporter and man on the rise.”
“There’s no indication the bomb was directed at me. If it was a bomb at all.”
“Police think it was. Especially since the explosion happened the week you started another attack on New Horizons.” To his credit, Omar failed to show a reporter’s objective distance. “I’m very sorry about the loss of your friend. Charlie Hayes was one special man.”
“He was that.”
“Seeing as how you were one of his closest friends, I expect people want to tell you stories about him, draw him closer in the process. I’d guess that is hard to take sometimes.”
“Like munching on glass shards.”
“You know I have to ask if you can suggest an attacker’s name for the record.”
“And you know I can’t answer.”
Omar pointed to where Hamper Caisse now dealt with a sullen teenage client and a frantic mother. “I’d say that little exchange you just had with opposing counsel would make fair copy, if only I’d understood what was said.”
“No comment on that either.” Marcus started to excuse himself, then decided to offer the reporter a bone. “You might want to go have a talk with Sephus Jones.”
“Spell that first name?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus caught sight of Hamper’s head cocking slightly. Most courtroom lawyers picked up the ability to listen to peripheral conversations, a trick that served them well in urgent negotiations. “He works at the rock pit off Blue Ridge Road.”
“You think he might have a bearing on the explosion or this case?”
“If he does, I can’t tell you how.” Marcus sketched out the assault in his front yard, and his supposition that the New Horizons check was a forgery. “Whatever you do, don’t mention my name.”
Marcus waited for the court papers to be completed, then personally carried them down to the clerk’s office for the ruling to be registered and notarized. He entered the central foyer to spot Kedrick Lloyd frowning at him. The crabby Englishman was seated on one of the hard foyer benches alongside a woman far too groomed for this tawdry spot.
Marcus crossed over and offered, “Good afternoon.”
The foyer’s fluorescents made the aging Brit look even more decrepit than he had in Dale’s kitchen. “Spare us the false friendliness, will you?” He waved an aged hand of china and translucent flesh. “Leave us be, that’s a good fellow.”
The woman beside him had the horsey features of inbred money, and the low voice of one who had endured much. “Kedrick, please.”
“Well really. He’s only here because he wants me to spend my last few breaths defending Dale in a trial they can’t possibly win.”
“We’re already past that,” Marcus replied. “The hearing was today, and the court has issued—”
“And I tell you these legal maneuverings hold all the significance of a leaf in a storm.”
An attorney Marcus knew vaguely pushed through the courtroom doors and called over, “Firing squad’s armed and ready, Mr. Lloyd.”
Kedrick brought himself fully upright. Marcus faced a lion’s mane of snow-white hair, a king’s bearing, and shoulders that should have carried far more flesh than they did. “You and your ilk are an abominable stain upon the scrolls of human history. Dale approached you in a moment of blind and drunken panic. You, on the other hand, have no excuse save cruel and soulless greed.”
Kedrick Lloyd crossed to the waiting attorney with scarcely a limp. Even in his decrepit state, Marcus could see shadows of the man’s former strength. At the courtroom’s entrance Lloyd turned and added, “Go back to digging worms out of your small-town garden, Mr. Glenwood. Leave these larger matters to people who actually fathom the world’s workings.”
When the doors sighed shut, Lloyd’s wife said, “I keep telling myself, if only he would give in to the pain, admit how close he is to death, he would be so much easier to live with. But Kedrick has never been an easy man.”
Marcus took that as an invitation and lowered himself into the seat beside her. It was still warm from Kedrick’s presence. He offered a hand. “Marcus Glenwood.”
“Evelyn Lloyd.” A trace of humor flickered across her wounded features. “My husband had some rather choice things to say about you.”
“You’re American?”
“From Philadelphia. I met Kedrick at Duke.” Her attention slid back to the burnished doors. “The doctors have given him a month to live four times over the past year and a half. That is the kind of fighter my husband is.”
“There’s no need to explain anything.”
Another faint flicker, remnants of a more pleasant time. “Shall we start over?”
“Gladly. I was hoping to ask your husband about Erin Brandt.”
“Erin, Erin.” She scanned the foyer, seeing none of it. “Kedrick introduced her to Dale.”
“And then flew into a memorable rage when they decided to marry. Kedrick did everything but order Dale not to go ahead with it.” She shook her head. “What a vain and stubborn man.”
Marcus was uncertain whether she was speaking about her husband or Dale. “Erin Brandt’s pictures make her out to be very attractive.”
“Erin Brandt can’t possibly be captured by photographs. She is the most magnetic creature I have ever come across. I suppose it is what one might call star quality. Even so, I never understood why Kedrick remained so intently focused upon having her sing at the Met.”
“Your husband was on the board of the opera house in New York, is that right?”
“He still is. His work for the Met keeps him alive.” Her gaze continued its long-distance roving. “Erin Brandt is two persons. The diva is warm and alluring and utterly captivating, with one of the finest voices I have ever heard. When she smiles at you, you cannot help but return the gift.”
“And the other?”
“Ah, that is the question, is it not.”
“The woman is secretive?”
“I have never met anyone who could say they truly knew Erin Brandt.”
Marcus found himself thinking of another lovely woman. One with eyes like an Arctic sunrise, softest indigo and shattered ice. “Maybe Dale came to know the real Erin.”
“Perhaps so, Mr. Glenwood. Perhaps that is why she left him.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare these documents for overnight shipment to London.”
“We are at the Wyndham another two nights. Come by tomorrow afternoon and I’ll tell you a little more about the woman you oppose.” She offered a hand long and tapered as a man’s. “It is seldom I meet someone able to shrug off one of my husband’s broadsides.”
Marcus turned away as swiftly as was polite. “Maybe I’ve just got more pressing matters on my mind.”