THE DA CAUGHT MARCUS on his cell phone just as he was turning onto I-95. “Wilma Blain, counselor. You someplace where you can give me your full attention?”
Marcus tucked himself behind a lumbering Freightliner doing an easy sixty. “Fire away.”
“I’ve done some checking.” The tiny phone turned her voice flat as cold iron. “The fellow who represented the accused at the arraignment is still listed as their attorney.”
The lawyer would have to be notified of Marcus’ arrival, as he was required to be present for all questioning by the authorities. “Do you know him well enough to get him down on short notice?”
“Can’t say. Seeing as how they’re represented by a courtroom rat from up Raleigh way.”
Marcus braked sharply, causing the SUV on his tail to swerve and honk and shout something he could not be bothered to hear. “Not Hamper Caisse.”
“On the money. The fact he’s still involved brings two critical questions to mind.”
“You want to know why two lowlifes involved in a simple B&E are being handled by a guy from Raleigh. And you want to know why Hamper agreed to take the case.”
“I like the way your mind works, counselor. A courthouse rat like Caisse wouldn’t dream of spending a day down here for an arraignment, followed by visits to his clients, then a week for a trial.”
A courthouse rat was a lawyer whose real office was the district court’s front patio, since all courthouse rats smoked like chimneys and used butt time to prep their clients. Their hours coincided with the metal-detector guards’—first to enter, last to leave. “Hamper has been down for visits with this pair since the arraignment?”
“Interesting question. Know what I did after I learned Hamper was still listed as handling this mess?”
Marcus found his chest tightening. “You checked the prison visitors’ log.”
“You’re not looking for a job, are you?”
“I’d never be able to keep up with you, ma’am.”
She laughed. “Apparently Hamper Caisse is beating a path between Raleigh and the coast. You man’s been down here eight times in the past six weeks. What’s more, Hamper’s only seen one of the guys six of those times.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Your mental lightbulbs just went off. I can hear it happening. Just popping on everywhere.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“You kidding? I’ve got me two bad guys with sheets long enough to wrap them up like shrouds. You don’t think I’d like to find something to bury them?”
“Calling Hamper directly won’t work,” Marcus said. Courthouse rats had mobile phone usage down to an exact science. They never answered their calls. Never. They checked messages, thus giving themselves an out when cornered. “And it might be Halloween before he actually visits his office again.”
“So?”
“Call Judge Rachel Sears. Family court. Third floor of the district courthouse. Tell her exactly what we’re facing here. Then see if she’ll order Hamper to meet us in Wilmington.”
“I am liking this conversation,” the DA said, “more and more.”
“Ask her to do so with a minimum amount of nicety. We want this guy to show up parboiled,” Marcus suggested. “Oh, and one more thing. Ask Judge Sears if she would not tell Hamper it’s me. We might be able to use that as leverage.”
“I get the impression you already know why this Raleigh hotshot is taking the trouble to drive down and handle the case of two punks on a burglary charge.”
“I don’t know, but I can guess.”
“It wasn’t robbery.”
“I’m listening.”
“And they’re not his client.”
“Then who is?”
“That is exactly,” Marcus replied, “what I want to ask them myself.”