CHAPTER XIV

Charles Walton resisted another glance at his watch. 10:30. Fifteen minutes later than the last time he had looked, and still too early for lunch. And too late, really for a mid-morning coffee break.

It wasn’t that the neat pile of briefs he was reviewing on the desk in front of him was boring. There was enough variety and interest here to engage his attention.

But he felt unsettled and antsy. Something kept niggling at the back of his brain…something he half-way recalled…and something intangible and annoying.

What in the hell was it? he thought in sudden exasperation.

He got up, stretched and wandered over to the coffee service area…just as he had half a dozen times before. He looked over the offerings, herbal teas and flavored coffees, a few pastries from early morning that had been lying there far too long. He opened the under counter fridge and removed a diet soda.

He sat down on the comfortable sofa in the visitor’s area and placed the soda can, unopened, on the coffee table. He leaned back, sighed, and stared out the window behind the desk at the gray sky. A few flakes of snow were still drifting down.

The weather had been relentless for the several days he had been here, but if the newscasters were correct, things were due to let up by the end of the week. He hoped so. The dark, dreary outlook was beginning to wear on him. He wished….

He wished, in spite of his resolve, to be back in Phoenix, where it was still balmy, even this time of the year.

But more than that, he missed his friends, his colleagues…he missed his life there. The life he had created when he accepted Connie and Gail’s offer of a partnership. He realized, with a sudden pang, how happy and satisfied he had become with his situation. He actually missed the home office in downtown Phoenix, his office, the one he had chosen and decorated to suit his taste, the one where he conducted business on his own terms, making all the decisions and living with the consequences of those decisions.

Here, he was just another cog in the wheel, a piece of the puzzle. This was Connie and Gail’s operation. And even though he was accorded every accommodation and treated by the staff with the respect due an acting partner in the organization, he felt, somehow, less important…less necessary.

He pounded his fist into the cushioned arm of the sofa. No! What a terrible attitude. He knew full well that his friends were counting on him to hold their practice together while they plowed full steam ahead into the murky mess that had become the Damon Powell case. Intellectually he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they held him high regard, considered him a crucial part of their team.

But that was just it, he was ashamed to admit to himself. He didn’t want to be just a part of the team. He was much happier working on his own, handling his own cases, keeping his one-man business thriving in the town he had come to love and call home.

This town had once been his home. When both he and his cousin Nick had been orphaned at an early age, his aunt and uncle, the Seymours, had taken them in and given them everything they needed. Both boys were raised in the lap of luxury, at least as much luxury as the middle-class town of Cathcart could provide. When it came time for college, there was no hesitation. Nick had pursued a career in architecture and building design, and he, Charles, had gone off to law school.

And he was grateful to the Seymours, for believing in him, and for providing him the home and family life he might otherwise have been denied.

He had signed up with the local firm employed by his uncle…no surprise there. He had settled in and quietly began to make a name for himself. He was not a splashy lawyer, but steady and with a knack for research that soon made him indispensable to his colleagues in ferreting out the obscure, precedent-setting case which might apply to a sticky situation at hand.

Even these days, when he returned from Phoenix for his frequent check-ins with Connie and Gail, and visits with his aunt and uncle, he enjoyed walking the streets of his old stomping-grounds, greeting his old Scout-master at the local hardware store, holding the door for a former teacher at the bank, and shaking the hand of the family’s church pastor.

But not this time.

He had not dared show his face in town, choosing to hole up in his room at the Seymour house, or in this spare office at the law firm. He was afraid of being drawn into a debate by locals who would all be buzzing about the new horror and wanting his opinion on the guilt or innocence of Damon Powell—especially given his proximity to the case on both fronts—as a known partner to the defense team—and his more painful connection to the Seymour family.

And it was even more difficult skirting the issue with his aunt and uncle. He knew exactly how they felt. Both were now convinced that Damon had to be guilty of this new, heinous crime…and they could not comprehend just how and why he would choose to help the very people who were trying to keep Damon free.

And what of Damon? He really did not know the young man, beyond what had come out at the first trial, and the few comments that had been made about him in the intervening years by his colleagues.

Gail and Connie, and Hugo for that matter, all seemed to believe Damon was innocent. He thought about that for a moment. He did not know Damon…but after all this time, his friends must surely have had enough contact with the young man to make an educated observation about his character.

And he, Charles, trusted his friends and colleagues, with his life, if it came to that. In fact, he credited Hugo with saving his life, during that frightening episode at Cliffside several years ago. He knew now he was never in any real danger at the time, but it had felt that way to him. And he would never forget the relief he felt when Hugo entered that little fisherman’s hut to rescue him.

No. If he had to stake his life on it, he would trust all three of them to make the very best decisions possible, given the limitations of availability of evidence and knowledge of the accused Damon’s character.

And it was time now for him to make a decision. Not based on fear or loyalty to family, but on plain common sense and regard for his companions’ integrity and intelligence.

He got up with purpose, returned the unopened soda to the refrigerator, grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

“I’m going out for a while,” he said to the receptionist, checking to make sure she had his cell phone number. “Call me immediately, if anyone here needs me or if anything comes up about one of my cases.” He handed her a list of the cases in question. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

He rang for the elevator, went to the ground floor and headed out to retrieve the car Uncle Floyd had loaned him.

It was time to fish or cut bait, as the old saying went. And he had no intention of being a bystander.

By the time he returned it was mid-afternoon and he was afraid everyone would be gone on errands of their own. But when he inquired at the front desk, he was told, “No. Ms. Brevard and Mr. Osterlitz are still in her office. Shall I ring them?”

“No. That’s all right. I’ll just look in.” Before the girl could say anything further, he opened the double doors leading to the hallway and walked through. He could hear muffled voices emanating through Gail’s door and hesitated a moment. He rapped on the door and as Gail’s voice sang out “Come in,” opened it and walked through.

There was a momentary silence as two pairs of eyes, Gail’s and Connie’s, looked up questioningly, and a third set, belonging to Damon Powell, looked at him warily.

“Oh, hi, Charles,” Connie said. “We’re just reviewing some things with Damon. Is there anything you need? Problem with one of the cases?”

“No, no,” Charles said, a little hastily. “Look, there’s something I need to discuss with you, and there’s no easy way to go about it. I hate to take up your time, but I’ve got to clear the air….”

Damon Powell grabbed the notepad in front of him and moved to rise.

“Wait, Damon,” Charles went on. “This concerns you, too. I wish Hugo was here, but I can talk to him later.”

“Sit down, Charles,” said Connie, gesturing to the empty chair next to him. “We’re due for a break anyway, I think. Coffee?” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“No, I’ve had lunch. The thing is….” He hesitated. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. “The thing is, I wanted to have an honest discussion with you about my role here…and also about the…Damon’s case.” He nodded at the young man sitting quietly across the table from him.

“I think I know where you might be going with this, Charles,” Gail said. She paused and looked down at her notes, as if she might find an answer there. “If you’re having second thoughts about being here, with…all this…going on, well, I can certainly understand that. I know it must be very difficult for you, given your close connection with the Seymour family….” She glanced at Damon to see how he was taking this.

“No. That’s not it at all.” Charles suddenly felt overheated, stood up and took his jacket off, folding it over the back of the chair, then took his seat again. He looked around the table at each of them.

“I just…I wanted you all to know, that I have full confidence in all of you, including you, Damon. I’ve come to a decision, and I thought it was important that I tell you all this immediately, rather than piecemeal. I’ve just come back from moving out of the Seymour house and into the hotel down the street. I had a long talk with my aunt and uncle, to try and make them understand my dilemma. I can’t be a lawyer just part of the time, and as much as I love and care for them, I can’t be around them during this crisis. Each time they see me, it brings back their pain again. I can’t…I won’t do that to them…or to myself, either. It’s not right, and it’s not ethical.”

“You said you’ve taken a room at the hotel,” Connie began. “Does that mean you intend to stay until the end of the trial? Would you rather not work on our cases here? We’ll be okay with that, if that’s your decision…there are several other attorneys in town who would be glad of the work, I think….”

“That’s not what I mean at all, Connie. I intend to stay right here, working on your other cases as need be. But, more importantly, I want you to use me, in whatever way you think is best, to do everything possible to establish Damon’s innocence.”

There was a gasp from Damon, who put his head down in his hands, shoulders heaving. Gail reached over and patted his shoulder.

“And you don’t think you’ll have a problem with that,” she said quietly, her eyes searching his.

“None at all. I’ve given this quite a bit of thought since I’ve been here. I realized that you and Connie, and Hugo, too, of course, are the best friends, colleagues and mentors I have in the world. If you all believe in Damon, then I do, too. I don’t know him as well as you all do, but I trust your judgment, and I owe you every bit of loyalty and assistance I can muster.”

He sat back, drained, but relaxed now, probably for the first time since he had stepped off the plane.

“One more thing,” he said. “There is something crucial, something we learned from the first incident five years ago. I have been wracking my brain to think of it, and it will come to me. We’re missing something from that first trial. You know me, I’m a stickler for the details. There is something in all the evidence gathered from the first trial that will give us some help here. I’m convinced of it.

“Gail, I need to see all the old files from the first case. I think the answer, or at least part of it, is in that paperwork. I’ll keep up on the other briefs, but I’m going to spend every spare moment I can sifting through those notes. If there’s an answer there, I’ll find it.”

The door opened and Hugo came in, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He glanced at Damon then looked at Connie and shook his head slightly.

Gail stood up. “Damon, why don’t you go with Charles to the vault and see if you can help him find those files he wants to review. I need to walk around a bit, get the kinks out.”

The vault was a storage room in the basement of the building where Osterlitz and Brevard stored their retired briefs, at least those they deemed important enough to keep for a good long time.

She walked over to the door with Charles and Damon, explaining where the boxes in question might be located, as best she could remember. She also described which notes might be most rewarding.

“Are you okay with this,” she asked Damon. The files in question, dealt with his previous defense trial—the one involving the death of Charles’s cousin, Vivian Seymour. This would not be an easy task for either of them, especially Damon.

“I’m fine, Gail,” he said. “I’m just glad to stay busy. Keeps my mind off the arraignment.”

The pretrial hearing to determine if there was enough evidence to try Damon Powell for the murder of Marilyn Watson was scheduled in two days. The team was scrambling to find any scrap of evidence establishing his innocence…or the possibility of a different assailant…before they went to court.

“Good,” Gail said. “Now go on you two. See if you find something…anything…useful in those old notes of mine.”

As the two men headed down the hall, Gail turned back into the room.

“All right, Hugo. I take it you managed to lay hands on the preliminary autopsy reports. I won’t ask you how you got them, but let’s try and get through them before Damon returns. I don’t want him to have to see them just yet. It doesn’t serve any purpose, and will only depress him more than he is already, if that’s possible.”

Hugo began to spread out the paperwork on the table.

“Take a deep breath, guys. This isn’t for the fainthearted.”