AFTER HE GOT OUT of the courthouse, Ben stopped by his office. To his dismay, yet another stranger bearing a briefcase was pacing around in the lobby.
“Let me guess,” Ben said. “You’re from the air-conditioner company.”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” the young man said, after a moment’s hesitation. “And I’m not leaving until you’ve paid your bill in full.”
“I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes,” Ben muttered. He approached Jones’s desk. “Got a minute?”
Jones appeared to be buried. He had a telephone receiver on each ear, a word-processing screen beeping at him, and a printer spewing out paper. “Take a number.”
Jones shouted a few words into the receiver on the left, then slammed it back down into the cradle. “I hate reporters!”
“Calm down,” Ben said. “They’re just doing their job.”
“Well, at the moment their job appears to be prying into the private affairs of lesser human beings.”
“Who called?”
“You name it. Everyone in town wants to talk to you. Everyone in the state, actually. Channel Six wants to do a live remote with you on the ten o’clock newscast.”
“Tell them no.”
“Are you sure, Boss? Bullock’s going to be on.”
“That figures. He’s pulling out all the stops to win this one.”
“Aren’t the jurors told not to read or watch any reports about the case?”
“That’s what they’re told. But there’s no way of knowing what they do in the privacy of their homes, is there?”
“If you don’t show up, Bullock’ll have the stage to himself.”
Ben picked up a stack of mail and thumbed through it. “Judges don’t appreciate lawyers who try to curry favor for their clients in the media. The Rules of Professional Conduct aren’t that keen on it either.”
“Look, Boss, if you don’t want to talk about the facts of the case, that’s fine. But this would be a great opportunity to ask potential witnesses to come forward.”
Ben considered. “That’s hardly standard procedure.”
“This is hardly a standard case. You haven’t had nearly enough time to prepare, and finding witnesses to events that took place ten years ago is practically impossible.”
“You have a point there.” Ben glanced up from the mail. “Who’s doing the interview? Clayton Vaughn?”
“No, the good-looking one. Beth Something-or-other.”
“Oh.” Ben tilted his head to one side. “What about Karen Larsen? Did she call?”
“She’s on Channel Eight.”
“I know. I watch her Saturday mornings sometimes while Giselle and I have our breakfast.”
“Me, too!’ Jones admitted. “She’s a babe.”
“Jones, you sexist pig. She’s a journalist. First-rate. Very classy.”
“A bit defensive, aren’t we? What’s the matter, Boss? You got a crush on her?” Jones grinned from ear to ear. “Look at your face turning red! Boss, I do believe you’re sweet on her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What a surprise! The Boss has a crush on a morning-show hostess.”
“I most certainly do not.” Ben averted his eyes. “So … did she call?”
“ ’Fraid not, Boss. You want me to call her? See if she’s free for dinner?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
Jones continued grinning. “What else is there about you I don’t know? Do you have secret fantasies about Connie Chung?”
Ben threw the mail in Jones’s face. “I’m going home now to prepare for tomorrow’s trial.”
“How’s it going?”
“Don’t ask. If anything turns up, contact me immediately.”
“Will do. And here’s the number of the television station. You need to call and tell them yea or nay.”
“All right. Let me think about it some more.”
“And, Boss—”
“Yes?”
“Really, don’t be embarrassed. When I was a kid, I had a huge thing for Marcia. You know, on The Brady Bunch.”
“Goodbye, Jones. Have a nice day.”