Even under normal conditions the Temple of Dendur was a sight to behold, its ancient stones bathed in sparkly light and set against a vast, slanting wall of crystalline glass. But decked out for a party, it was drop-dead gorgeous. A reflecting pool shimmered before the indoor plaza where the millennia-old structure had been reassembled, meant to evoke the Temple’s original location beside the Nile. Tonight, the pool was decorated with potted reeds and grasses that swayed in the breeze from the air-conditioning. The spaces between the Temple columns were filled with enormous arrangements of palm fronds and lilies. Altogether, the scene bore an uncanny resemblance to the Nile on a dazzling Egyptian afternoon. The crowd sipping cocktails on the marble plaza was just as glamorous as the location. Melanie recognized many famous faces—media people, politicians, even the stray movie star or two—interspersed with those who were lesser known but, to a person, beautiful and richly attired.
Unsure of her purpose and feeling intimidated, Melanie hesitated on the outskirts of the party. The buzz of laughter and conversation washed over her, and a waiter walked up carrying a silver tray.
“Champagne, miss?” he asked.
Thinking she’d look less conspicuous with a glass in her hand, Melanie accepted. The champagne was pink. Holding it up to the light, she watched tiny bubbles race to the top of the fluted glass. The color suggested it would taste cloyingly sweet, but when she sipped, the champagne had a dry, delicate bouquet. Oh, to be rich. Maybe she should quit this crazy job and go to work for some sweatshop law firm that would pay her a ton of money. But then she thought of David Harris, how miserable he seemed, how shoved into an ill-fitting mold, and realized that wasn’t an option for her.
The crowd parted, and—as if conjured by Melanie’s fleeting thought of David Harris—his lawyer, Bob Adelman, stood before her amid a group of powerful-looking people.
“Bob!” Melanie said, startled.
“Hi, Melanie. What are you doing here? Isn’t there a rule against you people contributing money to political campaigns?”
“There is,” she said. “I’m here on business, not as a contributor.” Then, fearing he’d guess that she was here to investigate Clyde Williams, Melanie quickly changed the subject. “Didn’t you get my voice mail about your client’s DNA results?” she asked.
“Yes, I did, and I was thrilled. Hey, Lester, don’t you love it when you stand up in court spouting off about how a guy’s innocent and it actually turns out to be true?”
A man in a fancy suit turned around. He had a memorable face—strong nose, heavy black eyebrows, and shoulder-length, snow-white hair. Talk about famous. Bob Adelman might be revered within the New York legal community, but Lester Poe was as celebrated as lawyers got—nationally known, a cultural icon, a legend even. For decades, he’d defended the highest-profile and hottest-button criminal cases. He was a counselor to celebrities and royalty as well as to prisoners of conscience, and a fixture on all the talking-head TV news programs.
“I only represent the guilty, Bob. Less stressful that way. Now, who is this lovely creature, and where have you been hiding her?” he asked, grasping Melanie’s hand in both of his.
“Melanie Vargas from the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Poe,” she said, amazed to be speaking to somebody of Poe’s renown.
“Are they making prosecutors younger, Bob, or are we just getting older?”
“Both!” Adelman said, laughing.
“They’re certainly making them better-looking.”
“Melanie’s trying to harass me about business while I’m drinking, Les.”
“Hopefully that means she’s not here to fork over her hard-earned cash to Clyde’s campaign. The bastard has a big enough war chest already. Take my advice, dear. Keep the pittance they pay you and go buy yourself something pretty.”
“I could do that. Or I could buy food,” Melanie said, smiling.
Poe raised his glass. “Here’s to the government underpaying its lawyers. May they all see the wisdom of joining the defense bar.”
“Hear, hear,” Adelman said.
“When you get tired of the noble-suffering routine, Melanie, give me a shout. I can always use a smart young lawyer. And easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt, either. Oh, I see Katie Couric. I owe her a phone call. Do you have a card?” Poe asked.
Melanie took a business card from her wallet and handed it to him. He put it in silver card case and withdrew one of his own, pausing to write something on the back. “The number I’m giving you is my private line, so you don’t have to go through a secretary. Give me a call. We’ll talk about your future,” he said, and walked away.
“Am I dreaming, or did Lester Poe just offer me a job?” Melanie asked.
“Actually, I think he was hitting on you. But with Lester, it’s always a fine line.”
Melanie laughed.
“On a more serious note, I did indeed get your message about David.”
“I’m so glad I found you. The surveillance team was pulled off hours ago. I don’t like leaving Harris out there uncovered. Say the word and I’ll get protection assigned to him right away.”
“Thanks for your concern, but we’re not interested in your help under present circumstances.”
“Why not? The killer is at large, and they don’t call him the Butcher for nothing. He knows your client is a witness. It was in all the papers.”
“My client is not a witness. He has no intention of testifying for the government as long as the obstruction charges stand.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Why would I kid about that? Dave doesn’t want to cooperate with you while you’re intent on a course of action that will destroy his legal career. Makes sense to me. Drop the charges and I’m sure I can get him to reconsider.”
“But if he testifies, he’ll get credit at sentencing and do zero jail time.”
“He won’t do time anyway, not in a million years. We both know that. The only thing he’s interested in from you is a complete dismissal. And fast, before it screws up his partnership chances.”
“He did obstruct justice,” Melanie said.
“So what? People do all sorts of things and never get charged. That’s why they call it prosecutorial discretion, kid.”
“If the government makes the charges disappear, Harris loses credibility as a witness in the eyes of the jury. Sweetheart deals don’t sit well,” Melanie said.
“That’s your problem, not his,” Adelman insisted. “I’m sure you’re a talented enough trial lawyer to make a jury comfortable with that situation.”
“But what about the protection we can offer your client?”
“Why does he need the government for that? Dave leads a very sheltered life. Doorman building, car service home, the whole nine yards. If he feels he needs something more, this town doesn’t lack for top-shelf protection services.”
“I’m sorry Harris feels that way. But dismissal isn’t warranted here.”
“We obviously don’t see eye to eye. When you’re ready to do business, give me a call. Until then, enjoy the party.”
Adelman turned and strode away.