Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
During her early years in Miami, J.D. had become friends with a young prosecutor named Deanna Bichler. While J.D. moved up the ranks of the Miami-Dade Police Department, Deanna had left the state attorney’s office and moved into private practice with a Miami law firm. Over the years, her brilliance and penchant for hard work had made her one of the top criminal defense attorneys in the state. She was now almost forty years old, but seemed forever young. She had not aged since her mid-twenties, and, in the parlance of the young men who lusted after her, she was “hot.” She was wearing her lawyer uniform, gray suit, white blouse, low-heeled pumps. Her dark hair was fixed in a bun at the nape of her neck, a small diamond stud in each earlobe, a single gold strand necklace around her neck.
J.D. and Deanna had been bridesmaids in each other’s weddings, but unlike J.D.’s disastrous stab at matrimony, Deanna’s had prospered. She now had three children and a husband who practiced civil law in another large Miami firm. She was happy, but missed the camaraderie she and J.D. had enjoyed over the fifteen years they had known each other. Telephone calls and Facebook just weren’t the same as sharing a drink and some laughs in South Beach.
Deanna had spent the day in federal court in Tampa doing battle with the U.S. Attorney’s Office on a fraud case. There had been several motions to be heard, and they hadn’t finished by the time the judge wanted to call it a day.
Her client was wealthy and had made his money with a sophisticated Medicare scam that milked the taxpayers for millions of dollars. She had called J.D. on Sunday and told her that she would be in Tampa and, if J.D. had time for dinner, she would drive down and meet her. She had to be back in court early the next day and would drive back to her hotel in Tampa after dinner. They had agreed to meet at Lynches Pub on St. Armands Circle.
J.D. parked in back of the pub, in a large parking lot that accommodated visitors to the shops and restaurants that lined the Circle. She had what the Lynch sisters, Ethna and Chris, who owned the place, called “back-door privileges.” It was a perk that was given only to the locals who were friends of “the girls,” as they were universally called by the islanders.
She came in through the kitchen, and saw Deanna sitting at a small table in the front of the narrow space that housed the pub. She smiled as she noticed how Deanna was dressed. She felt decidedly unprofessional in white Capri pants, a pale-green blouse, and sandals, her hair in a pony-tail. But then, that was the island uniform. They hugged, ordered drinks, and caught up with all the gossip from Miami. “So,” J.D. said, “sounds like a big case in Tampa.”
“Yeah. My client is guilty as sin, but there’s a lot of money involved, so the U.S. Attorney himself is handling it. Big Daddy.”
“Big Daddy?”
Deanna smiled. “Yes, that’s what he’s called. He’s pretty much a big teddy bear, but he gives no quarter in the courtroom.”
“David Parrish?” asked J.D.
“You know him?”
“A friend of a friend. I actually met him a couple of days ago.”
“Small world. How does your friend know him?”
“They were classmates in law school.”
Deanna smiled. “So, your friend is a lawyer. Male or female?”
“Most definitely male.”
“I see. Might he be more than just a friend?”
“It’s complicated,” said J.D.
“I thrive on complications. Give it up, old friend. How long have you been sleeping with him?”
“I haven’t.”
“Hmmmm.”
“I told you it was complicated.”
Deanna made a “come on” gesture with her fingers.
“Okay,” said J.D. “I can’t sort it all out. He’s the most intriguing man I’ve ever met. He’s a retired trial lawyer who insists his only goal in life is to be a beach bum.”
“Ah, an older man.”
“Not at all. He retired early. Got disgusted with the practice of law. Says it turned into a business instead of a profession.”
“I think he knows whereof he speaks.”
J.D. laughed. “Yeah.”
“Did he practice here?”
“Orlando.”
“What’s his name?”
“Matt Royal.”
Deanna sat back. “He was big-time.”
“You know him?”
“Only by reputation. Never met him. But he was at the top of his game when he just up and quit. Somebody told me he’d moved to an island. I didn’t know it was this one.”
“Well, he’s here, and he’s—unsettling, I guess.”
“How so?”
“I’m not sure I can explain it. He gives me something I thought I’d never feel again. A sense of comfort and a little tingle every time I think about seeing him.”
“Do you see him a lot?”
“It’s a small island. I see him almost every day. And he has a way of getting in the middle of some of my cases. And he thinks he needs to protect me. I’m a big girl. I don’t need that.”
“The male ego,” said Deanna. “Those old-boy trial lawyers seem to have some sort of genetic disorder that floods their systems with testosterone. That leads to outsized egos. I don’t think they could spend their lives the way they do without it. They’re problem solvers by nature and they think they can fix anything; particularly women in need of protection. And in their fevered little brains, all women need protection.”
J.D. laughed. “You’re a trial lawyer. How do you handle it?”
“I ignore it most of the time. Men like David Parrish are almost courtly. Sometimes he treats me like I’m his daughter, but when it comes to a case, he’s sharp as a spear. And he’s aiming it at me, smiling, and treating me with the utmost respect. But I know, and he knows, that he’s going to gut me if he can.”
“So,” asked J.D., “what’s your take on the way Matt treats me? All protective.”
“I think he sees you in a lot more than a professional light.”
“He’s told me as much.”
“And your response?”
“I told him that he was a very special person to me. We even discussed sleeping together once, but we both decided we weren’t ready for that.”
“And since?” asked Deanna.
“It’s never come up again.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. It’s a small island and I don’t want complications. I’ve only been on the police force here for a year, and the chief is one of Matt’s best friends.”
“You’re going to have to discuss this with Matt sooner or later.”
“I know. I keep putting it off.”
“He hasn’t brought it up again?”
“No. I think he’s too much of a gentleman.”
“Or too scared.”
“Well,” said J.D., chuckling, “there’s that.”
They changed the subject and spent another hour talking about their lives and those of mutual friends in Miami. J.D. didn’t bring up the fact that she had been the target of two murder attempts in the past three days. No sense in putting a wet blanket over the evening.
Deanna looked at her watch. “Good grief,” she said. “It’s almost eleven and I’ve got an early morning with Big Daddy. I’d better get on the road.”
They said their good-byes and hugged. Deanna left by the front door and J.D. went to the bar and spent a few minutes talking to Jill, the night manager. It was nearing midnight when she took her leave and went through the back door, headed for her car and home. She didn’t notice the man hiding in the shadows of the building next door.