“Can we talk where the walls don’t have ears?” Then, looking up at the open space between the cubicle and ceiling, he said, “Where there are actually walls?”
Mystified by William Moore’s unexpected visit as well as by the attorney’s uncharacteristically subdued manner, Crawford forgot about the fresh cup of coffee and led Moore to a storage room, which was presently empty. He closed the door to give them privacy.
Crawford said, “I didn’t initiate this meeting, so don’t even think about adding it to my billable hours.”
“This one’s on the house.”
That was even more ominous. Ordinarily a two-minute phone call was prorated.
Moore gnawed the inside of his cheek as though trying to decide how best to jump in. Crawford waited and finally the lawyer asked, “How do you think it would have gone yesterday? If all hell hadn’t broken loose during the hearing, what do you believe the outcome would have been?”
“My petition would have been denied.”
The lawyer nodded as though that coincided with his prediction. “As your counsel, I advise you not to go on record with your opinion of the ruling, Judge Spencer, anything relating to the custody issue. From now on, if anyone asks about that, refer them to me.”
“Dispensing free advice? Unlike you, Bill. What’s going on?”
Lowering his voice, Moore said, “Neal Lester called me this morning. Plain and simple, he was on a fishing expedition.”
“About me?”
“Seems he isn’t quite satisfied with your explanation of why you charged after the gunman when he ran from the courtroom.”
“Shouldn’t that be obvious?”
“Should be. But it isn’t to him. He’s also unconvinced of how the roof confrontation played out, particularly now that you, and only you, he emphasized, claim that Rodriguez wasn’t the gunman.”
“The judge—”
Moore held up his hand. “He told me she corroborated the pierced ear thing, but with a degree of doubt that was ‘palpable.’ His word.”
Crawford thought back on their lengthy conversation in the diner. “What he sensed wasn’t palpable doubt. She was pissed off.”
The lawyer arched his eyebrow in silent query.
“At Neal for a lewd crack he made.”
Moore held his stare, eyebrow still raised.
“Okay, and at me.”
“For something that occurred while you and she, the presiding judge over your custody hearing, were alone together in a parked car for thirty-three minutes?”
Crawford swore under his breath. He hadn’t slugged Neal nearly hard enough. “Did Neal say ‘under cover of darkness’?”
“Close.”
“It was all my doing, Bill. Not hers.”
“Your gallantry makes me even more nervous. I won’t ask what you two were doing in that car, because I don’t want to hear it. Just like I wish I hadn’t heard the crack you made yesterday morning about taking out a contract on her if she didn’t rule in your favor.”
Crawford laughed. “Come on, Bill. That was a joke.”
“Sergeant Lester might not see the humor in it.”
Crawford’s smile gradually relaxed. “Wait. Are you saying…? Neal’s hinting that I had something to do with the attempt on Holly’s life?”
Again, the attorney’s brow shot up. “So it’s Holly now?”
“Answer the goddamn question.”
“Yes. He danced around that possibility.”
“And you’re taking it seriously?”
“As death and taxes. So should you.”
Crawford stared into his lawyer’s unblinking eyes, then placed his hands on his hips and walked a slow circle in the confined space. When he’d made a complete three-sixty, he said, “I don’t have time enough to list all the reasons why that’s freakin’ ridiculous. Not the least of which is that I’m working the case with him.”
“You know the adage about keeping your enemies closer. I’m sure Neal knows it, too.”
He went on to tell Crawford in more detail, and using direct quotes, everything that Neal had theorized. He was still talking when Crawford’s cell phone buzzed. Harry Longbow. He held up a finger to stop Moore mid-sentence. “I’ve got to take this.” Then into his phone, “Hey.”
“You have a TV on?”
“No.”
“You’re not gonna like it.”
Five minutes after getting the call, Crawford wheeled into a parking space in the courthouse lot. As he jogged toward the main entrance, he was somewhat mollified to see that a temporary barricade had been set up and that deputy sheriffs were screening everyone before allowing them in.
Based on what Bill Moore had told him, Crawford halfway expected to be stopped and frisked, but he was saluted by one of the deputies as he stepped over the barricade. Neal, the son of a bitch, must not have shared his stupid suspicions with everyone.