"Heartstone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Margolin Phillip)

PART FOUR. SHADOWS AND WHISPERS

1

Bobby was in the village again and he was afraid. There were no stars and, like a Hollywood backdrop, the solid black sky seemed to have no dimensions. Mist snaked its way around the circular, grass-thatched huts and shrouded the bodies, creating the eerie illusion that their moans and screams were emitted by the fog.

Bobby looked for the rest of his company, but he saw no one. There was a sound like a spider scuttling in the dark. Another, like Witch’s Wind rustling the trees. Bobby clutched his carbine to his khaki-clad chest. He crept forward, bent at the waist, his eyes darting into the ebony mist.

The toe of his boot struck an object and he jumped back, startled. The fog cleared around a patch of ground. There was an old man lying in the dust. He was obviously dead, yet undead. His eyes pleaded with Coolidge and Bobby was seized by an unreasoning terror. He leaped on the old man, stabbing, screaming. His knife struck repeatedly and there was blood everywhere. Fountains of blood, spraying in red streams high into the night sky, as the ancient, sorrow-filled eyes pleaded with him and he listened to the cacophony of his own screams.

“Shut up, goddamn it!”

“What?”

There were several voices yelling for quiet. Bobby’s eyes were wide open and he was in his cell and not in the jungle.

“I said, ‘Shut up or I’ll shut you up,’” someone yelled down the stone corridor.

Bobby mumbled an apology. He was soaking wet. He ran a hand across his face. His heartbeat was rapid. At least he was not in the jungle. He realized that the blanket was clutched around his throat. He released it. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and let his head fall heavily into the palms of his hands. He could not relax. Deep breathing did not help. Inside was a vacuum. When they had read him the charge, everything that he had been or dreamed had evaporated.

He had been in isolation since his arrest yesterday afternoon. There had been no visitors, except the detectives, and he had refused to talk to them. He wondered why Sarah had not come to see him.

The jail cell was small. There was a bunk bed and a toilet, nothing else. He had enough room to pace, but he had no desire to move. For the last eighteen hours he had been like a rag doll. Every movement was an effort. It was as if his bones had become fluid and his heart a fluttering bird, afraid of the slightest whisper. When they had turned out the lights last evening, he had cried, not out of anger, but in desperation. He was lost.

He wanted someone to hold him and assure him that it was not all going to end. He wanted to bury his head in Sarah’s lap and let her stroke his hair and talk about their future together. He wanted to believe.

After he sat on the edge of his bed for some time, his breathing became more regular and he felt very tired. He let himself fall back onto the bed and he covered himself with the blanket and shut his eyes. As soon as he did, a great fear gripped him. It was Vietnam again and even before that. To sleep was to dream. Oh, God, let me rest. Please! But there was a roaring in his head. Wakefulness was the dam that blocked the flood of dreams, sleep the lever that released it. There was no liquor here and no Sarah. Slowly he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He could hear movement in the darkness. The scratching of rat claws on the dry cement floors.

There was an attractive young woman and a man who looked vaguely familiar seated in his waiting room when Mark Shaeffer arrived at his office.

“I don’t know if you remember me,” the man said. “I’m George Rasmussen. You helped me out of a scrape a few months ago.”

The name brought back the event. This was the college student who had been arrested for drunk driving. He wondered if the girl was Rasmussen’s wife. He had trouble taking his eyes off her. She was very tense and so was George. He ushered them into his private office.

“What’s the problem?” he asked when they were seated. His eyes strayed again to the girl. She was wearing slacks and a tight sweater that showed off her figure. There was a disturbing quality about the girl that struck a sexual chord. She seemed soft and lost and her nearness awakened a desire to protect and to touch. His relations with Cindy had been sporadic lately and he found that he was becoming aroused.

“My boyfriend was arrested yesterday,” she said. Her voice quivered when she spoke. Mark took out a yellow note pad and a pen.

“Is he in jail now?”

“Yes. They won’t let us see him. I called George and he said that we should see you.”

“Have you tried to bail him out?”

“There isn’t any bail. We asked.”

“There has to be bail. Who did you talk to?”

“I don’t remember the name. He was a sergeant.”

“Where? At the county jail?”

“Yes.”

“He should know better than that.”

Mark swiveled his chair and picked up the phone.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Bobby. Bobby Coolidge. It would be under Robert, I guess.”

“They said there isn’t any bail on a murder charge,” George added.

Mark put down the phone. There was a tingling at the base of his scalp.

“Your friend is charged with murder?”

The girl looked nervously at George.

“That’s what they told Sarah when they arrested him and that’s what they told me when I called.”

“I know he couldn’t have done anything like that. We’ve been together almost constantly for the last few months. When could he have done it? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Who do they say he killed.”

“Two people. A man and a woman. I don’t remember the names.”

The word “murder” has mystical qualities for those who practice criminal law. The sound of it causes a subtle change in the atmosphere. The level of electricity in the air rises. Mark forgot about the girl, for the moment, and dialed the county jail.

“My name is Mark Schaeffer. I understand you have a prisoner named Robert Coolidge in custody.”

Sarah watched Mark as he spoke, looking for any sign. He seemed too young to entrust with Bobby’s safety, yet George had spoken highly of him and he seemed intelligent and concerned. She heard him repeat a date, 1960, and saw a look of puzzlement cross Mark’s face.

“Yes, I’ll be out to see him at once. Can you arrange for me to use one of the private interview rooms, instead of the general attorney’s room. Thanks, I appreciate that.”

Mark hung up and swiveled around to face Sarah.

“Miss Rhodes, do the names Elaine Murray and Richie Walters mean anything to you?”

Sarah could sense a change in Mark. He was tense now too. She began to feel uncomfortable.

“I think those are the names of the people that the police say Bobby killed.”

“Yes, but do you know who they are and when they were killed?”

Sarah looked at George. George looked puzzled, as if the names meant something to him, but he could not recall what they meant.

“I…No, they don’t sound familiar.”

“Do you live in Portsmouth? Are you from here?”

“No. I live in Canada-Toronto.”

Mark took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He was thinking very fast. This could be the case that could make his reputation. In Portsmouth, the Murray-Walters case was like Lizzy Borden and Leopold and Loeb combined. It would mean TV and headlines and enough free advertising to maybe make his business go.

“Miss Rhodes, approximately seven years ago a young man named Richie Walters was murdered in Lookout Park. Several weeks later, his girlfriend, Elaine Murray, was found dead out on the coast highway. Bobby is charged with committing those murders in 1960.”

Mark watched the girl’s reaction. She turned ashen and appeared unable to speak. George leaned forward.

“That’s ridiculous. Why, Bob’s almost a pacifist. He won’t even talk about his war experiences. I don’t believe it.”

“I’m not saying that he is guilty, George. I’m telling you what Mr. Coolidge is charged with.

“Miss Rhodes, I hate to bring this up, but I’ll have to at some time and, with a case this serious, I think we had better be frank with each other. There is no such thing as a simple murder case. Even the least complicated ones take an incredible amount of an attorney’s time.

“From what I know about this case, I think I can safely say that it is going to be very complicated. We are dealing with a crime committed seven years ago. I am going to have to spend an enormous amount of time in investigation and preparation. I may have to obtain the services of expert witnesses. I may have to hire a private investigator to assist me. I will probably have to turn some cases down because I will not have the time to handle them.

“What I’m leading up to is this. Does Bobby have the money to hire an attorney? This will probably cost him several thousand dollars at a minimum.”

She spoke haltingly. Mark could see that she was torn. He had seen that look before on the faces of people close to people charged with crime. The look signified the beginning of doubt. The beginning of questioning. She was asking herself who Bobby Coolidge really was. She was having her first look at a dark side that she may not have suspected. When the charge was murder, the questions were harder to answer.

“Bobby doesn’t have any money…Or not enough to pay that.”

“I’m talking about a sum in the area of ten thousand dollars.”

Sarah did not answer immediately. She took a good hard look at Mark. What did she really know about Bobby? Ten thousand dollars! To give that sum to this stranger to defend a man who…Who what? She was assuming that he was guilty. Why should that be her first reaction? Now it was she who felt guilty and ashamed. Her family had money and she had substantial savings.

“I’m pretty sure I can raise the money. My family is…well off. I would need some time to talk to my parents.”

“All right. I’m going to go to the jail and talk to Bobby now. I’ll call you this evening. Will you know by then?”

“I’ll try.”

Mark rose and George and Sarah followed him to the door. Sarah turned and held out her hand to him. She looked stunned, but under control. He took her hand and held it.

“Thank you for helping, Mr. Shaeffer. When you see Bobby, would you tell him that I tried to see him. Ask him if there is anything we can do.”

“I’ll call you tonight and tell you what’s going on.”

George shook his hand and they left. It was difficult for Mark to control his excitement. He had represented a few people charged with serious crimes before, but a murder case was different from all other types of criminal cases. And this murder case was different from all other murder cases.

And the fee. If she could raise the money, ten thousand dollars would make his first year. It was the type of case that all new practitioners dream of. Maybe even Cindy would be satisfied.

They had had another fight that morning. Rosedale and Collins, a small firm he had interviewed with just before opening his office, had asked him to join as an associate at a salary that was considerably higher than what he was now making. If he took the job, Cindy could quit work and they could have their baby. Cindy had begged him to take the job, but he had refused. He liked being his own boss and the business was starting to come in. He wasn’t taking home a lot, but he wasn’t worrying about meeting his overhead anymore either. When he had left for work this morning, Cindy had been in tears. He was about to add “as usual,” but stopped himself. That was unfair. He could understand Cindy’s point of view, but, damn it, she had to try and understand his.

Thinking about the fight upset Mark. Then he thought about Sarah Rhodes. She seemed so different from Cindy. She was thinking of someone other than herself. She was willing to give up a large sum of her own money to help Coolidge. Well, maybe this big fee, if it came through, would help. He didn’t know.

The county jail had been built with massive, gray stone blocks in an era, before modern architecture, when buildings were constructed to resemble what they were supposed to be. The jail housed men awaiting trial and their fear and uncertainty were visible to all but the most insensitive visitor. The jail made no distinction between the traffic offender who could not make bail and the rapist. They were all housed together, until the courts sent them to the state penitentiary or set them free.

Because of his special status, Bobby Coolidge had been housed in one of the rare single cells in maximum security. Mark waited for him to be escorted to the special interview room in the basement of the jail. The room was long, narrow and windowless, and sealed by a large steel door. The only furniture in the room was a long table and several wooden chairs. Mark had chosen the chair farthest from the door so that he would have a few seconds for first impressions. He wanted to make sure that he had Coolidge sized up correctly. If Coolidge did not trust him, he might go elsewhere for a lawyer.

The door to the interview room opened with a metallic clang. A young man in his mid-twenties was standing in the doorway in front of a guard. He was clad in poor-fitting jeans and a blue work shirt with a partially torn breast pocket. There was an air of defeat about him that Mark noticed immediately. His eyes were downcast and never looked directly ahead. He made no move to enter the room, until ordered to by the guard. When he did enter, he did so slowly. His gaze stopped on Mark, but jumped away when Mark attempted to make eye contact. He scanned the room with quick, jerky movements of his head, as if he expected to find something hidden in the recesses.

For a brief moment, Mark realized the responsibility he would be undertaking if he represented this man. The guard slammed the door shut and Coolidge looked behind him. Mark rose and waited for Coolidge to turn back.

“My name is Mark Shaeffer. I’m an attorney,” he said, extending his hand. Coolidge looked at him for a moment, then shook hands. There was little life in his handclasp and both men released quickly, a bit embarrassed.

Mark sat down and indicated a chair. Coolidge sank into it.

“Sarah asked me to tell you that she tried to get in to see you, but they wouldn’t let her. George Rasmussen was with her.”

“How…What does she think about this?”

“She’s standing behind you, Mr. Coolidge. She’ll come to see you on Sunday.”

“Well, that’s good,” Coolidge said in a tired voice. His hand moved toward his breast pocket and stopped.

“Do you have a cigarette?”

“Sorry, I gave them up a year ago. I can ask a guard.”

Coolidge shook his head.

“No, that’s okay.”

He paused before he spoke again.

“Mr…?”

“Shaeffer. Mark Shaeffer.”

“Mr. Shaeffer, before you go any further, I want you to know that I can’t pay a lawyer.”

“Miss Rhodes is going to take care of that.”

Coolidge snapped his head from side to side.

“No. I don’t want her involved in this.”

“Mr. Coolidge, you are going to have to be practical about this. Innocent or guilty, you are charged with two counts of murder. You need professional help. Miss Rhodes has the money to hire me and you don’t. You can reject her help out of pride, but without an attorney the chances are very good that you will spend the rest of your life in a cage. Do you want that?”

Coolidge looked down at his shoes and said nothing. When he looked up, Mark knew that there would be no more protests.

“Okay,” Mark said, “the indictment charges you with killing a woman named Elaine Murray and a man named Richie Walters on or about November 25, 1960. Did you do that?”

“Absolutely not. No.”

“Did you know them?”

“Of course. Everyone knew about that. I went to high school with them.”

“Why do you think the police arrested you?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. My brother and I were arrested when this first happened, but they let us go. Why would they wait so long to arrest me, if they thought I was guilty?”

“I don’t know the answer to that yet. All I have seen is the indictment charging you and your brother with the crime.”

“Billy! He’s arrested too?”

“I assume so.”

Bobby ran his hand across his mouth and, for a few seconds, he was lost in thought.

“Bobby, do any of these names mean anything to you? These are the people listed on the indictment as having been witnesses before the Grand Jury.

“Roy Schindler, Arnold Shultz, Thelma Pullen, Esther Pegalosi, or Dr. Arthur Hollander.”

“No. I’ve never heard of any of them.”

Mark thought for a moment.

“Bobby, you mentioned that the police arrested you when this first happened. Why did they do that?”

Bobby shrugged.

“I don’t know. They asked me a lot of questions about that night. I guess what got us in trouble was we had had a fight and Billy pulled a knife at a party we crashed. And I think they mentioned finding some glasses belonging to a girl we knew in the park near where the Walters kid was killed. But that was it.”

“Tell me, as best you can remember, what you did on the evening of November 25.”

“It’s been so long. I don’t know. I know I was with Billy-my brother-and…uh…Roger…Roger Hessey. Then there was the girl whose glasses they found, Esther Freemont.”

“Wait a second,” Mark interrupted. “Could Esther Freemont be Esther Pegalosi. Did she get married?”

Bobby shook his head.

“I don’t know. I went into the Army right after high school and I didn’t keep track of her. We aren’t good friends.”

Mark made some notes on his yellow pad.

“Go on.”

“Okay. We crashed a party this girl was throwing.”

“What was her name? From now on when you mention people, I want names and addresses, if you can remember them.”

“I’m not going to be much good on the addresses, but I should be able to give you the names.”

Coolidge related the incident at the party and the theft of the wine. Mark took down everything as they went along. He was watching Coolidge closely while the latter spoke, trying to size him up. Bobby was intelligent and articulate. The type of defendant that would be able to assist him in his investigation. But, was he telling the truth? He had seemed sincere when he denied his guilt. It had been the first time that he had spoken forcefully. Yet, for all his inexperience, Mark had represented enough clients to know that it was very difficult to tell if a person was telling the truth.

“What happened after you drank the wine?” Mark asked. Coolidge shrugged.

“I think we cruised downtown for a bit, then took Esther home, then went home ourselves.”

“You think?”

“Well, it’s been some time. But that’s how it seems to me.”

Mark put down his pad and leaned back in his chair.

“Okay. That’s enough for today. I’m going to go see the district attorney and try to get a lead on some of these witnesses.”

Mark stood up and Coolidge looked at him. He ran his tongue nervously across his lower lip before he spoke.

“Mr. Shaeffer, how does it look?”

“I really can’t tell until I find out what the D.A. has.”

Bobby looked down at the floor again.

“Do…do you think you can get me out of here? I mean, isn’t there bail or something?”

“The court doesn’t have to set bail in a murder case and even if they did, I’m afraid that they would set it so high that you could never make it.”

“Oh,” Bobby said in a voice that was almost a sigh. “Well, you try for me, will you, because I had a rough time last night. I’ll tell you, I don’t think I can take it, being locked up for long.”

Eddie Toller entered the attorney’s room of the county jail and spotted his court-appointed attorney reading a newspaper at the rear of the room. Eddie wasn’t anxious to meet this young jerk again. Their only previous meeting had lasted approximately ten minutes following his arraignment. The gawk had handed him his card, told him not to worry, and rushed out. Eddie had even forgotten his name.

The guy looked reluctant to put the paper down when Eddie reached the interview booth and Eddie said, “Fuck you,” under his breath. He doubted this creep would know what he was talking about, even if he did hear him.

“Well, Mr. Toller, I’m afraid I have bad news for you,” the attorney said when Eddie was seated.

“Yeah, well what is that?”

“I talked with the district attorney in charge of your case and I am afraid, in light of your extensive prior record, that he is unwilling to plea negotiate. Furthermore, he has told me that he will ask for the maximum, twenty years, if you go to trial and are convicted, which I am afraid is highly likely in view of the overwhelming evidence that the state has against you.

“However, the district attorney did say that he would not recommend a sentence and would leave sentencing entirely up to the judge if you plead to the charge. At this point that seems like our best bet.”

“To what? Plead to twenty years?”

“Well, the judge doesn’t have to give you twenty years. You were cooperative with the police when they arrested you. That will weigh in your favor.”

“Nah. I ain’t pleadin’ to no twenty years. Look, those cops didn’t give me my rights till we got to the station house. Don’t that mean something?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Toller. You see…”

The attorney babbled on about his rights and how they had not been violated, but Eddie wasn’t listening. Something on the front page of the newspaper the attorney had been reading caught his eyes. It was a picture of a young girl that he thought he had seen before, many years ago. Eddie craned his neck to get a better look at the headline. The paper was folded over so that he could only see half of the page.

“…do you want to proceed?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you how you wanted me to proceed,” the attorney said, obviously annoyed at Eddie’s lack of attention.

“Well, you’re my attorney. You tell me. Only, I ain’t coppin’ to no twenty years.”

“Surely you don’t want to go to trial. You were caught inside the building and you confessed, not once, but twice.”

“Look, who are you working for? Me or the D.A…? If he ain’t gonna deal, I want a trial. This whole thing wasn’t my idea anyway. Gary Barrick planned it out and I ain’t taking the whole thing on my shoulders.”

The attorney started to rise.

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you think about what I said.”

“Sure. Say, can I see your paper for a minute?”

The attorney looked put out, but he handed the paper to Eddie. Eddie unfolded it. The headline read:

TWO ARRESTED IN MURRAY-WALTERS SLAYINGS. SEVEN-YEAR-OLD MYSTERY BELIEVED SOLVED.

Eddie scanned the story quickly. Then he concentrated on the picture of the girl. It had to be her. The attorney was getting impatient, so Eddie handed him the paper. He began to smile.

“Thanks a million,” he said, pumping the attorney’s hand. The attorney looked confused and smiled back, heading for the door. Eddie sat back down to think. For once the breaks were going to go his way. He could feel it. The attorney stopped at the door and cast a puzzled look at Toller. Toller waved at him.

“So long, asshole,” he thought to himself. “I won’t be needing you anymore.”

Mark found Esther Pegalosi’s address listed in the phone book, but decided against calling. Esther’s apartment was in an older section of town. The building it was in looked as if it was well maintained. Esther’s name was typed on a paper tag that had been affixed to a metal mailbox. Mark rode up in the old cage elevator he found in the lobby. The elevator ascended slowly and Mark could hear the gears and chains clanking and straining. The car shuddered to a stop on the third-floor landing and Mark stepped into the dark corridor. Esther’s apartment was at the end of the hall. He knocked, then rang the buzzer.

There was no sound inside and he rang again. This time he could hear the sound of bare feet padding toward the door. There was a snapping sound and Mark guessed that he was being scrutinized through the peephole.

“Mrs. Pegalosi?” he said.

“Who is it?”

“My name is Mark Shaeffer, Mrs. Pegalosi. I’m an attorney and I’d like to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Could I step in for a minute? It’s difficult talking through the door. If you want identification, I can slide one of my cards under the door.”

Mark heard the snapping of locks and chains and the door opened enough for him to hand in a business card. The woman who took it was attractive in a slutty way. She was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt and her long black hair was unkempt, but the breasts that jiggled under the tee shirt were large enough to attract Mark’s attention and her dark complexion and large brown eyes appealed to him. She scrutinized the card through reading glasses, then started to hand it back.

“What is it you want?”

“I was retained to represent Bobby Coolidge, an old friend of yours. He’s in jail charged with a very serious crime. You testified at the Grand Jury and I’m interested in what you said.”

The woman was obviously alarmed and she looked as if she might shut the door.

“This will only take a few minutes of your time. I am as interested in finding out what happened as the police. Maybe Mr. Coolidge is guilty…”

“Yes,” the woman almost shouted. “He did it.”

“Well, in that case, I certainly want to talk to you so that I will know how to advise my client. Why do you think he’s guilty?”

“No, I won’t discuss it. They said I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone if I didn’t want to and I’m not.”

“Who said this, Mrs. Pegalosi?”

“Roy…Mr. Shindler and Mr. Heider.”

“Mr. Heider, the district attorney?”

“Yes. He said I didn’t have to talk to anyone if I said no.”

“Well, that’s right. I certainly wouldn’t want to force you to talk to me if you didn’t want to, but Bobby has been charged with murder. He could spend the rest of his life in jail. It certainly won’t hurt you to talk to me and if there is some mistake, your talking with me might help clear it up.”

“I can’t talk…I won’t talk about it.”

“Mrs. Pegalosi, you’ll have to answer my questions in court if you testify. Why are you worried about talking to me now?”

“Please. Go away. I don’t want to talk about it.”

There was a tinge of panic in Esther’s voice and Mark flinched when she slammed the door. He was angry and, for a moment, he thought about pounding on the door until she opened it. Then he realized that he had no right to talk to her and his anger focused on Philip Heider for having counseled Esther the way he had.

Mark looked at his watch. It was getting late. He had the addresses of Pullen, Shultz, and Hollander. Shindler, he guessed, based on Esther’s statement, was probably a cop. He decided to try Thelma Pullen.

Mark arrived back at his office at seven. He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and called his wife. The phone rang a few times before Cindy answered it.

“Mark?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you? I called your office and all they said was that you were out investigating a case.”

“Not just a case. You’ll never guess who I’m representing.”

Cindy sensed the excitement in Mark’s voice.

“Who?” she asked, cautiously.

“Did you read the paper today? The front page?”

“Yes.”

“I have just been retained to represent Bobby Coolidge, one of the two men charged in the Murray-Walters case.”

“The murders?” she asked hesitantly.

“The very same.”

There was a pause.

“Mark,” she asked, “do you feel that…? A murder is so serious. Do you think you have the experience?”

Mark was disappointed and angry. He had expected Cindy to be as excited as he had been all day. Now she had killed it for him. It was her insecurity that she was projecting onto him. Her inadequacies.

“Yes, I can handle it,” he answered in a more subdued tone.

“Are they paying you a lot?”

“I’ve asked for ten thousand,” he said. This had been his big surprise, but she had deflated his enthusiasm with her fears.

“Ten thousand! Oh, Mark!”

Now she was excited, Mark thought bitterly. Not about the fact that someone thought enough of my ability to hire me to represent someone on a case this big, but because of the money.

“Have they paid you yet?”

“I have to call this evening to make certain that they can come up with the money.”

“Then you’re not certain you’ll get it?” she asked in a disappointed tone.

“No. I have to call now.”

There was another embarrassed pause.

“When will you be home?”

The truth was, at this moment, he would rather not have gone home at all.

“In a while. I’ll call you before I leave.”

“Mark, I’m really happy you got the case.”

A little late, he thought. Out loud he said, “I’ll see you,” and blew her a kiss and hung up.

He took a deep breath and checked the Coolidge file for Sarah’s number. He felt a curious excitement when he dialed it. Partly because he would soon know about the fee and partly, he realized, because he wanted to talk to her again.

“Sarah? This is Mark…Mark Shaeffer.”

“Oh…yes?” she asked anxiously.

“I told you I’d call tonight. Remember?”

“Yes. About the money. Did you see Bobby?”

“We talked for about an hour at the jail. I’ve been out all afternoon talking to witnesses. Tomorrow I’m going to meet with the district attorney.”

“How does it look?”

“I can’t tell yet. The one witness I wanted to talk to the most wouldn’t talk to me. I talked to two other people, but nothing they said seemed to connect Bobby with the crime. I’ll learn more about the case tomorrow, hopefully, from the D.A.”

“How was…is Bobby?”

“Pretty low. I told him you would visit on Sunday. I’ve arranged for you to see him in a private interview room, instead of with the rest of the prisoners in the visitor’s room.”

“Thank you.”

Mark waited for her to go on, but she didn’t.

“Uh, about the fee. Did you talk to your parents?”

“No. I…They weren’t in. I’ll have to keep trying. Can I tell you tomorrow?”

Mark felt a little nervous. He had already gotten involved in the case on her promise.

“Sure. When do you want to come in?”

“Later afternoon? Around five?”

Mark checked his appointment book.

“That’s fine. I’ll see you then.”

They hung up. Mark rested his hand on the phone. He tried to visualize Sarah’s features and figure. He could see her breasts pushing against her sweater this morning. For a moment he fantasized her naked, in bed. Then he stopped. He thought about Cindy and what was happening to their marriage. It made him feel sad.

“They sent a man. He said he was an attorney. How did he find me? You said I would only have to talk at the trial.”

She was almost hysterical, thought Shindler. He grabbed her shoulders. He couldn’t have her cracking up on him. Not when he’d come this far.

“Slow down and calm down,” he ordered forcefully. She threw her arms around his neck and started to cry.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I was going crazy. He just came. I…”

Shindler held her tightly. He was afraid that he would find her like this when he heard the way she sounded over the phone. He had driven from the police station as soon as he had hung up.

“Who came to see you?” he asked when she was calm enough to speak.

“I have his card,” she said, breaking away and moving to the kitchen table. She handed him the card and sat down.

“He said he was an attorney,” she said in a voice heavy with fear.

“He probably was,” Shindler said. He could never understand why people of Esther’s type held lawyers in awe. “What did you do?”

“Just like you and Mr. Heider said. I told him I didn’t want to talk to him.”

He stood behind her and began to massage her shoulders.

“And…?”

“He went away.”

“Good,” he said softly, feeling her shoulder muscles begin to relax under the thin cotton tee shirt. “That was easy, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she answered sheepishly.

“And you handled that all by yourself, didn’t you?” he asked soothingly.

“Yes,” she said in an embarrassed whisper. “But I got scared. I didn’t know how he found me and I was alone.”

“You’re not alone, Esther. You have me. And he could have gotten your name in a thousand ways: old newspapers, the indictment, a lot of places.”

“I guess,” she said. “It’s just, I haven’t seen you so much, lately. And I’ve been getting scared, again, like before I saw Dr. Hollander.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Shindler said softly. “Now, stand up and turn around.”

She obeyed, but she would not look him in the eye. He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her head until their eyes met.

“Are you still afraid?” he asked.

“No, Roy,” she answered woodenly. She wanted him so bad. She wanted to feel him holding her, inside her. She wanted to cling to him and be safe.

“Is the baby asleep?” he asked. His voice was soft and soothing.

“Yes, Roy.”

Her mouth was dry and she was trembling. He reached out and caressed her naked breast through her shirt. Her knees were weak and she felt herself growing moist. He stepped back so he could see her. She pulled the shirt over her head and stepped out of her jeans so that all she wore were the red silk bikini panties he said he liked. She stood almost at attention, her head bowed, because she was afraid to look at him. He reached out and stroked her hair and she began to weep.