The Sign of the Book (9 page)

“Did Bobby have any enemies?”

“Oh, Janeway! What are you thinking?”

“Same thing you're thinking, Mrs. Marshall. Let's go over it again.”

Erin flew into Paradise International late that afternoon on a single-engine private flight from the Jefferson County Airport. It had taken her less than half an hour to make the arrangements. She had used this pilot on cases for Waterford, Brownwell, when other days were waning and her schedule was tight, when she needed to get to places like Laramie or Rock Springs or Albuquerque and had no time for long car trips. This was a ninety-minute hop over the hills from the Denver suburbs.

Paradise International was a bit of local sarcasm, the name painted on a board and tacked to a tree. It was a long dirt runway nestled in a valley about five miles from town, with two tin hangars, a radio room, and a rustic coffee shop. I waited just inside the coffee shop, my eyes scanning the sky to the east. Erin had said they'd get here by five, and at four-thirty the valley was already in deep shadow. Whatever daylight was left was high above us, wasted on the tops of the mountains.

“Can this guy land in the dark?”

“If he's more than a half-assed pilot he can,” said the old fellow on duty. “We'll give him some lights to help bring him down.”

He flipped a switch and the airstrip was defined by two long strings of what looked like Christmas lights. “There ye go. Just like the Macy's parade.”

A moment later the plane made radio contact. “Your bird's about twenty miles east of here,” the old man said. “Be on the ground before you can hawk up a good spit.”

I walked nervously into the coming night. I am always nervous when someone I care about is flying, especially over unpredictable mountain air currents in a glorified egg crate with one little engine, a single heartbeat from disaster. But ten minutes later the plane broke over the hills and glided under the sunset into the purple valley. I watched it bump along the runway and come to a stop a hundred yards away.

Erin had dressed for weather: corduroy pants and a flannel shirt, scarf, boots and a heavy coat, a furry Russian-style pillbox hat and gloves. The pilot was a young stud named Todd Williams, who wore a leather cap and let his matching coat flop open in the wind. Erin made the introductions: we shook hands and Todd said he'd take care of his plane and join us in town. “We'll be at the jail for a while,” I said. “After that you'll find us in the café on the main drag. You can't miss any of it unless you miss the whole damn town.”

In the car I said, “You're looking good.”

“I'm getting a cold,” she said. “And frankly, my attitude sucks.”

She didn't have much time: “I'm supposed to be working on my case this weekend. If I go into court unprepared on Monday, I'm in deep soup. I've got to be back before noon tomorrow.”

“Are you nervous?”

“What have I got to be nervous about, she's the one in jail.” She cut her eyes at me from the far corner of the car. “Yeah, I am. Did you tell her I was coming?”

“Haven't seen her since this morning. Wouldn't have told her anyway.”

“Good. That first few seconds may tell us something.” She flipped through some notes. “I want somebody to go up to that house and examine the back-room fireplace.”

“I can do that.”

“I'd rather have two of you together when you do that.”

I had left word with Sheriff Gains that we'd be coming over to the jail sometime before dinner, but the only car on the lot was the deputy's. “Looks like you're about to meet the town charmer. Might as well get it over with.”

We walked into the jail. Lennie Walsh was sitting behind the desk, smoking.

“Deputy Walsh,” I said. “This is Ms. Erin D'Angelo. We'd like to see Mrs. Marshall for a few minutes.”

“Visiting hours are posted on the door.”

“That doesn't usually apply to a prisoner and his attorney.”

“It does if I'm on duty. It's my call.”

“I cleared this with the sheriff this afternoon.”

“He didn't say nothin' to me about it.”

“So what does that mean? Do we have to wait for him to get back?”

“Be a long wait. He went up to Gunnison, won't come back till Monday noon.”

“So what do we do?”

“Come back Monday.”

Erin pulled up a chair and leaned across the desk. “Deputy Walsh.”

She offered her hand. He looked at it for so much time before finally taking it that I wanted to reach over and knock him off the chair.

“Help me out here, please. I've come here at great expense to see Mrs. Marshall.”

“Shoulda called first.”

“Maybe so but there wasn't time. I'm involved in another case in Denver, I'm supposed to be working on it even now. This is the only possible chance I'll have to speak with her for at least two more weeks.”

“I appreciate how busy and important you are, Ms…. what's your name?”

“D'Angelo.”

“Whatever. Like I was saying, I appreciate all that. At the same time, you can't expect us to drop everything when you walk in unannounced like this.”

“Am I missing something here? Would it work a vast inconvenience on this department to let me see my client, please, for just a few minutes?”

“No inconvenience at all. Monday at ten.”

“Deputy…”

He smiled pleasantly. “Yes, ma'am?”

“We're getting nowhere,” she said to me. “Does your friend McNamara have a home number where the judge can be reached?”

“What are you callin' the judge for?” Lennie said. “You wanna piss that old man off, you just call him at home.”

She ignored him. “Let's go.”

We got up and started for the door.

“I don't know what you think the judge is gonna do,” Lennie said.

She stopped at the door and turned. “I'll tell you what he'd better do. If he doesn't get you off your dead ass
right now,
I will delay this trial until next March and have good cause to do it. This is inexcusable. We'll be back in an hour. Deputy whatever.”

 

“That was fun,” I said.

“As long as it's my biscuits he's got on the fire, not yours.”

“He's had mine.”

I told her about my ongoing shitfight with Lennie Walsh.

“God, where do you find these guys? You run afoul of the worst creeps even in the middle of nowhere. You must run ads in the paper looking for them.”

“Yeah, but then I find guys like you, and Parley, to pull me out of hot water.”

“I like old McNamara better all the time,” she said. “Haven't even met him yet and he reminds me of one or two old lawyers I know.”

The waitress came. I told her we were waiting for a couple of people and she went away. Todd Williams, the first of our people, arrived a few minutes later. He was a flamboyant, young, blond hot dog but I liked him. He flopped next to Erin and draped his leather cap on her chair.

“Plane's all secured and here we are. I've been in some dead places with you, Miss Erin, but this one's unreal. What the hell are we supposed to
do
here tonight?”

“Speak for yourself. I've got to work.”

“There's not even any TV in this place.”

“There's a pool hall up the street,” I said.

“Where do the ladies hang out?”

“I haven't found that out yet. The only one I've seen is our client, and she's in jail.”

“Maybe we should go ahead and order,” Erin said. “McNamara can catch up to us. I don't want to let too much grass grow under my feet, give that idiot at the jail any more excuses.”

“You actually intend to call the judge?”

“If I have to. But I'm betting the deputy lets us in without a squawk when we go back.” She smiled and clutched her purse. “Five'll get you ten.”

“Not me,” I said.

“Todd?”

“I don't even know what we're talking about.”

I told him while Erin was signaling the waitress. “I'd never bet against this woman,” Todd said while Erin was ordering. “You boys would make lousy lawyers,” she said between instructions to the waitress. “You bluff too easy.” She asked for a bottle of wine, paused when the waitress wondered if she wanted the big bottle or small, and said she'd come over and look at what was available in a minute. “I wonder how big the big bottle is,” she said, and the woman told her she could bring half a gallon if we were superthirsty. Erin suppressed a laugh. “You bluff too easily,” she said again, looking at me. “I can always bluff Williams out, but I expected more of you, Janeway.” To the waitress she said, “Thank you, I'll come look. Put all this on one bill, please.”

The waitress went away. “I'll bet it's Gallo,” Erin said softly. “Any takers?”

She went away to look.

“She sure is hyper tonight,” Todd said. “She tries to seem easy but I could tell the minute I picked her up, she's really uptight about something. This must be a tough case.”

Erin came back and flopped. “I took the Gallo,” she said. “Don't ask what the other choice was.”

“I ate in here last night,” I said. “They run a truck up to the window and pump the stuff into fifty-gallon drums.”

Parley arrived as the waitress brought our wine: a nice bottle of French merlot, five years old. She uncorked it and poured a thimbleful for Erin to taste. “Lovely, thank you,” Erin said, and she smiled at me brilliantly. “You never know, Janeway, you never know. That's five dollars you could've won from me tonight and we haven't even seen the deputy again.”

Four glasses killed the bottle. I made the introductions and offered a toast to friendship.

Erin and Parley talked; Todd and I listened. The old man gave her his assessment of the case based on what he knew. “Some new things have come to light,” she told him. “I can't go into them until we talk to the client, which I hope will be within the hour. I'll see her again tomorrow morning, and we'll decide at that time if I'm going to represent her. If I'm not, she needs to get someone right away. Cliff tells me he likes what you've done to this point.”

“I'll take it if there's nobody else. I'm no criminal lawyer and I've told her that. I'd probably do as well as the public defender, but I'm not way up on her list of favorite people just now.”

“What's that about?”

“I think Jerry did it and had the temerity to say so. She flew off the handle when I said that.”

“That was then, this is now. But we can't talk about that yet, Janeway's tied our hands till we get her okay. Listen, if I do take this case, would you be willing to help?”

“Yeah, sure. I guess so.”

“There's going to be lots of stuff that I can't be here for. It'd be great to have somebody here in town who knows the people and the turf.”

“Kind of a second chair, you might say, huh?”

“Yeah, but you'd actually be doing most of the real work till I can get clear. We'll talk every day on the phone. Bill your time at your regular rate and send the bills to me. Once we get the client to understand what our defense is going to be, whatever that is, I think she'll be easier to get along with.”

Supper came and we ate it. The wine was the high spot.

“We'll have to get us a place to stay,” Erin said.

“You can all stay with me,” Parley said.

“Best hotel in town,” I said.

“That's good,” Erin said nervously. “That's good.”

She paid the bill. “Guess we'd better get on over to the jailhouse and see if anything's changed. In case it hasn't, do you have a number where I can reach the judge?”

“Oh, yeah. Wish I could be there when you call him.”

 

Lennie was sitting at the same table, reading an old copy of
Startling Detective.

“Didn't get any call from the judge,” he said.

“I haven't talked to him yet. Do I have to?”

He grinned maliciously. “Naw, go on up. I was yanking your chain. If you hadn't flown off the handle and got all pissy on me, you'd be up there talking to her now.”

“Thank you.”

“You know the way, don't you, cowboy?”

“Come on,” I said to Erin.

“Might take a while for me to get her up there,” Lennie said. “Prisoners are eatin' supper now.”

Upstairs, we sat in the conference room and waited. An hour passed.

“He's really rubbing it in, isn't he?” Erin said.

“Goddamn little tinhorn asshole.”

She laughed. “Why don't you tell me what you really think of him?”

“Little tinhorn turkey-jerk South-Succotash pisswater asshole.”