"Just tell the client you'll meet him tomorrow."
"He can't. It has to be tonight."
"Damn it, Betsy, when we separated, you promised you wouldn't do this to me."
"I'm really sorry," Betsy said, as angry at herself for begging as she was at Rick for making this so difficult. "I rarely ask you to pick up Kathy, but I need you, this once. Please."
Rick was silent for a moment.
"I'll do it," he answered angrily. "When do I have to be there?"
"They close at six. I really appreciate this."
Betsy hung up quickly, before Rick could change his mind.
"Six will be fine, Mr. Darius. Do you know the address of my office?"
"Yes," Darius said, and the line went dead. Betsy put the phone down slowly and sank into her chair, wondering what business a man like Martin Darius could possibly have with her.
Betsy glanced at her watch. It was six thirty-five and Darius had not arrived. She was annoyed that he had kept her waiting after she had put herself out, but not annoyed enough to jeopardize a twenty-five-hundred-dollar fee.
Besides, the wait had given her time to work on the Morales case. She decided to give Darius another half hour.
Rain spattered against the window behind her. Betsy yawned and swiveled her chair so she could look out into the night. Most of the offices in the building across the way were deserted. She could see cleaning women starting to work. By now, her own building was probably deserted, except for the night people. The silence made her a little uncomfortable. When she swiveled back, Darius was standing in the doorway. Betsy started.
"Mrs. Tannenbaum?" Darius said, as he entered the room. Betsy stood. She was almost five feet eleven, but she had to look up to Darius. He extended his hand, exposing the exquisite gold cuff links that secured his French cuffs. His hand was cold and his manner distant.
Betsy did not believe in auras, but there was definitely something about the man that did not come across on television or in newspaper photos.
"I'm sorry to be so mysterious, Mrs. Tannenbaum," Darius said when they were seated.
"For twenty-five hundred dollars you can wear a mask, Mr. Darius."
Darius grinned. "I like an attorney with a sense of humor. I haven't met too many of them."
"That's because you deal with business lawyers and tax attorneys.
Criminal lawyers don't last long without a sense of humor."
Darius leaned back in his chair and looked around Betsy's cluttered office. It was her first and it was small and cramped. She had made just enough money this year to think about moving to larger quarters. If she ever collected the verdict in the abortion case she would definitely move, but that case was bogged down in the appellate courts and she might never see a penny.
"I was at a charity 'dinner for the Portland Opera the other night,"
Darius said. "Do you go?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Too bad. It's quite good. I had an interesting discussion with Maxine Silver. She's on the staff. A very strong-minded woman. We were discussing Greig's book.
Have you read it?"
"The novel by the serial killer?" Betsy asked, puzzled by the direction the conversation was taking.
Darius nodded.
"I've seen a few reviews, but I don't have time to read anything but legal periodicals. It's not my kind of book, anyway."
"Don't judge the book by its author, Mrs. Tannenbaum. It's really a very sensitive work. A coming-of-age story. He handles the subject of his protagonist's abuse with such tenderness that you almost forget what Greig did to those children. Still, Maxine felt it shouldn't have been published, solely because Greig wrote it. Do you agree with her?"
Darius's question was strange but Betsy decided to play along.
"I'm opposed to censorship. I would not ban a book because I disapproved of the person who wrote it."
"If the publisher bowed to pressure from, say, women's groups and withdrew the book from circulation, would you represent Greig?"
"Mr. Darius "Martin."
"Is there a point to these questions or are you just making small talk?"
"Humor me."
"I could represent Greig."
"Knowing that he's a monster?"
"I would be representing a principle, Mr. Darius.
Freedom of speech. Hamlet would still be Hamlet, even if Charles Manson wrote it."
Darius laughed. "Well put." Then he took a check out of his pocket.
"Tell me what you think, after reading this," he said, placing the check on the desk between them. The check was made out to Elizabeth Tannenbaum. It was for 58,346.47. Something about the figure was familiar.
Betsy frowned for a moment, then flushed when she realized the sum was her exact gross income for the previous year. Something Darius would know only if he had access to her tax returns.
"I think someone has been invading my privacy," Betsy snapped, "and I don't like it."
"Twenty-five hundred dollars of this is your fee for this evening's consultation," Darius said, ignoring Betsy's anger. "The rest is a retainer. Place it in trust and keep the interest. Someday, I may ask you to return it. I may also ask you to represent me, in which case you may charge me whatever you believe the case is worth over and above the retainer."
"I'm not certain I want to work for you, Mr. Darius."
"Why? Because I had you investigated? I don't blame you for being angry, but a man in my position can't take chances. There is only one copy of the investigative report and I'll send it to you no matter how our meeting concludes. You'll be pleased to hear what your colleagues have to say about you."
"Why don't you give this money to the firm that handles your business affairs?"
"I don't wish to discuss this matter with my business lawyers.
"Are you being investigated in connection with a crime?"
"Why don't we discuss that if it becomes necessary."
"Mr. Darius, there are a number of excellent criminal defense attorneys in Portland. Why me?"
Darius looked amused. "Let's just say that I believe you are the most qualified person to handle my case, should representation become necessary."
"I'm a little leery of taking a case on this basis."
"Don't be. You're under no obligation. Take the check, use the interest.
If I do come to you and you decide you can't represent me, you can always give the money back. And, I can assure you, if I'm accused I will be innocent and you will be able to pursue my defense with a clear conscience."
Betsy studied the check. It was almost four times the largest fee she'd ever earned and Martin Darius was the type of client a sane person did not turn down.
"As long as you understand I'm under no obligation," Betsy said.
"Of course. I'll send you a retainer agreement that spells out the terms of our arrangement."
They shook hands and Betsy showed Darius out.
Then she locked the door and reentered her office. When Betsy was certain Darius was gone, she gave the check a big kiss, gave a subdued whoop and whirled around. Betsy was — allowed to indulge in immature behavior from time to time.
Betsy was in a terrific mood by the time she parked her station wagon in her carport. It was not so much the retainer, but the fact that Martin Darius had chosen her over — all the other attorneys in Portland. Betsy was building a reputation with cases like State v. Hammermill, but the big-money clients were still going to the big-name criminal defense attorneys. Until this evening.
Rick Tannenbaum opened the door before Betsy fished her key out of her purse. Her husband was slender and an inch shorter than Betsy. His thick black hair was styled to fall across his high forehead, and his smooth skin and clear blue eyes made him look younger than thirty-six. Rick had always been overly formal. Even now, when he should be relaxing, his tie was still knotted and his suit coat was on.
"Damn it, Betsy, it's almost eight. Where were you?"
"My client didn't come until six-thirt
y. I'm sorry."
Before Rick could say anything else Kathy came tearing down the hall.
Betsy dumped her briefcase and purse on a chair and scooped up their six-year-old daughter.
"I made a picture. You have to come see," Kathy yelled, fighting to get down as soon as she received a hug and kiss from her mother.
"Bring it to the kitchen," Betsy answered, lowering Kathy to the floor and taking off her jacket. Kathy streaked down the hall toward her bedroom with her long, blond hair flying after her.
"Please don't do this to me again, Betsy," Rick said, when Kathy was far enough away so she wouldn't hear. "I felt like a fool. I was in a meeting with Donovan and three other lawyers and I had to tell them I couldn't participate any longer because I had to pick up my daughter from day care. Something we agreed is your responsibility."
"I'm sorry, Rick. Mom wasn't available and I had to meet this client."
"I have clients too and a position to maintain in my firm. I'm trying to make partner and that's not going to happen if I get a reputation as someone who can't be relied on."
"For Christ's sake, Rick. How many times have I asked you to do this?
She's your daughter, too. Donovan understands you have a child. These things happen."
Kathy rushed into the kitchen and they stopped arguing.
"This is the picture, Mom," Kathy said, thrusting forward a large piece of drawing paper. Betsy scrutinized the picture while Kathy looked up at her expectantly. She was adorable in her tiny jeans and striped, long-sleeve shirt.
"Why Kathy Tannenbaum," Betsy said, holding the picture at arm's length,
"this is the most fantastic picture of an elephant I have ever seen."
"It's a cow, Mom."
"A cow with a trunk?"
"That's the tail."
"Oh. You're sure it's not an elephant?"
"Stop teasing," Kathy said seriously.
Betsy laughed and returned the picture with a hug and kiss. "You are the greatest artist since Leonardo da Vinci. Greater even. Now let me get dinner ready."
Kathy ran back to her room. Betsy put a frying pan on the stove and took out a tomato and some lettuce for a salad.
"Who is this big client?" Rick asked.
Betsy didn't want to tell Rick, especially since Darius wanted his visit kept secret. But she felt she owed Rick the information.
"This is very confidential. Will you promise not to breathe a word if I tell you?"
"Sure."
"Martin Darius retained me, tonight," she said, breaking into a huge grin.
"Martin Darius?" Rick answered incredulously.
"Why would he hire you? Parish, Marquette and Reeves handles his legal work."
"Apparently he thinks I'm also capable of representing him," Betsy answered, trying not to show how much Rick's reaction hurt her.
"You don't have a business practice."
"I don't think it's a business matter."
"Then what is it?"
"He didn't say."
"What's Darius like?" like? Betsy thought about the question. What was Darius like?" Betsy answered just as Kathy hurtled back into the kitchen. "He likes to be mysterious and he wants you to know how powerful he is."
"What are you cooking, Mom?"
"Roast, little girl," Betsy said, picking up Kathy and nibbling her neck until she squealed. "Now, buzz off or I'll never get dinner ready."
Betsy lowered Kathy to the floor. "Do you want to stay for dinner?" she asked Rick. He looked uncomfortable and checked his watch. "Thanks, but I've got to get back to the office."
"All right. Thanks, again, for picking up Kathy. I do know how busy you are and I appreciate the help."
"Yeah, well… Sorry I jumped down your throat.
"It's just… "I know," Betsy said.
Rick looked like he was going to say something but went to the closet instead and got his raincoat.
"Good luck with Darius," Rick told her as he was leaving. Betsy shut the door behind him. She had heard the hint of jealousy in his voice and regretted telling Rick about her client. She should have known better than to say anything that would let him know how well she was doing.
"But it takes time to make a raft, even when one is as industrious and untiring as the Tin Woodman, and when night came the work was not done.
So they found a cozy place under the trees where they slept well until the morning; and Dorothy dreamed of the Emerald City, and of the good Wizard of Oz, who would soon send her back to her own home again."
"And now," Betsy said, closing the book and laying it beside Kathy's bed, "it's time for my little wizard to hit the hay."
"Can't you read one more chapter?" Kathy begged.
"No, I cannot read another chapter," Betsy said, giving Kathy a hug. "I already read you one more than you were entitled to. Enough is enough."
"You're mean, Mommy," Kathy said, with a smile Betsy could not see because her cheek was against Kathy's baby-soft hair.
"That's tough. You're stuck with the world's meanest mommy and there's nothing you can do about it." Betsy kissed Kathy's forehead, then sat up. "Now get to bed. I'll see you in the morning."
"Night, mom. "Kathy rolled onto her side and wrestled Oliver, an i oversized, stuffed skunk, into position against her chest.
"Night, hon."
Betsy closed the door of Kathy's room behind her and went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Although she would never admit it to her feminist friends, Betsy loved washing dishes. It was perfect therapy. A lawyer's day was littered with stressful situations and insoluble problems. Washing dishes was a finite task that Betsy could do perfectly every time she tried. Instant gratification from a job well done, over and over again. And Betsy needed Some instant gratification after being with Rick.
She knew why he was so angry. Rick had been a superstar in law school and Donovan, Chastain and Mills had lured him to their two hundred-lawyer sweatshop with a large salary and glowing promises of a fast track to a partnership. The firm had worked him like a dog, constantly holding the partnership just out of reach. When he was passed over last year, just as her career was starting to take off, it had been a crushing blow to his ego.
Their ten-year-old marriage had not been able to withstand the strain.
Two months ago, when Rick told her he was leaving, Betsy was stunned.
She knew they had problems, but she'd never imagined that he would walk out. Betsy had searched her memory for a clue to Rick's jealousy. Had he changed or was he always so self-centered? Betsy had trouble believing that Rick's love was too fragile to withstand her success, but she was not willing to give up her career to appease his ego. Why should she?
The way she saw it, it was a matter of Rick accepting her as an equal.
If he couldn't do that then she could never stay married to him. If he loved her, it should not be such a hard thing to do. She was proud of his achievements.
Why couldn't he be proud of hers?
Betsy poured herself a glass of milk and turned off the light. The kitchen joined the rest of the house in soothing darkness. Betsy carried her glass to the kitchen table and slumped into a chair. She took a sip and gazed sleepily out the window. Many of the houses in the neighborhood were dark. A streetlight cast a pale glow over a corner of the front yard. It was so quiet with Rick gone and Kathy asleep. No traffic sounds outside, no television on. None of the little noises people make shuffling around a house.
Betsy had handled enough divorces to know that many estranged husbands would never have done what Rick had done for her tonight. He had done it for Kathy, because he loved her. And Kathy loved Rick. The separation was very hard on their daughter. There were times, like now, when the house was quiet and Betsy was alone, that she missed Rick. She was not certain she loved him anymore, but she remembered bow good it had been.
Sleeping alone was the hardest thing. She missed the lovemaking, but she missed the cuddling and the pillow talk more. Sometimes she thought they might
get back together. Tonight, before Rick left, she was certain that there was something be wanted to tell her. What was he about to say? And if he said he wanted her back, what would she say? After all, he was the one who had walked out on ten years of marriage, a child, their life together.
They were a family and Rick's actions told her that meant nothing to him.
The night Rick walked out, alone in bed, when she Couldn't cry anymore, Betsy had rolled on her side and stared at their wedding picture. Rick was grinning. He had told her he had never been so happy. She had been so filled with joy, she was afraid she could not hold all of it. How could a feeling like that disappear?
Chapter Four
"Late night?" Wayne Turner's secretary asked, trying, unsuccessfully, to conceal a grin.
"it shows, huh?
"Only to those who know how perky you usually look."
The night before, Turner, Senator Raymond Colby's administrative assistant, had gotten stinking drunk celebrating the senator's nomination to the Supreme Court.
This morning he was paying for his sins, but he didn't mind. He was happy for the old gent, who had done so much for him. His only regret was that Colby had not run for President. He would have made a great one.
Turner was five feet nine and slender. He had a narrow face, high cheekbones, close-cropped, kinky black hair that was graying at the temples and brown skin a few shades darker than his tan suit. Turner weighed about what he had when he first met Colby. He hadn't lost his intensity, but the scowl that used to be a permanent feature had wilted over the years. Turner hung his jacket on a hook behind the door, lit his fourth Winston of the day and sat behind his cluttered desk. Framed in the window at his back was the shining, white dome of the Capitol.
Turner shuffled through his messages. Many were from reporters who wanted the inside scoop on Colby's nomination. Some were from a.a.s for other senators who were probably calling about Colby's crime bill. A few were from partners in prestigious Washington law firms, confirmation that Turner need not be worried about what he would do after the senator became Chief justice.
Washington power brokers were always interested in someone who had the ear of a powerful man. Turner would do all right, but he would miss working with the senator.
Gone ,but not forgotten Page 3