Ralph “Just call me Ralphie” Armitage was still in jail because no one would bail him out. His wife had left him and his family wanted nothing to do with the son who had soiled the family name. Ralph Armitage Senior let it be known in the press that he had cut Ralph Junior out of his will “one hundred percent. He’ll get one dollar and not a penny more.” There wasn’t a lawyer in the whole province who wanted to touch the case. Jennifer Raglan, the former head Crown, had been brought back in to clean up the mess and run the office again.
Behind her Parish heard a child’s voice screaming above the hustle and bustle on the street. “Uncle Larkin, Uncle Larkin!”
St. Clair’s always-animated face lit up another notch. His aunt Arlene and her son were steps away.
“Holy cow, Justin, is that you?” He stood and hopped over the wrought-iron fence, his long hair flowing behind him, every strand in place.
“Who’s that?” Justin asked, pointing to Parish. He had an incredibly loud voice, just like his uncle. “She another girlfriend?”
St. Clair gave a loud chuckle. “No, silly. Her name’s Nancy, and she’s my lawyer,” he said.
“The good one or the bad one?” the little boy asked.
“The good one. Real good. Just like you’re going to be one day.”
There was a little vodka left in her glass. Parish downed it and stood up as the three of them came around to the table.
Arlene gave her a hug, and Justin held out his hand for a formal handshake. She shook it and couldn’t resist patting him on the top of his head. “Have a great meal,” she said.
“What do you mean?” St. Clair asked. “Where you going?”
“We always dreamed of a summer night, having our drink together on the patio at Pappas. No charges outstanding against you. And we did it. You have dinner with your family.”
“But …”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s time for me to go home.”
They stared at each other.
“Do they have chicken fingers here?” Justin shouted.
Larkin wrapped his arms around her in a powerful embrace. “Love you, Nancy,” he whispered into her ear.
She smiled as she let go of him. Smiled as she walked down the crowded avenue. People, dogs, strollers, all crisscrossing in front of her. The wind was still fresh and warm, and the sun hovered high in the sky, as if it were in no hurry at all to go down.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Walk downtown in most Canadian cities, and you’ll find aging stone bank buildings on the street corners of major intersections. Decades ago these tall-columned and high-ceilinged structures projected financial power and confidence. Today, all too many have been turned into money marts and hamburger joints.
But some have been lovingly restored. At this moment I’m sitting in the magnificent yet comfortable law library at the office of Edward L. Greenspan, Q.C., in what was once an impressive branch of the Dominion Bank of Canada. Eddie, as he’s known to everyone, is one of North America’s leading criminal lawyers, and for the last few years he’s been my landlord.
After two decades of practicing law in the high-rise towers of Toronto’s downtown core, it’s been a great relief for me to hang my shingle, and park my laptop, in a building where there are no parking garages, packed elevators, or a downstairs food court. And where the windows actually open.
Finding the right office to continue my dual career of defending people and writing these novels has been important, especially since I am now taping out a book a year.
Thanks, then, go to a long list of people for their assistance this time around. They are, in no particular order: Kevin Hanson; Alison Clarke; Amy Cormier; Amy Jacobson; Anneliese Grosfield; Victoria Skurnick; Elizabeth Fisher; Angela Hughes; Patricia Bandeira; Susan Petersen; Michael Lacy; Joe Wilkinson; Andras Schreck; Donald Schmidtt; Dr. Jan Ahuja; Douglas Preston; David Flacks; Ron Davis; Julie Lacey; Christine Jenkins; Tom Klatt; Kate Parkin; Stan Klich; Travis West; and, of course, Eddie.
And a special thanks to my daughter, Helen, and her junior high school friends (bffs) Elizabeth, Claire, and Amelia for translating my English words into … OMG! … proper texting language.
Toronto
January 13, 2012
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ROBERT ROTENBERG is a criminal lawyer in Toronto, where he lives with his family. Stray Bullets is his third novel. Visit www.robertrotenberg.com.
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In The Guilty Plea and Old City Hall, critically acclaimed author Robert Rotenberg created gripping page-turners that captured audiences in Canada and around the world. Rotenberg’s bestsellers do for Toronto what Ian Rankin has done for Edinburgh and Michael Connelly for Los Angeles.
In Stray Bullets, Rotenberg takes the reader to a snowy November evening. Outside a busy downtown doughnut shop, gunshots ring out and a young boy is critically hurt. Soon Detective Ari Greene is on scene. How many shots were fired? How many guns? How many witnesses?
With grieving parents and a city hungry for justice, the pressure is on to convict the man accused of this horrible crime. Against this tidal wave of indignation, defense counsel Nancy Parish finds herself defending her oldest and most difficult client.
But does anyone know the whole story?
Stray Bullets is Robert Rotenberg’s third intricate mystery set on the streets and in the courtrooms of Toronto.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Rotenberg is a criminal lawyer in Toronto, where he lives with his family. Stray Bullets is his third novel.
Visit his website: www.robertrotenberg.com.
Follow Robert on Twitter @robertrotenberg.
Keep up with Robert at Facebook/robertrotenberg.
Stray Bullets Page 32