Scott Turow - Personal injuries

During the week Evon was gone, nothing happened. By Wednesday or Thursday, Stan and McManis had realized that Tuohey and his people were hunkered down, waiting to see what the G was going to do to Feaver.

After Kosic's note to Robbie was presented to her, the Chief Judge had authorized the installation of a fiber-optic camera in Kosic's office to augment the bug Alf had placed in the phone weeks before. She allowed the equipment to remain on throughout business hours, but the results were no more revealing. A couple of phone calls-one from Sherm Crowthers-were suspect, but Kosic, according to the surveillance agents patrolling the courthouse, had gone down to Crowthers' chambers for whatever talk took place there. On Wednesday, Kosic told Milacki, during a long conversation about various unserved summonses, that he'd heard that Feaver's girlfriend had left town. There was no specification how Kosic knew that, although presumably it came from Tuohey, who would have learned the news from Mort. The Presiding Judge appeared in Kosic's office once or twice, just standing in the doorway, but their exchanges were innocuous. Rollo referred to him as `Your Honor.' More significant conversations were in all likelihood reserved for home.

By Friday, Sennett had concocted a new scenario, securing McManis's agreement to make one last-ditch effort against Tuohey directly. When Evon returned to Des Moines late on Sunday from Colorado, there was a message on her machine from McManis.

"You're back in business," he told her. She caught the 7 a.m. plane Monday morning and was in Kindle by 8:30.

Amari and McManis picked her up at the airport and drove her into the Center City. At 9:30 a.m., Evon arrived in the reception area of Feaver amp; Dinnerstein, accompanied by two agents from the local field office of the FBI. She asked for Robbie again. Phyllida knew enough to realize that Evon's appearance was trouble. Over the intercom, Feaver told Phyllida to say he wasn't in, but when she relayed the message Evon removed her FBI credentials from her purse and snapped them open, as if it were a potent magic trick. Phyllida was bright, but she couldn't make any sense of it. She scooted her little castered chair back from the reception desk until she bumped into the wall behind her, placing a narrow hand, with pink polish, near her heart.

Evon swept past her, with the two agents trailing. She threw open Robbie's door and strode to the glass desk, where he was speaking on the phone. He looked miserable, worse than when she left. He was losing weight, she realized He caught himself, halfway to a smile, as she approached.

"Robert Feaver!" she called in a voice resounding throughout the office. She flashed her creds. "Special Agent DeDe Kurzweil of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is a subpoena duces tecum requiring you to appear before the Special June 1993 Grand jury on Friday, June Twenty-fifth, at 10 a.m." She threw it on his desk and turned heel. Robbie, in role, scurried behind her, spewing curses.

By eleven, he was at Rollo Kosic's office. He had no difficulty appearing haggard and frantic. I knew he'd had a horrible weekend. On Friday, Rainey, much earlier than the doctors had predicted, had lost her ability to move her right wrist enough to operate the computer mouse. For forty-eight hours, she had lain there with no ability to communicate except by blinking her eyes or tapping her fingers. By Sunday, a friend from the computer business had attached a new tracking device, laser-controlled through the movement of her eyes. Yet the period Rainey had spent locked in, without voice, had been a peek into an intolerable future. She had resolved to take no further measures to prolong her life. When he appeared on the screen in the surveillance van, where we were all watching, Robbie's anguish seemed as palpable as in Kabuki.

Kosic's office was tiny, formerly reserved for a law clerk. There were bookshelves on three sides, all empty. In Brendan's style, Kosic did not bother with a picture or memento of any kind. The many court papers he dealt with stood on either side of his desk in two neat stacks. With the benefit of hard-wiring through the phone lines, Alf was able to zoom the camera in and out via a handheld remote. Kosic was yawningly impassive when Robbie came through the door and dropped the subpoena on his desk.

But for the dates, it was the same as the document served on Robbie last September by the IRS. It asked for the records of the secret checking account at River National. While Kosic read it, Robbie said, "They know."

As always, Kosic offered no response.

"I need to talk to him, Rollo."

Kosic's eyes rolled upward, the whites prominent. "Rollo, that's where I get the cash. That account. They know. I have to talk to him."

Kosic seemed to realize he had no choice about speaking. "I don't see the point in that."

"I've got to, Rollo. I haven't told Mason shit. But I have to tell him some-thing now. This checking account looks pretty funny, with all the cash flying out of it. We've gotta figure out how I can keep Morty clean. I'm not sure anybody'll believe it if I say he didn't know where the money was going. And some of the things I might say, that wouldn't be so hot for his license anyway. I need to know what Brendan can swing over at BAD."

Rollo had shaken his head metronomically throughout Robbie's remarks.

"Barking up the wrong tree. He can't help you with that."

Feaver feigned fury. He picked the subpoena up again and threw it down. He leaned over Kosic's desk.

"This is my fucking law license. This is God knows how long in the joint with God knows whose joint up my can. I'll handle the weight, but I need help. And I need it right now, Rollo. I gotta say the right thing."

For Kosic, for Tuohey, the dilemma was exactly what McManis had described: they had to keep Robbie on the reservation, but not say or do anything that might lead to further troubles for them down the line, if Feaver didn't stand up. Rollo pondered with a finger on his lips, the bad nail revealed. He said they'd get back to him. As Robbie neared the door, Kosic finally volunteered something. "It's too bad your dick ain't a weather vane, Robbie. With all the time you spend waving it around, you would have seen this coming."

There was no further word from them for more than twenty-four hours, but on Tuesday afternoon, Milacki appeared in Robbie's reception area without warning. Feaver called Alf, hoping to get the FoxBIte upstairs instantly. Instead, Klecker told Robbie just to leave his telephone on speaker. Downstairs, Alf rolled tape and muted his end so there would be no telltale sound from Robbie's phone as it broadcast the conversation. Phyllida then showed Milacki back. Sig was impressed by the stylish furnishings.

"Is that real client skin you got there on the walls?"

"Just the Polacks. They're the only ones who believe it's a face-lift when I ask them to bend over."

Bonita had brought Sig a Coke and he excused himself after he belched.

"How's your golf game?" he asked.

"About as rusty as my clubs."

"Couple guys thought you'd like to catch an early round before work. Out at Rob Roy?" Brendan's club. "This is on the Q.T., okay? They don't open up for play until eightthirty, so these guys sneak out to number five." Milacki gave him instructions. Robbie was to park his car at the far end of-the club lot, near the maintenance shed, and then walk down a quarter of a mile or so, on a path through the Public Forest. Robbie knew the spot from childhood picnics.

"There's a little lake there?"

"Pond, right," said Milacki. "Tee off at 6 a.m."

Called to the conference room along with Stan, I heard the tape that afternoon. It sounded as if it had been recorded in a canyon.

"How'd he react when you mentioned the lake?" I asked Robbie.