Scott Pratt - An Innocent Client

“That’s it, I swear. They told him to leave. I didn’t see him again. Then a couple of days later, a bunch of policemen came to Miss Erlene’s house. She told me not to talk to any of them, so I didn’t, but one of them had a piece of paper that said I had to give him some of my hair. They tore Miss Erlene’s house all to pieces. Then they came back this morning and put me in the car and brought me down here.”

As she spoke, something kept nagging at me. It took me a few minutes to realize what it was, and when I did, I could only wonder. Sitting in front of me was one of the most beautiful young women I’d ever encountered, with a body so sexy that under normal circumstances I’d have either been aroused or, at the very least, distracted. But despite the incredible packaging, Angel didn’t emit even a whiff of sexuality. Talking to her was very much like talking to a child.

“Did the police officer ask you any questions when he arrested you?” I said.

“He tried after we got here. He took me into a room like this. But Miss Erlene told me not to say a word to him, so I didn’t. I think he’s pretty mad at me.”

Either Angel and Erlene were two of the best liars I’d ever met, or the police had made a monumental blunder. I had no love for Agent Landers — he was a dishonest, womanizing sleaze with an ego the size of a skyscraper — but the TBI was known as a top-flight investigative agency. I found it hard to believe they’d arrest someone for first-degree murder unless they had a solid case.

“Have you ever been in any kind of trouble with the law, Miss Christian? Ever been arrested for anything?”

“No.”

“Not even a traffic ticket?”

“I don’t even know how to drive.”

She started sobbing again. She seemed so helpless, so utterly incapable of violence. My heart went out to her, and I kept asking myself why. Why would she murder some stranger? What could possibly have happened that would have turned this young girl into a killer?

As I sat there wondering, she looked over the tissue at me, her eyes shining with tears, and she said, “Help me, Mr. Dillard. Please, help me.”

Suddenly, the voice I was hearing wasn’t hers. It was a voice from the past, the voice of a defenseless little girl… “Get him off of me, Joey. He’s hurting me.”

I looked at her and nodded my head.

“Okay, Miss Christian,” I said. “I’ll help you. You’ve got yourself a lawyer.”

April 26

5:05 p.m.

When I called Erlene Barlowe and told her I was in, she asked me to meet her in the parking lot behind her club. I’d never been in the place, but I’d driven by it dozens of times. I got there a little after five and backed into a spot next to a black BMW. It had been a beautiful afternoon, clear and in the low seventies. The sun was starting to drop in the western sky, but as I looked to the northeast, I could see a massive dark thundercloud rolling across the tops of the mountains. I put the window down and could smell rain.

About five minutes later, I saw Erlene come out of the back door of the club carrying a gym bag. She had changed into a zebra-striped jumpsuit that was so tight I could see every crevice in her body. She walked carefully in her heels across the gravel lot, glancing from left to right, and stopped at the window. She leaned over and dropped the gym bag in my lap.

“Everything all right?” I said. “You look a little nervous.”

“Those TBI men have been following me around for a week. Makes me kind of jumpy. Your money’s in the bag, sugar. How’s Angel?”

“Scared.”

“Poor thing. I hate the thought of her being locked up in that terrible place. You have to promise me you’ll get her out of this.”

“I’ll do everything I can.”

“It would probably be best if you leave now. You need to get that money someplace safe. We’ll talk more later.”

She blew me a kiss and I pulled out. As I drove down the road, I started thinking about what I was carrying. I’d taken some big cash fees from people accused of dealing drugs in the past, but never anything near a quarter of a million. I kept looking in the rear-view mirror to make sure nobody was following me. If Landers had any idea what was going on, it would be just like him to make up a reason to stop me, search my truck, and seize the money.

About a mile from my house, I pulled into the parking lot of a small shopping strip, locked up the truck, and went into a liquor store to buy a bottle of good champagne. I didn’t take my eyes off of the truck the entire time I was in the store. After I finished I drove toward home and pulled onto a dirt road that led into the woods just across the street from my house. I wanted to count the money, and I knew if I pulled in the driveway Rio would make such a racket that Caroline was likely to come out. With the sun dropping toward the horizon to my left, I started to count — fifty bundles of hundred-dollar bills, fifty in each bundle. It took me almost an hour, and it was all there. I couldn’t believe it. I stuffed the cash in my own gym bag and headed for the house.

I found Caroline in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher. I walked up behind her and kissed her on the ear.

“Hi, baby,” she said. “Did Rio pee on your shoe?”

“I was too quick for him today.”

“I haven’t heard from you all afternoon. How did it go with Ms. Barlowe?”

Caroline had called, but I hadn’t returned the call. At first I wasn’t sure I was going to take Angel’s case, and later I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to resist spilling the beans. I set the bottle of champagne down on the counter.

“Where’s Lilly?” I said.

Caroline looked at me slyly. “At rehearsal. Mother’s going to pick her up and take her out to eat. She won’t be back for a couple of hours.”

“Sarah?”

“A friend of hers took her to an NA meeting.”

“Good. At least she’s trying.”

Caroline looked over at the champagne. “What’s the occasion?”

“Let’s go out to the deck. We need to talk.”

“Be there in a second.”

I took a couple of champagne glasses out of the cabinet, opened the bottle, and walked out onto the deck. I put the bottle and glasses on the table and stuck the gym bag underneath. The storm was moving closer and the wind had freshened, but we still had some time. It was just getting dark. The Big Dipper was barely visible to the south, and the approaching clouds had covered the rising moon. The reflection of running lights twinkled off the lake like fireflies as pontoon and bass boats made their way up and down the channel ahead of the storm.

I lit the two oil lamps that flanked the deck and sat down just as Caroline came out. She sat across from me. I poured the champagne and looked intently at her.

“What?” she said.

“I was just lusting,” I said. “Can’t help it.”

“I‘m sure you can’t.” The dimple high in her left cheek only showed when she smiled a certain way. She was smiling that way now.

“So it went okay,” I said, “with Ms. Barlowe.”

“I saw the girl’s picture on television. She sure is pretty.”

“She’s also very nice. And there’s a very strong possibility that she’s innocent. I talked to her today.”

Caroline gasped. “You talked to her? Is that where you’ve been all day? Are you going to represent her?”

“I don’t think I have much choice.”

Caroline’s eyes lit up. I knew exactly what she was thinking.

“How much?” she said.

“What do you think a first-degree murder, maybe a death penalty case, probably my last case, is worth?”

“I don’t know.” She took a sip of champagne and leaned forward. “How much is it worth?”