Tim Green: The Letter Of The Law

She held her nose and gulped down a few mouthfuls of the water. It tasted as bad to her as she remembered. Scared and confused, she sat back down and exhaled a long, trembling breath. Then she heard something at the back of the cabin that brought her back to the immediate present, a door slowly opening. She jumped to her feet and tiptoed across the wood-planked floor. The hall leading to the back of the cabin was dark. At the sight of a figure moving toward her, Casey's chest tightened.

"It's me," Sales said quietly. He moved down the hall, gimping slightly from sitting for so long in the same position. "He's not coming."

"I know," she said in an unnecessary whisper. "If he was going to, he would have by now. There's no way he'd think I'd have any reason to stay here this long. I figured after the first half hour that he wasn't coming."

Sales moved through the kitchen and pushed aside a dusty curtain to peer out at the dirt road that led to his place. He let the curtain drop and then went into the great room to his gun cabinet. From the bottom drawer he withdrew a nickel-plated snub-nose.38 along with a calf holster, then returned to the kitchen.

Casey tried to bury her inner doubts for the time being. She watched Sales critically from across the breakfast bar and asked, "What's that for? You already have a gun."

"It's always good to have backup," Sales said. His boot was up on a chair now and his loose pant leg was pulled up to his knee as he strapped the holster to his leg.

"So…" Casey said as he spun the cylinder, snapped it shut, and placed it in the holster, "what's next?"

"We just keep setting you up," he said, turning his attention back to her. "Sooner or later, he's going to make a move."

"Sooner or later, as in two weeks from now? Two months?" Casey said incredulously. "I can't live like this. I've got a life…"

"Look, I don't know how long," Sales said patiently. "I don't know what to tell you. I'm as frustrated as you are. At least you had the chance to get something done in here."

Casey followed his eyes to the table where her papers were splayed and said morosely, "I wish I could say it did me some good."

Recalled to her duty, she took her cell phone from the briefcase and looked at it for the first time. It was unusual for her not to have gotten any calls.

"You'll have to use my phone," Sales told her, pointing to the countertop, where an old chocolate brown phone sat on top of the yellow pages. "Cell phones don't work out here… there's no towers."

"I was just wondering why I didn't get any calls," she said, picking up his phone. She dialed the office, looking at her watch. It was just after five, but sometimes Gina stayed late. She hung up on the answering service and dialed her voice mail. Crossing the kitchen with the phone in hand, she sat down with a pen and her yellow legal pad. The dejection of their failed attempt at trapping Lipton left her feeling foolish and slightly guilty for neglecting the clients who were counting on her. With them, at least, she knew just what to do.

Sales took out a bottle of beer from the fridge and sat down at the table to think while Casey patiently listened to and transcribed nearly two dozen messages.

"Bob Bolinger called," she said, looking up. "He says he needs to talk."

She wrote down his cell phone number but continued to listen. There were only two more messages on the machine, and she wanted to get through them before she rang up the detective. The next message was a strangely urgent plea from Gina to call someone called Kurt Lamb, who claimed to be a client but whom Casey had never heard of. When the next message came, she forgot everything that she'd heard before.

"Casey, this is Patti," came the sound of the young woman's voice over the phone. "I… I need to know what's going on. It's Professor Lipton. He's… he just called, and he's on his way over. He said you wanted him to come. I… I don't know. I'm sorry. I don't mean to overreact, but I wanted to make sure you really talked to him. Can you call me? He's coming and I don't know what to do…"

"Oh my God!" Casey exclaimed. Instantly she hung up and dialed Patti's home number. After twelve hopeless rings, she began stuffing her papers haphazardly into the briefcase.

"What happened?" Sales asked with concern. He had risen from his seat and set the beer down half empty on the table.

"We've got to go," she said in a panic. "We've got to stop him."

"Stop who?" Sales asked, grasping Casey firmly by the shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

"Lipton!" she screamed at him. "It's not me he's going after, it's Patti!"

"Your assistant?" Sales said, hurrying now with her toward the front door.

"Yes," Casey said, leaping from the porch and sprinting for her Mercedes.

Sales got in beside her and braced himself as she spun up a cloud of dust and stones backing around in the driveway. "How do you know?" he asked. "What happened?"

"She left me a message," Casey told him, her hands on the wheel in a death grip. "She said Lipton called her-that I told him to-that I'd meet him there. I called her back, but I didn't get an answer."

Sales didn't say a word. He stared grimly at the road. Casey pointed at her briefcase and instructed him to take out her cell phone.

"Bolinger left me his cell phone number and I wrote it down on that legal pad. Get it and call him."

"I can't," Sales said, "remember? There's no towers."

"When will we be in range, do you know?" she demanded.

"About five more miles, I think," he said. "When we get to the bridge."

Casey stepped on the gas even harder.

"Easy," he said. "It won't do anyone any good if you kill us."

Casey didn't hear. "He's going to kill her," she heard herself saying.

"Maybe not," he said. "Maybe we can get there, or the police, maybe Bolinger can get there."

When they got to the bridge, Sales dialed the detective's number and handed the phone to Casey. They came to the top of a hill and the Mercedes lifted nearly off the ground. Bolinger answered tiredly on the third ring. In a panicked voice, Casey explained the situation. It took several minutes to communicate through the static of the bad connection, but finally Bolinger understood. He said he'd get there as fast as he could.

"I'll get a patrol car there, too. If anyone's close, they may get there sooner than either of us," the detective said before hanging up.

Casey clapped the phone shut and tossed it over to Sales. A salty drop tickled her upper lip and she realized that tears were streaming down her face. The image of being helpless and abducted herself was fresh in her own mind. While part of her was grateful to have Sales beside her, at the same time another part of her was filled with loathing and fear that anyone could do that to another person. But more than anything, the image of Patti being harmed by Lipton at that very moment pushed her to the edge of sanity.

"How far away are we?" Sales said. He had no idea where Patti lived.

"Not far from here. She's on this side of town in Sunset Valley. Fifteen minutes, maybe ten," Casey said grimly. "We should have known…"

"How could we know?" Sales argued. Inside, he was awash with his own guilt. Lipton hadn't really been in the garage the night before. Sales had commandeered the elevator himself to scare Casey into helping him. The shots he'd fired were wasted rounds that he knew no one else would hear three levels below the ground in a garage abandoned for the weekend. While he'd never tell Casey, it was he who should have at least suspected that Lipton might be up to something else. He hadn't seen a sign of him in two days.

"But how could we have known he was going to go after Patti?" he said aloud. "She wasn't on the disk."

"But she fit his profile perfectly," Casey said bitterly. "I should have suspected it… The way he, the way he turned it on whenever he was around her at the trial, stroking her for the littlest insight. Even the tone of his voice when he spoke to her was…"