Phillip Margolin - Fugitive

“John Walsdorf, the club manager, and I were outside the front entrance when Charlie’s limo pulled up.”

“Before the limo arrived, did you have a conversation with Tony Rose?”

“That’s right! I forgot about that. Only it wasn’t a conversation. He wanted to talk but I didn’t. Especially not then, with the guest of honor arriving.”

“What happened?” Amanda asked.

“I told Tony I couldn’t talk to him and he left me alone.”

“Did you notice where he went?”

Sally’s brow furrowed. After a few seconds, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry. As soon as Tony walked off, Charlie’s limo pulled up. Then Arnie started causing trouble and there was the fight. I forgot all about Tony.”

“So you don’t remember seeing him after he tried to talk to you?”

“I’m pretty certain Frank asked me who I remembered seeing and where they were standing soon after I hired him. He probably made notes.”

“I’ve seen them. I wanted to get your impressions now.”

“I remember Charlie getting out of the car. There was some trouble with a man who looked like a biker. He testified at the trial, but I don’t remember his name. Then Arnie came storming up and threw the photos in my face. That’s when the fight started.”

“Did you see your husband get shot?”

Sally nodded. She looked sad. “I was watching him during the fight so I did see him get shot, but I didn’t see who did it because my eyes were on Arnie.”

“And you don’t remember who was near him?”

“Just people. It was dark, there was a lot of confusion.”

“What about the guy who looked like a biker? Did you see him?”

“Yes. He was fighting with one of the security guards. So was Charlie’s bodyguard, Delmar Epps.”

“Were you close to Mr. Epps at any time that evening?”

“I was right next to him when he got out of the limo. There was some problem with a man who opened Charlie’s door. It wasn’t his driver. I can’t remember his name. He wasn’t a witness at the trial.

“Anyway, the driver was coming around to do it, but this man walked up to the car and opened the door. Then Delmar got out and it looked like there might be trouble, so I walked over to the car to cool things down.”

“How close were you standing to Mr. Epps when you went to the car?”

“I was in front of him, almost touching.”

“Did you notice whether he was carrying a gun?”

“In his hand?”

“Anywhere on his person.”

Sally closed her eyes and concentrated. After a short time she opened her eyes and shook her head.

“I don’t remember seeing a gun, but I wasn’t really looking. He could have had a gun under his jacket.”

“What about Charlie? Where did he go when the fighting started?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t see him in a fight with anyone, but that doesn’t surprise me. Charlie was a talker, not a fighter. He wouldn’t have hit Tony if his bodyguard wasn’t right behind him. Quite honestly, I can’t imagine he would shoot someone, either.”

“Your husband had just hit him and was running toward him.”

“I know, but I just don’t think Charlie had that kind of violence in him.”

Amanda decided to spend the rest of the day reviewing the file in State v. Pope. Dennis Levy was no longer in the conference room and she thanked God for small favors. By the time she was done for the day, she was working on her third mug of coffee and everyone else in the office was gone. Mike Greene called to see if she wanted to grab a bite to eat, but she was so tired she decided that a quick dinner, a warm bath, and an early bedtime was what she needed.

Amanda ordered sushi to go at a restaurant near her office. A little before eight, she parked in her spot in the garage of a converted redbrick warehouse in Portland’s trendy Pearl District and took the elevator to her loft. It was 1,200 square feet of mostly open space with hardwood floors, high ceilings, and tall windows that gave her a view of the metal arches of the Freemont Bridge, the traffic on the Willamette River, and the snow-covered slopes of Mount St. Helens, an active volcano. Most of the art that decorated her condo had been purchased in the galleries scattered among the restaurants and coffee houses that were so easy to find in the Pearl. She loved living someplace where she could walk to work or take the trolley on days when she didn’t need her car.

Amanda opened the front door and started to punch in her alarm code. The alarm wasn’t on. She paused, her fingers over the keypad. Amanda hadn’t slept well because of the events at the courthouse. She decided that she’d probably been so tired that she’d forgotten to set the alarm when she left for work. She flipped on the lights, left the sushi on the kitchen counter, and headed toward her bedroom to change. Halfway through her living room, she froze. A slender black man was watching her from her couch.

“Not to worry, Miss Jaffe,” Nathan Tuazama said in his lilting African English. “I have no intention of hurting you.”

Amanda took a closer look at her visitor. His suit was expensive and his shoes were shined. She thought his tie might be silk. This was definitely not the attire of a cat burglar.

“I think you should explain why you broke into my apartment before I call the police,” Amanda said, keeping her voice calm while she scanned the area around her for potential weapons.

The intruder’s lips curved upward but there was something unnatural about his smile. Amanda was reminded of the rictus she’d seen on the faces of corpses in autopsy photos.

“I assure you that Charlie won’t want the police to learn of our conversation.”

Amanda pulled out her cell phone. “I just punched in a nine and a one. If I don’t get a good explanation for this break-in, I’m finishing the call.”

“Please, Miss Jaffe, sit down. I know it must be unsettling to find someone in your home but I won’t be here long and you are perfectly safe. It’s your client who should be worried.”

“If you want to talk to me about my client, I have an office and business hours.”

“Long hours, to judge from the time I’ve spent waiting for you. I’m pleased to see that Charlie has such a dedicated advocate. But let’s get to business. It’s late and you must be tired.

“I am Nathan Tuazama, the director of President Jean-Claude Baptiste’s National Education Bureau.” Amanda felt her stomach roll. “You have heard of President Baptiste?”

Amanda nodded. “Charlie’s also mentioned you.”

“I imagine he has.”

“What do you want with me?”

“President Baptiste would appreciate some assistance with a problem.”

“And that is?”

“Charlie took something that did not belong to him when he left Batanga, something that belongs to President Baptiste. If Charlie was still in Batanga I would be having this conversation with him in the basement of the executive mansion, and the problem would be solved quickly.”

Charlie had told Amanda what happened in the basement of the mansion, and it took every ounce of Amanda’s courtroom training to maintain her composure.

“Unfortunately, I am in America, so I am here to ask you, on behalf of my president, to act as our intermediary and convince Charlie to return what he has taken.”

The box! Tuazama had to be referring to the contents of Charlie’s box.

“Assuming I can get this property to you, what happens to Charlie?”

“Once I have the property, President Baptiste will have no further interest in your client,” Tuazama lied. “Charlie is an insignificant and easily forgettable individual, but he will become significant to me should he try to retain the president’s property. Tell him that. Tell Charlie that he will become someone of great interest to me if I do not get what I want. And tell him I am not a patient man when it comes to my president’s interests.”