Phillip Margolin - Fugitive

“Did you have any trouble with the boy wonder?” she asked.

“Not a bit. He didn’t come on to me once during the trip and he didn’t tell me how fantastic he is or brag about how rich and famous he’s going to be. Actually, he kept pretty much to himself.”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Amanda said.

“Yeah, you’re right. So what have you been doing while I’ve been winning your case for you?” Kate asked. Amanda sobered instantly.

“I was at Sally Pope’s house with Dad. Senior is going to sue for custody of Kevin. Liam O’Connell wants Dad to represent him.”

“Did you get a chance to talk to Kevin about what happened when Charlie was shot?”

“Yeah. The poor kid is a mess. He was so upset I cut our talk short.”

“Could he identify anyone?”

“Kevin can say that a man killed his mother, but it was dark and the murderer wore a mask. There was one interesting thing that came out of the interview. Kevin thinks that the person who saved Charlie was black.”

Kate frowned. “There aren’t any African-Americans involved in this case, are there?”

Amanda decided to keep Charlie’s confidences about Nathan Tuazama to herself.

“No African-Americans I’m aware of,” she answered honestly.

Amanda stood up. “I’ve got to work on my other cases or I’m going to get disbarred.”

“See you later,” Kate said.

Amanda started to turn when Kate remembered something she’d meant to ask her friend.

“Say, did you do something with the photograph of Charlie and his entourage at that Dunthorpe estate seminar?” Kate said.

“What photograph?”

“Someone took a picture of Charlie and his people at the seminar in Dunthorpe; the one where he met Sally Pope.”

“I don’t remember seeing it when I went through the file but Burdett will have the original. We can get a copy if you need it.”

“No, it’s not important. I just can’t find it and it’s bugging me.”

“Sorry.”

“I probably put it in a file with a lot of other stuff and just missed it.”

“I’m sure it will turn up. See you later.”

CHARLIE’S CASE HAD come at Amanda so fast that it had dominated her practice. Unfortunately, her other cases had not disappeared and some of them required immediate attention. Amanda worked on a motion for a schoolteacher accused of possessing cocaine until hunger pangs drove her to a nearby Chinese restaurant for takeout. While she shoveled General Tso’s chicken into her mouth in a distinctly unladylike manner, Amanda read through the discovery in a securities fraud case she was handling for a stockbroker who had initially appeared to be honest and forthright but was now looking decidedly shady.

Amanda finished the discovery just as the last rays of sunlight faded behind the West Hills. She was deciding whether to call it a night or tackle another file when her cell phone rang.

“Is this Amanda Jaffe?” a man asked, slurring his words enough so Amanda had a hard time understanding him.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Karl, Karl Burdett. Thank God I caught you. I know it’s late, but we have to talk.”

Amanda frowned. The DA sounded frightened and she was certain he’d been drinking.

“Is something wrong?”

“I need legal advice. I’m in over my head. I didn’t see it until Cordova called me tonight.”

“The FBI agent?”

“You’ve got to help me.”

“Can you tell me what this is about?”

“Not over the phone. Meet me in the parking lot of the Tillamook Tavern.”

“Why there?”

“That’s where I am now. I’m afraid to go home. I’ll be in my car in the last row in the back. It’s dark. No one will see us.”

“I don’t think I can be your lawyer, Karl. We’re adversaries in Charlie’s case.”

“This concerns Charlie. That’s why I called you. Please, you have to help me.”

“Okay, Karl. Calm down. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you. Hurry.”

AS SHE DROVE to the tavern, Amanda tried to figure out why Karl Burdett would ask her for legal advice. After her father, she was the least likely person Burdett would consult if he had legal problems. Before she’d left her office, it had occurred to her that someone might be using Burdett to lure her into a trap similar to the one that had snared Charlie, so she’d slipped a handgun into her pocket. Amanda had been attacked a few times while working a case and she wasn’t going to this meeting unarmed.

The Tillamook Tavern was a squat, one-story workingman’s bar situated on a side street near an industrial park. On the same street were a rundown twenty-four-hour market with bars on its windows, which sold beer, cigarettes, and junk food, and a vacant, rubble-filled lot. Streetlights cast a pale yellow glow over one side of the bar but the only other light came from the neon sign with the tavern’s name and smaller neon signs in the narrow front windows, advertising brands of beer. There were two pickup trucks and a weather-beaten Chevy scattered around the tavern lot. Karl’s car was alone on the edge of a sea of asphalt in the last slot in the last row. When Amanda was a few rows from the DA’s car, she made out Burdett’s silhouette staring through the windshield into the darkness. Amanda parked a car length away. The DA did not look at her. She got out of her car and closed her hand around the grip of her gun. As she drew closer to Burdett’s car, Amanda noticed that the driver’s-side window was down.

“Karl?”

Burdett didn’t react. Amanda’s gut tightened. Something was wrong. She said the DA’s name again. Then she saw why Burdett hadn’t answered. He was staring straight ahead, slack-jawed, and there was a blood-rimmed bullet hole in his temple.

MIKE GREENE’S BLUE eyes were usually clear but were presently bloodshot, because he’d been awakened from a deep sleep. He parked on the street in front of the Tillamook Tavern, then walked around back, where he talked to the first officer on the scene and the forensic experts who were processing it. When he’d seen enough, he went inside the tavern and found Amanda in a booth in the rear of the bar. Sitting across from her was Billie Brewster, a slim black woman with close-cropped hair, dressed in jeans, a black Tupac Shakur memorial T-shirt, and Mercury running shoes. Billie, one of the top homicide detectives in the Portland Police Bureau, had been the investigating officer in several of Amanda’s cases and they had become good friends.

“This is a pretty extreme way of getting a date, Jaffe,” Mike said as he pulled a chair up to the booth and straddled it.

“Hey, bozo, your woman’s shook up,” Brewster said, “so can the gallows humor.”

“How are you doing?” Mike asked, suddenly serious.

“I’m okay. It’s not like I haven’t seen a dead man before. It was just a shock finding him.” Amanda shook her head. “I never liked Karl. He could be a pompous ass. But I’d never wish anything like this on him. If only I’d gotten here sooner, I might have scared off the person who shot him.”

“Or gotten yourself killed,” Brewster said.

“How did you happen to be the one who found him?” Mike asked, and Amanda told him about the phone call.

“And you have no idea what he wanted to tell you?” Greene asked when she was through.

“Only that it had something to do with Charlie Marsh.”

Amanda paused. “There is something.” She hesitated.

“Yes,” Mike prodded.

“Burdett has been acting…” She paused again. “I guess ‘weird’ is a good way to describe his behavior.”

“Weird?” Mike repeated.

Amanda told Mike and Billie about the bail hearing.

“I was really surprised when he didn’t fight Charlie’s bail and I couldn’t understand why he seemed upset when he conceded the issue. If he didn’t want Charlie out on bail all he had to do was contest my motion. What with Charlie skipping the country initially and this being a murder case, Karl would have had a good chance of convincing Judge Berkowitz to deny bail altogether.”