Greg Iles - Turning Angel

Without preamble, Quentin Avery lifts his cane and struggles to his feet-or to his foot, I guess.

”Let me walk you to your car,“ I offer.

”No, thanks. I’ve got somebody to do that.“

Nevertheless, I accompany him to the waiting room. Avery walks with great purpose despite his limp. When we open the door, a beautiful black woman of about forty stands and starts forward.

”Is this your daughter?“ I ask, as she holds the front door open for us.

They both laugh.

”Doris is my wife,“ says Quentin, limping outside. ”Penn Cage, Doris Avery.“ He winks at me. ”Now you see why I spend so much time at home.“

”Yes, I do,“ I say awkwardly, wondering if Quentin has more sympathy for Drew than I thought. At probably thirty-five years older than his wife, he must view a separation of twenty-three years as relatively minor.

As though reading my mind, Quentin says, ”Kate Townsend was seventeen; we can’t let ourselves forget that.“

”No,“ I agree.

”Sexual battery is a statutory offense,“ he says gravely, ”and Dr. Elliott could well get thirty years for it, no matter what happens with the murder case.“

”I understand.“

” But“ -Quentin winks at me-”if any lawyer can talk a jury into a little human understanding on the issue of younger women, I’m your man.“

I can’t help but laugh. ”I’ll bet you are.“

We proceed slowly to the parking lot, Doris supporting Quentin’s right side by bracing his right arm. She looks strong, with taut calves showing beneath her skirt.

”Now that we’ve got things settled,“ Quentin says, ”I have one question for you, Penn.“

”Shoot.“

”What’s the real reason you’re not handling this case? Your friend’s life is at stake, and you’ve got the chops to defend him. I suppose you might have the good sense and detachment to realize you shouldn’t handle it, but I don’t think that’s it.“ He looks hard into my eyes. ”About the only reason I can see you giving it up is that you know he’s guilty.“

I shake my head. ”That’s not it. The truth is, I’m thinking of running for mayor myself in the special election. And if I go to war with Shad to defend Drew-and lose-I’ll lose the election, too. So…maybe the future of the town is more important to me than Drew’s fate, as terrible as that sounds.“

Quentin Avery appraises me for several moments. Then there’s a wrinkling around his eyes, a glint in his pupils, and finally his lips break open to reveal his shining white teeth. ”Boy, you’re gonna put a big old kink in Shad’s world, aren’t you? He’s gonna want to kill you before the month is out.“

Doris stops us at a shining new Mercedes and opens the passenger door.

”What do you think about me running for mayor?“ I ask.

Quentin shrugs. ”Don’t know you that well yet.“

”Fair enough. What do you think about another white mayor instead of a black one?“

The renowned lawyer chuckles and looks down into the valley of kudzu behind my father’s office. ”What I’d like to see is a good mayor. This town’s in a world of hurt, and it’s got no time for racial ideology. It’s got no time for anything but getting down to the business of business. Maybe you’re the man for the job, and maybe you ain’t. All I know is, you’re the man who put Del Payton’s killer behind bars, and that’s more than I could do back in 1968.“ He grins. ”So I’m willing to give you a look, anyway.“

Quentin climbs into the passenger seat, settles himself, then peers up at me. ”I sense you’ve got a question for me, too. Maybe more than one.“

He’s right. I want to ask him why he seemed to abandon the civil rights movement in the 1980s and ’90s to pursue personal injury and class action cases, which greatly enriched him but did little for the people he professes to love. But I don’t dare offend him. Drew can’t afford to lose a lawyer of this caliber, not with the system already aligned against him. ”I’m just trying to get my mind around all this,“ I reply, not untruthfully.

”No, you’ve got questions,“ insists Avery. ”But we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming days. After you get your confidence up, you can grill me to your heart’s content.“ He faces forward and laughs. ”Tell your daddy I’ll see him later in the week.“

Doris Avery closes the door, then takes me by the upper arm, pulls me to the rear of the Mercedes, and speaks in a low but intense voice.

”I want to make you aware of something, Mr. Cage.“

”Please call me Penn.“

”All right, Penn. Quentin’s in a lot worse shape than he pretends to be. Diabetes is a terrible disease, and it’s taken more away from him than a foot. A lot more than he’ll admit.“

Doris Avery’s eyes are wet with private pain, but she doesn’t cry. ”I’m not going to tell him not to take this case. But I’m telling you -don’t push him too hard. I’ve already got a lot fewer years to spend with him than I’d like. And he gave far too much of himself over the years to people who didn’t appreciate it to kill himself doing the same thing now.“

”I hear you, Mrs. Avery.“

She nods once, then turns and walks to the driver’s door. Then she smiles, just a little. ”You can call me Doris from now on. Good day to you.“

Driving up the curving entrance to St. Stephen’s Prep, I realize I’ve given Sonny Cross all the time I can afford. I voice-dial his cell phone as I park in front of the high school. He answers after five rings.

”Yeah?“

”It’s Penn, Sonny. It’s six p.m. I’m about to go into the board meeting. You have anything for me?“

A squawk like a muffled yell comes through my phone. A cutoff grunt follows.

”Soon,“ hisses Cross.

”Sonny? What the fuck was that?“

”Don’t know. Must be your cell phone. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.“

Something’s going down, but I don’t have time to press him on it. ”You’ve got nothing on Marko Bakic?“

”Right. As of now.“

”Don’t forget to call me.“

The St. Stephen’s boardroom looks just as it did on the night I learned Kate Townsend was dead. The ten faces gathered around the rosewood table are more than somber. It’s as though some catastrophic threat faces the entire town, and we are meeting to consider extreme responses. Holden Smith opened the meeting before I arrived, making it clear that my status in this group is now equivocal. Only the headmistress, Jan Chancellor, looks happy to see me arrive.

”Sit down, Penn,“ says Holden. ”Afraid we had to start without you.“

I sit but don’t respond.

Jan Chancellor says, ”The board has just scheduled a memorial service for Kate and Chris tomorrow.“

”Where?“

”The school gymnasium,“ says Holden. ”Chris was Methodist, but Kate was Presbyterian. And we wanted to do it during school hours. Better not to try to transport all the kids out to a church. We can do it right here.“

”Did you talk to Jenny Townsend about this?“

”I’m going to inform her as soon as the meeting’s over.“

Typical. As if the board’s decision should rule everyone else’s life. ”Okay. So why am I here?“

Holden’s voice takes on an almost feminine tone of irritation. ”The next order of business is the expulsion of Marko Bakic.“

”Expulsion and deportation,“ grunts Bill Sims. ”It’s time for that little bastard to go back where he came from.“

”On what grounds are you expelling him?“ I ask.

”They don’t really have anything specific,“ Jan informs me. ”Just a catalog of smaller infractions. Detention-type infractions.“