Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

“Have we met?” he asked.

She said, “I don’t think so,” but that was before she gave him a closer look. “Wait a minute. I think...” And then her face broke into a nervous grin. “Oh my, I do remember.”

He grinned slyly at her. “Okay, maybe you should fill me in.”

But she shook her head, as though she suddenly realized she was wrong. “No, no, I’m mistaken,” she said. “We haven’t met.”

“Maybe not met, officially, but I do recognize you,” he said.

“No, really, I—”

He snapped his fingers with his free hand. “I know now.” He smiled. “At my trial. You’re the court stenographer.”

Caroline swallowed, hard. “Um, that’s, I think that’s possible.” She laughed nervously. “I do believe I remember you.”

She remembered everything about him. Especially the part where he had winked at her during the proceedings. The small, electric thrill it had given her.

But Caroline wasn’t quite feeling that now. Right now she was feeling more like she might lose control of her bladder.

This man was a killer.

“I’m sorry,” the man said as if reading her thoughts. “I’ve made you ill at ease. That wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s just not every day you meet—”

She stopped herself.

The man smiled. “A hired killer? You do recall that I was acquitted, don’t you?”

“Of course, yes, I remember,” Caroline said. “I suppose I should offer congratulations? I mean, it’s a little late, and it really wouldn’t have been appropriate to say anything at the time.”

He said, “There’s a void for Hallmark to fill. ‘Congratulations on Your Acquittal.’ Or, in your case, belated congratulations.”

Caroline’s eyes were fixed on his. There was an almost hypnotic quality about them. No, that was pushing it. But the man did have a certain charm. How did you make conversation with someone who, allegedly, had been hired to kill another man’s wife?The charges were dismissed, of course. Didn’t she have to give him the benefit of the doubt? But what about that star witness who never showed up? Did Pete here have a coworker somewhere out there who’d made that person disappear?

And by the way, her recollection was not that his name was Pete, but something else. Was it Paul? Patrick? No, wait, it was something altogether different. Something French or Italian? No, not something foreign, but it was longer than most names. A name with a hard edge to it. Something like—

Broderick!

She was sure of it. So why was he telling the Starbucks barista that his name was Pete?

All those thoughts ran through her head while she pondered what to say, but it was Pete/Broderick who came to the rescue.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked her.

“Would I what?”

“Would you like to join me?”

Before she could think of a reason to say no, she said, “Sure. Why not.”

He found them an empty table in the corner, very delicately cleared away some dirty cups and, with a napkin, swept some muffin crumbs off it.

As Caroline sat down, she could feel her heart racing. What the hell am I doing? she asked herself.

This is not a good idea.

“It makes me crazy when people leave the table a mess,” he said. Having cleared away the crumbs, he was now wiping up a small coffee spill with a paper napkin. “That’s better.” He balled up the napkin and pitched it in a nearby garbage can.

He sat down across from her and smiled. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I don’t remember your name being Pete,” she said. “It’s Broderick.”

He smiled, pointed a finger at her. “Very good. Especially given all the names you must hear in any given week.”

“So why...” She pointed to the cup.

“Oh,” Broderick said, and grinned. “You’re suspecting something sinister. That I go around using a fake name. You know how much trouble baristas have with the name Broderick? Trying to write it on the paper cup? First, they’re not sure they heard you right and ask you to repeat it or spell it. Or they just scribble ‘Broad Bricks’ or, one time, ‘Broad Dick.’ I swear.”

Caroline found herself giggling.

“The other thing is, there’s not enough room on the cup to write my real name. Hence, Pete.”

Caroline nodded, satisfied. “That makes perfect sense.”

“You’re still with the courts, I assume? Writing everything down that the judge and the lawyers and the bad guys say?”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Interesting work, I’ll bet.”

“Some cases more so than others.” She paused. “Like yours.”

“Mine was a good one?”

“Uh, yeah. It sure beat the guy being sued for selling defective siding.”

He nodded knowingly. “I guess murder is slightly more titillating.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said. Or did she?

Broderick leaned in close and whispered, “If you ever get charged with murder, I highly recommend my lawyer.” He gave her arm a little squeeze.

Caroline’s heart was jackhammering. Was it excitement, or fear? She picked up her cup and said, “I really should be going.”

Broderick put his hand on her arm again and held it gently. “I’m sorry. Please stay. I apologize. I sometimes joke about what I was accused of when there’s nothing funny about it at all. A terrible thing, being accused of such a horrible crime.”

Tentatively, she said, “I guess it was lucky that that witness... changed his mind about testifying.”

“Yes,” Broderick said. “I guess he had second thoughts about lying on the stand. Perjury’s a serious offense.”

A question about what happened to that witness was on the tip of her tongue, but she decided against asking it. Instead, she asked, “So, what... what do you do now?” She laughed nervously. “I don’t mean now, as opposed to what you were accused of doing then . I mean, what do you do? What’s your job?”

“I’m a problem solver,” Broderick said.

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. If you come to me with a problem, I’ll do my best to solve it for you.”

Caroline circled the rim of her cup with her index finger. “Kind of like Denzel Washington in The Equalizer ?”

Broderick grinned, waved the question away, and asked, “You ever have problems?”

“Sure.”

“Name one.”

She had to think. She got as far as “Uh, well” and then started to laugh. “It’s too silly.”

“Go ahead.”

“The dealership won’t fix this thing that’s wrong with my car, even though it should be under warranty. The engine’s making this funny noise, and it’s stalling half the time. They say I missed a scheduled maintenance by about a hundred miles or something, which means whatever’s wrong with the car is on me. That it’s not their fault.”

“Where’d you get the car?” he asked.

She told him, and added, “But that’s probably not the kind of problem you’re talking about, is it? Give me an example of a problem you’d solve.”

Broderick thought for a moment, took a sip of his hot chocolate. “I helped in a labor negotiation one time. A furniture company, all the workers were looking to unionize and the employer felt he was being very generous with his latest offer, but the union leadership was not receptive. They were heading toward a strike, which would have been very crippling for the company. Would have hurt the workers, too. The company asked if I could intercede. I did, and everything got sorted out.”

“How did you do it?” Caroline asked.

Broderick smiled. “I simply talked to the interested parties. I find that people are actually quite reasonable when you present realistic alternatives to them. If you do this, this thing will happen. If you do that, that thing will happen. It helps when one of those choices comes with a level of... inconvenience. And if that doesn’t work, I employ other strategies.”