Bury the Lead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,26
score over or under a certain number of points. I thought the Giants would win a high-scoring game, so I took the over.”
“Got it,” she lies.
“So it gets to the end of the game, and the Bills kicker, Scott Norwood, lines up to try a field goal. If he misses, the Giants win, but the game would stay under the number. If he makes it, the Giants lose, but it would be over the number. So if the Giants win, I lose the bet. If the Giants lose, I win the bet.”
“Andy, I think it might be time to get to the point.”
“Okay. I hated that moment. I hated being torn, rooting both ways. When I win, I want to win, no reservations. I don’t feel that way about Daniel yet. As his lawyer, I have to fight for his freedom, but I don’t know if he should be out on the street.”
“So maybe you should drop the case.”
“Maybe I should. But then maybe I shouldn’t be a defense attorney. Because that’s what defense attorneys do: We represent people that might be guilty. And only by giving them the best defense possible do we get to find out if they really are.” I’m lecturing her with condescending bullshit, and I force myself to stop.
“He’s got money. He’ll get a good lawyer. It doesn’t have to be you.”
“That’s true,” I say unconvincingly.
“But his father’s your friend.”
She is right, of course. It’s all about Vince. She can see right through me. “You make me feel naked,” I say.
She looks at her watch. “I was hoping by now you would be.” She comes over and kisses me, takes me by the hand, and starts leading me to the bedroom.
“Now, this I have no reservations about,” I say.
“What?” she asks.
“I never think about Scott Norwood when we’re making love.”
“I do,” she says.
• • • • •
MARCUS CLARK IS the most frightening human being I have ever seen. His body appears made of iron; if he should break a bone, I believe the doctor would weld it together. His bald head is so cleanly shaven I can see my cowering, wimpy, skin-and-bones, pasty-white reflection in it. But even more intimidating than his appearance is his manner, his presence. He rarely talks, and moves slowly and deliberately, yet he projects pure menace.
The notable exception to this is when he is with Laurie. When he sees her, his face lights up, or at least softens, and he sometimes even speaks in sentences upwards of three words. I have an involuntary tendency to hide behind her when he is in the room.
He’s come to my office this morning to get his assignment. Marcus is a private investigator who was very helpful taking over when Laurie was under house arrest and unable to aid in her own defense. His techniques, while I don’t really want to know the particulars, are extraordinarily effective in developing information.
Laurie, Kevin, and I are going to investigate the local murders, but I have a feeling that the murder of Daniel’s wife could factor into this case at some point. That is what I want Marcus to look into. It will mean his spending a great deal of time in Cleveland. I could send Laurie instead, but Marcus’s absence will have significantly less effect on my sex life.
“He killed his wife?” Marcus asks me.
“No, he’s our client. Our clients don’t kill people. They’re accused of it, but we brilliantly prove that they’re innocent.”
“You want me to find out who killed her?”
I nod. “In a perfect world, yes. But I’ll settle for whatever you can learn.”
“When?”
“As soon as you can. Edna’s gotten you an open plane ticket, and we’ll make a hotel reservation for you.”
“No spa,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t stay at hotels with spas. And it’s gotta be near a Taco Bell.”
“Anything else?” I ask.
“Ice machine.”
I look at Laurie, but she looks away. I’m going to have to deal with these travel issues on my own. “Right,” I say, pretending to make notes on a legal pad. “No spa . . . Taco Bell . . . ice machine . . . you want regular cubes or the kind with those holes in them?”
I’m taking a risk poking fun at Marcus, but he lets me off the hook by ignoring me. He grunts that he can leave immediately, so I hand him over to Edna to make the travel reservations.
Kevin goes off to meet the husband of Betty Simonson, the grandmother who was the killer’s