Bury the Lead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,41
enough on my plate. “Are you going to get her a real job?” I ask.
“I’m going to try.”
“Let me see what I can do,” I say, thereby involving myself and crowding my plate a little more.
I catch a break when Vince calls, and I mention I want to see Michael Spinelli, Linda Padilla’s campaign manager. It turns out that Vince knows him very well, which is true of pretty much everyone in the Western Hemisphere. It also turns out that Vince doesn’t like him, which is true of pretty much everyone, period. But he owes Vince a couple of favors for past press coverage, so Vince offers to set up a meeting ASAP.
In the meantime, I take a ride down to the Tara Foundation to see how things are going and to apologize for not spending more time there helping out. I want to refine the apology, making it short but meaningful, because it’s one I’m going to have to deliver many times during the course of the trial.
Willie greets me enthusiastically and updates me on the foundation’s progress. “So far this week we placed Joey, Rocky, Ripley, Sugar, Homer, Hank, Carrie, Ivy, Sophie, and Chuck,” he says.
We have a veterinarian come in twice a day, and we let her name the dogs for us. She initially got carried away by the chance to display her creativity and named the first three dogs Popcorn, Kernel, and Butter. We’ve toned her down considerably, and the names are more normal now.
I’m pleased that the dogs Willie mentioned are now safe in their new homes, but guilty that I never even got to meet Homer, Sugar, and Chuck. The only end of this partnership I am holding up is the financial, and that is the least significant.
Willie shows me pictures of the dogs with their new owners. “Man, I am good at this,” he says, an assessment with which I agree.
“Yes, you are. You send out the records?” I ask. We give the dogs all their shots and make sure they’re spayed or neutered. After someone adopts a dog, we mail them all of those records, since they need them to get a license.
“Not yet.”
I look over at Willie’s desk, or at least where his desk would be if it weren’t completely engulfed in sheets of paper. “Let me take a shot at it,” I say, and go over to try to restore order.
It is while I’m trying to find Ripley’s rabies certificate that the stroke of genius hits me. “You really can use somebody to come in and help you out,” I say, hoping that Sondra isn’t afraid of dogs.
“You mean somebody to work with me?” He shakes his head vigorously. “No way. I work alone.”
“I’m not talking about working with you. I mean working for you. You would be the boss.”
“I’d be the boss?” Clearly, I’ve piqued his interest.
I nod. “The total boss. The ruler. The kingpin. The Grand Kahuna. You could tell her what to do and when you want her to do it. Within reason.”
“You said ‘her,’” he notices. “You got someone in mind?”
“Could be. I know someone who might be perfect. But she won’t be available for about six or eight weeks.”
“Where’d she work before?” he asks.
“I think she was in the motel field. She’s also been in and out of the automotive industry.”
It doesn’t take much more to sell Willie on the idea, and I leave the foundation looking forward to receiving plaudits from Laurie for dealing so quickly and successfully with her problem.
Sometimes I even amaze myself.
• • • • •
NO MATTER WHO killed Linda Padilla, one of the many secondary effects of the crime was to take away Michael Spinelli’s meal ticket. It’s a safe bet that Spinelli, as Padilla’s campaign manager, was planning to follow her to the governor’s mansion and beyond. Her death means it’s time for him to come up with a new plan.
Vince has set up my meeting with Spinelli at Padilla campaign headquarters. I’m sure a couple of weeks ago this place was bustling with activity, but as I enter no one asks me or cares who I am. It has become an organization without a reason for being, and dejection surrounds the place like faded wallpaper. The few remaining staffers are quietly packing their things, and I ask one of them where Spinelli might be. He points to an office and returns to what he is doing.
I enter Spinelli’s office and introduce myself, which prompts an immediate and unsolicited