Bury the Lead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,53

issue for Daniel, if it becomes one, I’m available to help. You tell us your problems, we’ll help solve them.”

This is an impressive display of support from some pretty substantial people. It pleases me that my client is so well liked and respected by them. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, keeping things as bland as I can. Despite their offer to hear our “problems,” I’m not going to get into any specifics of the case with these people.

“There’s also something you should know,” Eliot says. “We’ve hired a private investigator to look into things. Not to get in your way . . . just a fresh pair of professional eyes. If we uncover anything helpful, it’s yours to use as you see fit.”

My initial reaction to this news is negative; it feels like an invasion of my turf and a potential annoyance. On the other hand, maybe it will turn up something. Besides, they aren’t asking for my approval.

“As long as your investigators do not claim to be representing the defense.”

Eliot nods agreeably. “Absolutely. No problem.”

“Daniel is lucky to have such good friends,” I say.

Eliot smiles a slightly condescending smile. “Let me tell you a brief story, Mr. Carpenter. My younger sister ran away from home when she was fourteen . . . left a note saying she couldn’t deal with her problems anymore. My family kept things very quiet, foolishly not wanting to confront the embarrassment. Finally, my father decided that the media could help spread the word, perhaps help find her. We didn’t know Daniel, but we knew of his reputation, so we gave him the story.”

I search my mind for a memory of this story but can’t come up with one. “Did you find her?”

His shake of the head is a sad one, as the remembered pain seems to hit him head-on. “No, but not for lack of effort on Daniel’s part. He made finding her his personal crusade, but that’s not why I remain grateful to this day. He treated the story, my sister, and our family with incredible compassion and sensitivity. No sensationalism, no grandstanding . . . just outstanding reporting by an outstanding human being. He’s been my friend ever since.”

It seems a sincere tribute and is echoed by less dramatic stories from Janice and Lenny. I finally extricate myself from the meeting by promising to keep in touch should I need their help in any way. What I don’t tell them is that their stories would qualify them as excellent character witnesses for the penalty phase of the trial. That will only come if we lose the case and are trying to avoid a death sentence.

I’m finally able to get them out the door, and I head for the meeting at my house. Laurie and Kevin are there when I arrive, and I can tell from the pained expression on Kevin’s face that Laurie’s already ordered dinner. Since we are real men who cannot survive on tofu and veggie burgers, I break out the potato chips and pretzels, and Kevin dives for them like they are life preservers floating in the ocean.

My overriding concern with this case is that it is going along too predictably, too comfortably, and that we are gliding down the path to defeat. “I’ve got to shake things up,” I say.

Kevin nods; he knows what I’m getting at and agrees. Kevin is much more conservative than I am, so if he believes that I need to shake things up, I probably should have done so already.

“What do you mean?” Laurie asks.

“It’s like when you blitz in football,” I say, and Laurie moans. “Sometimes a defense is overmatched, and it’s not the best strategy, but a blitz rattles the offense’s cage and puts a lot of pressure on. Hopefully, something good will come from that pressure. Either way, it’s better than just sitting back and letting Tucker drive down the field.”

“Exactly,” Kevin says.

“I’ve got an idea,” Laurie says. “Can we try and get through one five-minute period without you making a football reference? Can we try and intellectually elevate things a bit?”

I look at Kevin, who seems agreeable. “Sure,” I say. “Think of it in ballet terms. If everybody comes out in tutus, the audience just sits there. It’s no big deal, ’cause that’s what they expect. But dress the dancers in leather garter belts and Mickey Mouse ears, and the audience is on their toes, wondering what the hell is going on. It shakes them