it. Then, sheepishly, he took a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on.
“It’s hell getting old, isn’t it, Gerry.”
“What does it mean, ‘you were warned’?”
“You’re the detective, you tell me. All I know is I got a strange phone call the other day, and this came flying through my window as soon as I turned my lights out last night.”
Westbrook actually ventured to touch the rock, and amazingly, it did not give off a strange radioactive glow, so he picked it up.
“I did my best not to get prints on it, but you go ahead, Gerry,” I told him. “You think we’re going to dust a rock that came through your window for prints?” he asked. “Probably some kids out on a joyride who wanted to scare somebody. Tucker, stop trying to be so important that the whole police department has to stop in its tracks every time you walk in.”
“Put on a couple of pounds, and you could be the whole police department,” I noted.
This witty banter threatened to go on for hours, but luckily, Barry Dutton chose that moment to reclaim his office. He walked in and looked at Westbrook, then at me, then at Westbrook, then at the rock. Barry stopped to read the nameplate on his office door.
“This is still my office, isn’t it? I mean, I didn’t get fired while I was out, did I?”
“The police are here. Thank god,” I said.
“See?” said Barry. “And they say we’re never around when you need us.”
“Once again, I’m proven wrong,” I said.
Barry sat down behind the desk, making it necessary for Westbrook to back up toward the window. “Chief,” he said through clenched teeth.
“What’s that you’ve got in your hand, Gerry?” he asked. “A geological specimen you brought in for show and tell?”
“It’s Tucker’s, sir,” was Westbrook’s hilarious reply.
I explained the situation to Barry, and he, in police chief mode, sat quietly and listened with complete concentration. I added Abby’s theory about Preston Burke, which earned me a snarl from Westbrook.
“You could’ve told me that part,” he said.
“I was waiting for someone who might be able to help,” I countered. “No sense asking the piano tuner how Mozart composed the symphony.” Westbrook’s eyes rolled back in his head as he tried to determine if that was an insult, but he didn’t have enough time. Barry, however, was deep in thought. “You think this guy is after Abby?” he asked. “Can I see the letter she got from him?” “I asked her to fax it to you this morning,” I told him. “Marsha might have it already.” Barry picked up his phone and pushed a couple of buttons. “Marsha, did we get a fax from. . . okay, okay. Thanks.”
He found the fax at his left hand, where it had been sitting the whole time we were in the room. I’d have chided Westbrook on his keen powers of observation, but I hadn’t noticed the damn thing, either. Barry read it over, and handed it to me. The letter read:
Dear Ms. Stein: (which right away I thought was odd—if you’re threatening someone, do you address them with “Dear?” Maybe Burke was being sarcastic)
I’m writing to inform you that I have decided to hire another attorney to represent me in my case. While I’m sure that this is disappointing to a high-powered lawyer like you, it’s necessary, since I don’t believe you were always concentrating fully on my defense during the trial. We were both distracted. This was reflected in the jury’s verdict, which, as you know, I consider entirely unfair and unjust.
I intend to proceed with my appeal under the advice of my new counsel, M. Robert Monroe of Hackensack, and will have no further need for your services. Still, don’t be surprised if our paths cross again sometime soon. I look forward to seeing you.
Sincerely,
Preston Burke
“What do you think?” Barry asked. Westbrook had been trying to read over my shoulder, but his breath smelled too much of salami (even at this hour) to allow that, and I turned away. Now, he grabbed the fax out of my hand.
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “It doesn’t exactly say he’s coming to get her, but it does make that veiled threat at the end. What do you think?”
Before Barry could answer, Westbrook piped up. “It’s nothing,” he said. “The guy’s blowing smoke.”
A second or two went by. I looked at Barry Dutton. “That’s good enough for me,” I said.
“Me, too,” he nodded. “I’ll start