"Trust her, they aren't. I can smell them from here, I don't even have
to look, I can't tell you how many of these things I've gone out on. They never
"I'm sure you're right. Do this for me anyway."
I looked dubious. "Do I actually get to touch these books?"
"Take your surgical gloves along and maybe. You did keep some rubber
gloves from your police days?"
"No, but they're cheap and easy to get."
"Kinda like the women you used to run with, before me."
"That's it, I'm outta here."
She touched my hand and squeezed gently. "Poor Cliff."
She took another bite of the Roadrunner. "This really isn't half-bad, is
I shook my head and slugged some beer. "Oh, Erin, you've got to get out
more, you're working too hard, your taste buds are dying from neglect. I'll
volunteer for the restaurant detail. I promise I'll find us a place that'll
thrill your innards."
"When you get back from Paradise."
I ate, putty in her hands, but at some point I had to ask the salient
question. "So do you ever plan to tell me about this thing?"
She didn't want to, by now that was almost painfully clear. "Take your
time," I said soothingly. "I've got nothing on my plate, we could sit
here for days."
"The defendant's name..." She swallowed hard, as if the name alone
could hurt. "Laura Marshall. Her name is Laura. She's accused of killing
her husband. She wants me to defend her, but I've got two cases coming up
back-to-back. Even if I took her on, which is far from certain anyway, I
couldn't get out there until sometime next month. That's it in a nutshell."
"I thought you said she had an attorney."
"He's her attorney of the moment. He sounds very competent, but he's
never done a case like this."
She gave me a look that said, That's it, Janeway, that's all there is.
"Well," I said cautiously, "can we break open that nutshell
just a little?"
I waited and finally I gave her my stupid look. "What is it you want me
to do, Erin? This isn't just an appraisal job. I get the feeling it's something
"Maybe you could talk to her while you're there. Take a look at her
"I could do that. I'm sure you don't want me to advise her. The last
time I looked, my law degree was damned near nonexistent."
"Go down, talk to her, report back to me. You don't need a law degree
for that. Just lots of attitude."
"That, I can muster. In fact I'm getting some right now. So tell me
"I'd rather have you discover it as you go along."
A long, ripe moment followed that declaration.
"She'll tell you the details," Erin said. "And by the way, I
pay top rates."
"So now you're bribing me. Is this what we've come to?" I gave her
a small headshake. "Something's going on here. This isn't just some yahoo
case that dropped on your head. It's more than that."
She stonewalled me across the table.
"Isn't it?" I said.
"She was my best friend in college. In fact, we go back to
"We haven't seen each other in years..."
"No, Counselor, what that is, is bad-lawyer bafflegab. Tommyrot, bushwa,
caca, bunkum, and a cheap oil change. Not to mention piffle and baloney."
"Old oil sludge," I said. "Remember those ads? Dirty sludge,
gummy rings, sticky valves, blackie carbon. And a bad Roadrunner burrito."
She laughed. "Are you all through?"
"Hell no I'm not through. Help me out just a little here. Make at least
some sorry stab at giving me a straight answer."
"Marshall was the first great love of my life. Is that straight enough
A Man Called Intrepid author dies aged 89(Dec 03 2013) William Stevenson, a journalist and author who drew on his close ties with intelligence sources to write two best-selling books in the 1970s, A Man Called...