No Team To Root For (18) "I know. The courts will have to decide that though. And that's why I've hired an attorney." "Well, I sure hope it's not Joe Calvin!" "No, Marie. It's not Joe Calvin." Boy! Calvin certainly has some reputation! "That's good." Marie paused. "What about appointments? People have been calling. What should I do?" Barrett knew his assistant was fighting back the tears. "Just put it all on hold for a while." A while? "Well --- okay --- but --- " "I have to warn you though." Barrett turned off NPR. He wasn't interested in national news right now. "When folks out there hear I've been in jail, they may think twice before coming in to see me." Barrett started to pace. "I certainly hope you're wrong. That would be simply awful." "I agree. But let's face it. People are fickle. And you know as well as I do that there is very little, if any, allegiance in this world!" He sat down on a chair. "Anyway, I have to meet my lawyer in less than an hour. As soon as I have more information, I'll call you." "Please do. And don't worry about the office. I'll take good care of it." Or what's left of it! "Thanks, Marie. Goodbye." "Goodbye, Dr. Jessop." * The Downtown Hilton was located directly in the center of Ge-rald, Ohio. It was built two and a half years ago as a part of a mammoth convention center, supported by bond revenue and individual merchants in the area. The huge lobby was plush with thick maroon carpeting and two enormous ostentatious chandeliers hanging equidistant from the middle of the ceiling. The sofas and chairs were all done with black leather upholstery and the walls were covered with red velvet. It all conveyed the ultimate in elegance! Barrett walked through the splendor into a very plain u-shaped coffee shop. It was smoky but quiet. There was a small counter in the center. The stools were occupied by casually dressed middle-aged patrons. The men wore short-sleeved shirts and Dockers. The women had on warm-ups and sneakers. They were all drinking ei-ther juice or coffee. The booths were full. He spotted his attorney sitting alone at a far corner booth reading the Gerald News and drinking black coffee. Barrett waved the eld-erly hostess away and came up to Miles. "Hello, counselor." "Hello, Barrett. Sit down. Coffee?" "Yes. And some toast." Barrett suddenly realized he was starv-ing. "Maybe some bacon and eggs." "Okay --- " "And --- hash browns." "That it?" "I think so." Barrett patted his stomach. Miles called the waiter over, who quickly took the order and left. Neither man spoke for several minutes. Miles read the paper. Bar-rett looked at Miles. The attorney broke the silence. "Nice day, huh?" "Yes. Very nice. Uh --- Miles --- " Miles looked up at Barrett. "You want to know what's next." "Yes! I want to know what's next!" Just then the waiter came over carrying a large tray with more coffee. "Fast service." said Barrett. "Microwave." answered Miles. "I can't believe that a five star hotel would use a microwave." Barrett took a bite of toast and a forkful of eggs. "Believe it, Barrett. Believe it!" Miles briefly examined his nails. "I've stayed in hotels all over the world and eaten in some of the finest restaurants anywhere. As far as I'm concerned, they are all the same." There was another short silence before Barrett said, "Talk to me, Miles." He took two large bites of his hashbrowns and a long sip of coffee. "Okay. This is it --- in a nutshell!" Miles put the paper on the seat next to him. "I'm listening." Barrett had finished his entire breakfast and Miles was only two-thirds done with his coffee. "You eat too fast." "I was hungry." He pushed his dishes aside. Now his focus of at-tention was solely on Miles. Miles took another sip of coffee. Then he spoke, weighing each word. "The next thing to happen is that the grand jury of the com-mon pleas court will convene and determine if there is to be an in-dictment, which is a formal accusation." Miles put up his finger be-fore Barrett could respond. "If there is an indictment, then an ar-raignment is set before the judge." Barrett's heart pounded in his throat. "How the hell can they in-dict me?" He began to rub his forehead. "They have no evidence." "They have your fingerprints. They have your watch --- " The at-torney leaned in toward his client. " --- which was kind enough to tell us precisely when you were at the murder scene. And we have a cleaning lady who says she saw you." Miles put down his cup and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "I wouldn't say that they have no evidence." "You're not painting a pretty picture here, Miles." Barrett looked at his hands. They were wet and shaking. "Look, Barrett. I'm being as honest with you as I can. We need to prepare for any and all possibilities." "In that case, find Aaron Claypool. Then we won't have to pre-pare for any possibilities." Miles took a deep breath. "We're working on it, Barrett." There was another long pause. "How can they indict me?" "Barrett, we're dealing with a jury. When you deal with a jury you're dealing with human emotion." Miles downed the rest of his coffee. "Anything is possible." Barrett sat back in his seat and wiped his sweaty hands on the sides of his pants. "So what happens if I'm indicted?" "That's what you have me for." Miles spoke with a strong self-assurance. "I appreciate that." Barrett absently picked up his dirty napkin, looked at it, and threw it on top of his dirty dish. "But you didn't answer my question!" "We bargain with the prosecution for a lesser charge, or we go to trial." Miles motioned to the waiter. "Miles, I did not kill Jodi Bartless!" His hands were fists. "How the hell can I bargain for a lesser charge?" "Look, Barrett, if you are innocent --- " "What do you mean --- if?" The frustrated eye doctor could feel his body heat begin to rise. "There is no --- if!" Barrett slammed his hands down on the table and leaned way in towards his attorney. "When you find Aaron fucking Claypool, you'll --- " "First of all keep your voice down!" Miles spoke quietly but firmly. "Second of all I'm not saying you're guilty. I am only point-ing out to you all of the possibilities." The waiter came over and poured more coffee into their cups, all the time looking oddly at Barrett. Then he took away the dirty dishes and left. Miles' tone became more compassionate. "This is not a hopeless situation." Then he put his hand gently on his client's arm. "Now, if there is a trial --- and I'm not saying there will be --- we'll need some people that can testify on your behalf." "Be more specific, counselor." Barrett wanted to stand up and scream at the top of his lungs. "As far as your character is concerned and as far as your where-abouts at the exact time of Jodi's death is concerned." Miles picked up his cup. "You want more coffee, Barrett?" "No, Miles!" Barrett yelled into his empty cup. Then after several minutes of silence he said, "Well --- there's Dr. Sy Marcus. Except I didn't see him until the next day. And he only knows what I told him." "Which was --- ?" prodded Miles. "That I was home in bed at the time Jodi died." Barrett's insides began doing somersaults and cartwheels again. "That's very flimsy. Hearsay evidence is not usually admissible. But if things start to get a little hairy, maybe we can use him as a character witness." "Hairy?" "A figure of speech --- you want anything else?" "No, Miles. Look --- " "You're sure you don't want more coffee?" "Positive!" Barrett was exasperated. "Why don't we call him now?" Miles leaned in across the table. "Because over the years I've had lousy results with physicians on the witness stand." He took a sip of coffee, grimacing from the heat. " Their damn egos always get in the way. And they end up being more of a hindrance than a help." "Sy isn't like that. I know you could count on him." "Bullshit! They're all the same! They have this --- this attitude problem. They pretend they care about the human race, but all they really care about is their fucking fee!" Miles sat back in his seat. "I know, Miles. But Sy is --- " "Yeah. I know! Sy is different. Well --- we'll see." Miles pushed his cup to the side. "Let's hope we don't need him." Then the attor-ney took out a small notebook and turned several pages. "Do you know a --- Lucille Napier?" Barrett shook his head. "Well, her name was in Jodi's address book." Miles put the notebook away. "She's a psychologist." "So?" Barrett shrugged. "So --- maybe she was seeing a therapist. Maybe she had some emotional problems. Maybe she was --- " "Suicidal!" Barrett finished his attorney's sentence. Miles stared at his client. "Maybe she was and maybe she wasn't." Barrett sat up quickly in his chair. He spoke elatedly. "She was suicidal!" Miles folded his hands on the table and leaned across. "Explain!" "I just remembered something. When she was a junior in high school she found out her mother died giving birth to her." Miles continued to stare. "So?" "She felt so guilty she became despondent --- suicidal in fact!" Miles paused then said quietly. "I doubt if that would cause such severe guilt." "That's what she told me, Miles. Those were her exact words." "You're certain." "Yes, I'm certain." Barrett then cleared his throat. "She told me in confidence of course." "Of course." There was another silence. "Miles, why are you looking at me like that?" Miles didn't respond. Barrett went on. "I know what you're thinking --- and you're wrong!' Miles grinned. "And just what am I thinking?" Barrett hesitated a moment before he answered. "That Jodi and I were --- closer than I'm letting on." "You said it, Barrett. I didn't." "Miles --- " The attorney put his hand up. "I'm not interested in that at this point." Then he made some notes in the notebook. "And besides, that was then. This is now." "Well --- I still think Claypool is our man. But let's pursue this suicide premise a second." Barrett licked his lips. "She's alone. The gun is on the floor next to her. What more evidence do you need?" "A little more than that." "I know, Miles, but even so --- " "Because she was despondent or even suicidal early in her life doesn't mean she was suicidal later on." Barrett sat back in his chair and folded his arms. He tried valiantly not to lose hope. Miles also sat back and rubbed his chin in deep thought for several minutes as he studied his notes. He spoke softly to himself. "So this --- " He turned some pages then stopped. " --- Lucille Napier must have been her therapist." Miles nodded to him-self. "Interesting. Very interesting." He closed the book and put it back into his pocket. "Are you going to contact her?" The waiter came over and cleared the table. "I don't see why not. I've always had good luck with psycholo-gists." Miles quickly inspected his manicure. "They try to be as ac-commodating as possible. Needless to say, this makes my job a hell of a lot easier." Barrett sat up abruptly, elated. "Miles, we've been talking about getting people to speak in my behalf." Miles shrugged. "So?" "What about me?" "What about you?" "What about putting me on the witness stand? " Miles' mouth dropped open. He started to interject, but Barrett continued. "If --- God forbid --- Claypool can't be located. Or if the suicide theory turns out to be invalid. Or if --- " Miles put up his hand to silence his overanxious client. "Barrett, haven't you forgotten one small point?" Barrett thought a moment. "What?" "None of this is definite. We may not have to go to trial." The at-torney adjusted the knot on his tie. " We are talking generalities here. Just some idle chatter." Barrett sat back, exhausted. "Miles, I hope you're right." "Let's just sit tight and not jump the gun. The grand jury will con-vene on Monday or Tuesday. When the reach their decision I'll call you. Don't worry." "I hear you, Miles. But it's my ass out there on the fucking chop-ping block!" "And my reputation --- which is maybe not as important to you as your ass. But it's of considerable importance to me!" He leaned in very close to Barrett and added, "And I'm a rotten loser!" "Your self-confidence is consoling, but --- " "No buts!" Miles stood up and smoothed out his jacket. "Let's wait until next week." He paid the check and shook hands with Barrett. "Relax! Enjoy the weekend and leave everything to me." Miles quickly left and Barrett continued to sit in the booth by himself for several minutes trying to put everything in the right per-spective. He was unable to get Janet out of his thoughts. He kept seeing her ghostly face. He kept hearing her muffled cries. "God-damn it! Why did it have to happen?" Barrett was talking out loud. "But it did! Nothing can change it! It's over! Forget it!" "Sir? Sir? --- " The voice sounded miles away. Then he thought of Jodi: Her sensuous eyes, her soft skin, her beautiful hair, her luscious lips. "Why did I ever involve her? Why couldn't I just leave well enough alone?" His uncontrolled thoughts kept jumping back and forth between Jodi and Janet. He felt as if his head would blow up. "Now what am I going to do? Shit! Shit!" "Sir? Are you all right?" asked the bewildered waiter. "What? Yes. I --- I'm okay." He felt confused and disoriented. "Please excuse me." He left the coffee shop and then the hotel. Barrett had had enough of the Hilton for one day. * XXII Barrett threw the plastic utensils and the flat empty box that had contained the frozen TV dinner into the garbage can under the sink. Then he washed out the glass and put it back in the cupboard. It was the first time he had eaten in the kitchen since he had become an instant widower last May. After he had finished, he picked up the phone and with a shaky hand dialed the number he knew from memory. It took four rings before the unfriendly voice answered. "Sheriff's office. Deputy In-gles speaking." "Sheriff Saltz, Please." "Who's calling?" The unfriendly tone became unfriendlier. "What's the difference? Just put the sheriff on!" Wrath replaced fear. "I asked --- who's calling?" Sam repeated. Barrett could feel his neck heat up. "It's Barrett Jessop. Now let me speak to --- " Sam clattered down the receiver before Barrett could finish. Dar-rell got on the line almost instantly. "Hello, Doc. I was about to call you." "Really?" Fear had returned. Barrett struggled to regain his com-posure. "Well, I just wanted to touch base to see if you found Clay-pool yet. Now I know that --- " "We found him." Barrett could feel his color go from red to white. "Or rather, we found a charred remains trapped in a car that was registered to Claypool." For several seconds Barrett stared open mouthed at the receiver. "Charred remains?" He could barely get the words out. "Doc, the body was burnt beyond recognition." Barrett remained silent. Darrell continued. "It seems a Ford Galaxy --- a green one like you said --- with Massachusetts plates was found at the bottom of a ravine about eight miles west of here. The car apparently exploded and caught fire on impact." Darrell took a breath. Barrett just listened. "Pre-liminary investigation indicates that the accident occurred several days ago." "And they just discovered it?" Barrett was dumbfounded.
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