No Team To Root For (20) Just then a young waitress with long blond hair and a short white skirt came up to the table with two glasses of water. "I'm sorry you had to wait." she chirped. "Can I take your order?" "Just coffee." Miles answered abruptly as he gazed disconcertedly about the restaurant. "I think for a change of pace, I'll have a Belgian waffle. Can you fix me one?" "You bet." She wrote down the order. "Be right back." "Cute, huh?" said George, never taking his eyes off her. "Yeah. Cute." Miles answered absently. "Young too!" The attor-ney took a sip of his water. "We have a suite on the eighth floor. Separate bedrooms of course --- and separate baths --- as usual." He then gave George a key which was more like a credit card that slipped into a slot right above the doorknob. "George, I'm a bit tired so I think I'd like to go up to the room and take a nap." Miles stood and immediately smoothed out his pants and jacket. "My room is 810A and yours is 810B. There is a door between the rooms. And you are under no circumstances --- repeat, no circumstances --- permitted to wake me. Unless it is an emergency --- like a fire!" George only nodded. He knew the routine. "Now, George, you are certain you know what to do." It was a statement, not a question. "Yes, Miles." George took a deep breath and repeated his instruc-tions for the third time. "Good. Because it's most important." The young blond waitress returned with Miles' coffee and George's waffle. "Sorry it took so long. We had to brew a fresh pot and the chef is new." She smiled at George and sauntered away. Miles took a long sip of his coffee, gave the check to the cashier, signed his name and left. George ate his waffle which he thought was below average for a fancy hotel. But he was not a complainer and finished it in silence. As soon as he stepped outside, the private investigator looked at his watch. He knew it was time for him to go to work doing what he knew he did best. Getting things that were not available by doing things that were not possible! * During the next two days Miles and George went about doing their own personal investigation and research, keeping busy to a point that they did not see each other at all during that time. On the third day at 8:05 pm, George, wearing a silk shirt and light weight wool blazer, both compliments of Miles Garrison, re-sponded to a knock on his bedroom door and found Miles standing there in his usual three piece suit with, of course, a tie and handker-chief to match. "We haven't spoken in a couple of days, George, and I thought it would be a good idea to sort of --- touch base." He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Good idea." He led the attorney into the hallway and closed the door behind him. "Do you think we can talk over dinner?" "As a matter of fact, I did make dinner reservations tonight at 8:30." Miles consulted his Rolex. "I was hoping you hadn't eaten." "Actually, I'm starving." "Good. Let's go." "We are almost there, Miles." said George as they walked to the elevator. "And I must say I had some real doubts about this one." "Not me, George. I never for one moment had that first negative notion." They got on the slow moving elevator and went downstairs. The limo was waiting. The two men went to a five star restaurant called The Golden Globe, located on the east side of the city. It was a family run steak and seafood restaurant and had been around for fifty-six years. And even though the food was expensive, there was always a long line of patrons waiting to get in. The inside of the restaurant was oval shaped with fifteen equally spaced tables. The recessed lighting was low and the piped in mu-sic was classical. Various culinary awards and certificates of merit for outstanding cuisine covered one whole wall. The other walls displayed pictures of celebrities that had frequented the place over the years. There was a picture of Harry Truman shaking hands with the chef. Eisenhower was waving from a corner booth. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were smiling and holding hands. Ed-ward G Robinson was posing as Little Caesar. The impressive array went on and on. After a forty-five minute wait, the present owner, Godfry Withesrpoon, led Miles and George to a table near the far corner. Godfrey was tall, thin and arrogant looking. He wore a black and white tuxedo. "I hope this table is satisfactory." He produced a broad phony smile. "We take very good care of our customers." His smile got broader and phonier and he spoke as if the three men were the best of friends. "Please enjoy the food." First the busboy, all in white --- hat included, brought the water. Then a young man in a tight red vest, heavily starched white shirt, and baggy black pants took the drink order. George had a glass of Chablis and Miles had black coffee. George glanced around him quickly, then reached down to make sure his briefcase was there. "Do you have everything?" Miles asked softly. "Yes." George took a sip of water. "I think so." The man in the baggy pants brought the drinks and a short bald waiter in a dark green waistcoat and dark green pants took their order. Both men ordered prime rib and Caesars salad. The food came quickly and both men ate silently. Then the bus-boy returned to clear the table except for the water and Miles' cof-fee. "Miles, you really do know your restaurants. That was without a doubt the best damn prime rib I've ever had!" George put his nap-kin to his lips and moved his water to the side. "You said that about Elaine's in Roanoke and Armonds in Dallas and --- " "I know." George interrupted. "But this absolutely the best." "Okay." Miles laughed. "I always say --- trust me. If I pick a res-taurant it will always be the best." He finished his coffee. "That is something you never have to worry about." Then he put down his cup and looked at George. Neither spoke for several seconds. George opened his briefcase and after taking several quick and cau-tious looks around the room, gave Miles two stacks of paper. The bald waiter suddenly appeared and asked if either would like dessert. "No." said the attorney, his gaze fixed onto the papers. "Just the check please." After the waiter left, Miles wiped the table with his napkin then sat the papers down. He looked over them slowly turning each page deliberately. He nodded his head frequently. "Excellent! Excellent!" He continued to turn each page carefully. "George, you have out done yourself --- and in only four days!" "Well, I know a guy that knows a guy that --- " Miles put his hand up emulating a stop sign. "You needn't tell me your methods. How you do it is not important. That you do it is important! It 's the reason I take care of you. It's the reason I pay you so well. It's why I wine and dine you in these most outlandish establishments. Miles carefully put one stack of papers in a large envelope then folded the smaller stack, putting it in a smaller envelope. "Well, George, your job is done --- for the time being." Now he looked at the detective. "I have to go over these papers. But you can do whatever you want for the next couple of days." Miles produced a wide smile. "Relax. See the windy city. Visit the Museum of Natu-ral History or take a walk in Fairmont Park." Miles got up quickly, waved goodbye to George, paid the check and left. George remained seated at the table for a while staring after the attorney. Then he finally got up, resigned to the fact that Miles was right. He was always right. But then again, he had to be because his reputation depended upon it. The limo was parked in the same spot. George climbed into the back seat. The chauffeur immediately turned on the ignition and the engine began to purr. "Fairmont Park." said the detective, his hands clasped behind his neck. "And you don't have to rush. I've got all day." XXVII The two large file cabinets in Lucille Napier's office were an em-barrassment. They were as old as they appeared: rusted out, dented, and had handles that barely hung on. The drawers were almost im-possible to open and close. Normally the psychologist did not bother with the files or the file cabinets. That job belonged to the receptionist. But she was tired of looking at the messy overstuffed cabinets and chose this particular Monday to reorganize the files into the two new file cabinets that had been recently delivered. And, she thought, maybe doing it her-self was not such a bad idea after all. Thirty years of paperwork! She was down on all fours, her hair askew, her slacks wrinkled, her blouse half in and half out. And she was soaked with sweat. Cards and papers were scattered all over the desk and all over the floor. Something was missing --- two things actually. Both were unre-lated and both were several years old. She knew one of the items was in the top drawer and the other was at the back of the bottom drawer. "Where are they?" She spoke aloud. "Is this what you're looking for?" Miles Garrison's voice startled her. "Your secretary was not at her desk so I thought I would take the liberty of paying you a little --- social visit. May I sit down?" But he was already seated. Lucille Napier got up slowly and ran her fingers through her hair. Then she took a tissue and wiped her face. Her eyes never left Miles. "What the hell --- ?" The folder and manila envelope in Miles' hand stopped her. She stared at the folder then at the enve-lope then back at Miles. Miles calmly tossed the folder on her desk as he looked directly at the psychologist. She absently tucked in her blouse, now focusing her attention on the folder. Then she slowly opened it, gasping at its contents. "Where in God's name did you get this?" "Oh, I have a friend that is quite good at --- " "You mean someone came in here and just took it?" She was so angry she began to tremble. "I could have gotten a court order but that would have delayed things." He smiled. "This way was far superior and much easier." She could feel the veins in her neck pulsate. "How dare you! How dare you!" She threw the folder down and hit it with her fist. "You son-of-a-bitch! Get out! GET OUT!" "First of all, calm down." said the attorney softly. "Second of all, I have two other copies of Jodi Bartless' file." Miles' smile vanished and he spoke firmly. "So you better damn well listen to me!" Lucille again looked directly at Miles. She spoke through clenched teeth. "If you are trying to coerce me into testifying --- forget it! I told you once this is confidential. Court order or no court order, I will not testify. Now get out!" She leaned on the desk for support. The blood was visibly rushing to her face. Miles then threw the other envelope on the desk. Lucille did not respond. She only glared at it. "Open it up." he said. Lucille Napier continued to stare fearfully at the envelope. Miles leaned in closer to her. "I said open it up!" Lucille sat down and slowly picked up the ominous looking con-tainer. She then nervously took the papers out one at a time. But it wasn't necessary to go through them all. She knew well enough the nature of its contents. It wasn't missing any more. "I also have two copies of that!" Miles sat back and crossed his legs. "And there are numerous court documents --- not to mention some obscure newspaper clippings." "I --- I don't believe this!" A violent shudder shot through her body. "How on earth --- ?" "I told you." Miles smiled triumphantly. " I know this guy." The psychologist closed her eyes and put her face in her hands. There was a long silence. Then she slowly lowered her hands. She cleared her throat and spoke very quietly. "This happened almost thirty years ago. It --- it was my second year in practice." Her voice had a definite tremor. "I know it was a horrible mistake on my part. I'm sorry it happened. But it did --- " She took a deep breath. Her voice cracked. " --- and I paid the price. I paid dearly!" She looked fiercely at the attorney. "How long must I be reminded of it? HOW LONG?" Now she was screaming. "Lucille." He continued to speak softly. "I don't think you would want the press to get hold of this --- would you?" Lucille was si-lent. Miles went on. "Many of your patients would be upset --- to say the least, if they knew their therapist once had her license sus-pended for fondling a six year old boy." The psychologist remained silent, still looking at the large enve-lope lying on her desk. She felt as if she were in another world. Miles folded his hands under his chin and looked up at the ceiling as he continued, carefully choosing each word. "Sometimes it's difficult to find out --- certain things about peo-ple. Sometimes you just draw a blank. They are spotless. But then there are --- other times --- " "How can you be so --- merciless?" Lucille waited for a re-sponse. When she got none she went on mournfully. "I am asking you --- begging you. Don't make me go through it again." She paused to catch her breath. "I made a mistake and I paid the price. Please. Please! Let it go!" "I'm afraid I can't do that, Lucille. I told you last time that I play to win." He leaned in a bit and raised his voice. "And yes! I will use any means available to me!" "You sanctimonious bastard!" "Oh --- " Miles smiled smugly. " --- I know I will never win any popularity contests." Once again the smile vanished. "But I could-n't care less!" He continued to ignore Lucille's obvious emotional pain. "A famous football coach once said 'Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing!' And that is exactly how I practice law. My aim is to give my client the best defense I can so that victory is auto-matic." Then he spoke slower, careful to enunciate each word. "And I don't give a damn how I do it. If it's at someone's expense, that is just too bad! I want no one or nothing in my way!" The psychologist and attorney locked eyes for a viscous moment. Neither spoke. Miles broke the spell. "Your testimony can be cru-cial to our case. All I ask is that you tell the truth about Jodi Bart-less --- and maybe stretch a point here and there --- if you know what I mean." "Yes. I know what you mean!" She knew she was beaten. "She was a patient of yours. She was under therapy because she was suicidal." "Maybe she wasn't suicidal." Lucille could feel herself grasping. "Oh, but you're going to say that she was!" Miles spoke firmly and confidently. Lucille nodded before answering resignedly. "I see." "Good! Because if you co-operate you can have all copies of both files." The smug smile returned. " And you can have the court re-cords --- even the newspaper clippings. Your past is your own and this conversation never took place." "Okay, damn it! You win!" She stood up. "But after this trial is over, I don't ever want to see your disgusting self-righteous face or hear your rotten name again. Ever!" "Your subpoena will be delivered to you --- " Miles' voice was still at an even keel. " --- probably sometime tomorrow." The attorney got up quickly and as he opened the door to leave, he turned back to Lucille Napier. "Don't be too judgmental about me. You never know. One day you too might need my services." Lucille looked up and started to answer him. But she never got the chance. "Have a nice day, Lucille." And he was gone. * XXVIII July tenth was two months to the day that Janet and Jodi had died following a most bizarre set of circumstances. And except for oc-casional brief interludes, Barrett Jessop felt he had handled those traumas adequately. His eating habits were virtually un-changed, his quiet moments were unremarkable, and he slept un-usually well --- considering it was still in the spare room. But now he had a new trauma to face. He had been condemned for a crime he did not commit. How ironic. To be free from some-thing you were guilty of and to be charged and burdened with something you had nothing to do with. It felt like the emotions of a bad dream or the words from a cheap novel. The ensuing trial gave the mass media more ammunition than they could handle. The tragic story had made all of the newspapers in the area and was a regular feature of the local nightly newscasts. According to the press releases, Barrett Jessop was a middle aged professional in a small town in Ohio accused of murdering his lover, a young and beautiful librarian. They went on to say that informa-tion on both were rather sketchy at this time, but everyone should 'stay tuned' for further updates. Then the media went on to specu-late that the motive was twofold: One was to avoid a scandal that would ruin him professionally and his practice financially; The other was to keep his wife from finding out about the torrid love affair. Except his wife had died in her sleep. How unfortunate --- or fortu-nate for the eye doctor! And, as expected, no mention was made of Aaron Claypool. Why should there have been?" Barrett hid from the press as much as possible. But Miles was basking in its provocative glow. The attorney seemed to thrive on the publicity, making certain that he got his face into as many pic-tures and his quotes into as many news releases as possible. When he was interviewed on TV, he would speak in his own meticulous manner, playing the part of the ultimate lawyer as far as he could stretch it. At times it was difficult to tell what was fact and what was fabrication. "Yes." Miles would say. "I am Dr. Jessop's attorney. And I am from New York --- the big city. Ha Ha! And yes, we will emerge triumphant, as the better participant always does. And no, my client is not available for comment. That is why he has hired me to properly represent him. Isn't that what legal representation is all about in this great country of ours?" Then and whenever possible, Miles, without discussing the trial per se, would expound on his abilities and on his record as a trial lawyer. During this alien and odious time period, Barrett received all sorts of prank calls. Some would threaten to kill him claiming God had told them to. Some gave him sincere sympathy and hope, while others said he was the devil and would burn in Hell. He finally had to have his number changed to one that was unlisted. He received dozens of love letters --- from both men and women. Most of them were sealed with a kiss. The contents ranged from vague subtlety to vivid graphic detail. Barrett then had to stop opening his mail. Special duty police guarded Barrett's home and his office twenty-four hours a day to protect him from the public and the press --- and unstable minds. He went nowhere except to the office, and then it was with a plainclothes cop. If he needed anything such as toiletries or grocer-ies, Ronni or Sara would do his shopping for him. The trips to the office became frustrating and counter productive. Many patients would express vocal dismay at the prospect of hav-ing Barrett Jessop continue to be their eye doctor. "Why, I wouldn't think of ever using him again. Imagine!" Others were merely nosy onlookers who wanted to see what a 'killer optome-trist' looked like. Most, if not all, of the office visits were spent trying to evade outlandish personal questions. His patients ( or ex-patients ) seemed intent upon absorbing every detail of Bar-rett's life. And none of it had anything to do with eye care! Marie did as much screening as she could, but Barrett knew it was only a matter of time. After three weeks of insane activity and unacceptable office procedure, Barrett had to take a temporary 'va-cation'. Marie did her best to keep the office going, but Barrett knew that when he returned --- if he returned --- he would have to start all over again. How he would do it and where he would do it ( He certainly couldn't continue to practice in Patton ) he hadn't the foggiest no-tion! * Since Barrett was now confined to his house almost twenty-four hours a day, he had to make some drastic changes in his daily rou-tine. So he dug up all of his old books --- hundreds of them. Either he had never read them or he had read them so long ago he would not remember the story line. He re-read The Caine Mutiny, From Here To Eternity and Advise And Consent. He read the classics: The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, The Picture Of Dorian Gray; and Wuthering Heights. He read Dickens and Tolstoy. He purchased a three-hundred dollar stationary Schwinn bicycle which he rode every day in front of the new thirty-five inch TV --- another recent activity he tried to cultivate. He began watching daytime soap op-eras like General Hospital and One Life To Live. He watched quiz shows and talk shows. He found a cable channel that showed old movies of the thirties and forties and re-runs of old TV shows: You'll Never Get Rich; Your Show Of Shows; and Mayberry RFD. The only people Barrett stayed in touch with, besides Marie, were Sara Sharkey and Lysle Richardson. They spoke every day. After Sara and Ronni finally came over and cleaned out all of Janet's things --- clothes, toiletries and such, ( most of which ended up going either to Goodwill or The Salvation Army ) Barrett im-mediately re-organized the house giving every room what he called a 'lived in' look. Everything would be asymmetrical! No more ob-sessive neatness and compulsive perfection. The pillows would no longer lie perfectly. The towels would no longer be folded flaw-lessly. The furniture would be uneven. The statues and other acces-sories would never be equidistant from each other again. The food pantry would be re-arranged so that all of the boxes and all of the cans were intentionally mismatched. And the bathrooms would be clean --- not sterile! After Ronni and Sara removed what little clothes and other per-sonal items Barrett had in the master bedroom, he could see no valid reason for going in there --- ever again! Until he sold the house, he would continue to sleep in the spare room. He was get-ting used to it and he knew, as with every other aspect of his new life, that it was temporary, So now, with the exception of the master bedroom, the entire house was his. Totally and undisputedly his! He could do whatever he wanted in it wherever he wanted and whenever he wanted! He was his own person and living a life of seclusion. And that was exactly what he always wanted --- wasn't it? But was he secluded or was he isolated? Barrett never made the distinction. But it didn't matter. Because tomorrow his trial would begin. And the private world of Barrett Jessop would never be the same! * Barrett would guess that he slept, at the most, two hours. And he was up at 5:00 am on this --- the first day of his trial. He crept slowly out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. First he scratched his head for five minutes, as he always did. Then he stared at his hands. They were dry and steady. He shaved and showered, finishing with a dash of Old Spice. Then he put on a plain white shirt and a light weight wool suit fresh from the cleaners. A soft gray striped tie along with shiny black loafers completed the outfit. He took one final look at himself in the mirror. His hair was showing more gray, and his hairline seemed to be receding at breakneck speed. He went into the kitchen --- his kitchen --- and made a cup of in-stant coffee, which he drank in front of the TV. The news telecast lasted thirty minutes. Fifteen minutes was devoted to the 'killer op-tometrist'! At 7:30 the doorbell rang. His pulse suddenly began to race, and he couldn't catch his breath. It made him wonder if he was really as calm as he had thought. He opened the front door to find a smiling Miles Garrison standing before him. He was dressed in his usual three-piece suit, his nails shone brightly, and his slicked back hair looked perfect. A man he didn't know was at Miles' side. "You ready, Barrett?" The attorney's smile stayed intact. "I --- I guess so." Barrett opened his closet and took out a light tan topcoat, staring at the long black limousine parked in his drive-way. It reminded him of the hearse that carried Janet's body away two months ago. He tried desperately not to think of that. "You won't need that." said the other man. He also wore a three-piece suit. It was dark brown. His shirt was a tan stripe and his tie was a loud print. There was no handkerchief in his breast pocket. Barrett absently put the topcoat back in the closet. His eyes stayed riveted to the long black limo.
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