Got the Look (31 page)

Don't fuck this up.

Jack didn't know if he meant the delivery of the ransom or whatever the future might hold for him and Mia. Either way, the answer was the same. I won't, man. I promise.

Chapter
45

Jack caught up with Mia's old lawyer in the library at the federal court of appeals building. Henry Talbridge had aged quite a bit since the videotape of the preliminary hearing, seemingly more than seven years, suggesting that perhaps his late sixties had brought some health problems. They stepped out to talk in private at the end of a long marble corridor, beneath an impressive oil-on-canvas portrait of the Honorable Thomas A. Clark, a true gentleman of a judge whom Jack remembered from his early days with the Freedom Institute. Back then, Jack would routinely file eleventh-hour requests for stays of execution, most of which were speedily (and quite correctly) denied, but there was always a glimmer of hope if Clark was on the appellate panel. Unfortunately, Jack wasn't finding Talbridge anywhere near as receptive.

Sorry, young man. I just can't talk to you about Teresa's case.

It's extremely important.

Yeah, I heard the same thing from about two dozen reporters who called my office this morning. The press has been all over me ever since the FBI issued that BOLO for Gerard Montalvo. I had to hide out here in the courthouse library to get any work done. How the heck did you find me here, anyway?

Your secretary tipped me off.

Virginia? That's a shocker. She's usually a better secret keeper than the CIA.

I'm a sole practitioner, too. And I came all the way from Miami to talk to you.

Ah, that explains it. Virginia has a soft spot for any lawyer who isn't too self-important to lick his own stamps and answer his own telephone.

So, can you answer a few questions for me? It'll just take a minute.

He seemed sympathetic, but he didn't budge. Even if I wanted to talk to you, everything she told me is protected by the attorney-client privilege.

Tell you what. It's bumping up on dinnertime. Can we sit down and talk somewhere? If I can't change your mind in less than five minutes, dinner's on me at Bone's. Jack didn't know many Atlanta restaurants, but anyone who ate steak knew Bone's.

You're on, pardner.

They drove in separate cars, and twenty minutes later they were seated at a table with Mia's sister, Cassandra. Jack had called ahead and told her to be there. Cassandra had never met her sister's lawyer before, but there was a look of recognition on the old man's face as soon as Jack made the introduction.

Goodness gracious, you sure do look like your sister.

Thank you, she said. I guess I'm pretty close to the age she was when she hired you.

They were three at a square table for four, and Jack had to shift the mixed-flower centerpiece toward the empty place setting in order to see Talbridge's face. The family resemblance is no longer quite as strong, said Jack.

I noticed.

You've seen Mia's photograph?

Yeah. The FBI showed it to me before they issued their BOLO this morning. Asked me if I thought she was Teresa.

What did you say?

Possible. Honestly, I see more resemblance between Cassandra and Teresa than between Mia and Teresa.

It doesn't matter, said Cassandra. The FBI called me this morning with the results of a DNA analysis. Teresa is definitely Mia Salazar.

The test results were news to Jack, but that explained the FBI's eagerness to issue the BOLO for Montalvo.

That's amazing, said Talbridge. All these years, I thought I'd gotten her killed with my testimony at that preliminary hearing. We were just trying to refute Montalvo's argument that she was crying rape for the money. Next thing we knew, the two of them had gone missing and - well, I don't have to tell you the story. The police never found her body, but it seemed pretty obvious what Montalvo had done.

Unfortunately, it appears that Montalvo has finally caught up with her.

Yeah, that's what I gathered from the FBI's press conference. Poor girl. Can't believe this nightmare won't end for her.

That's why we need your help.

Now, explain something for me, said Talbridge. Exactly how is it that you're involved in this, Jack?

Jack fumbled for a response. It's a little complicated.

Actually, it's quite simple, said Cassandra. Teresa made a new life for herself as Mia. She and Jack are in love, and he's doing everything he can to get her back. That includes paying her ransom.

It wasn't the whole truth - she'd left out a few little things like Mia's marriage - but Jack found her selectivity soothing. Maybe it really was that simple. Maybe that was what kept him going.

Is that true? said Talbridge. You're paying the ransom?

Jack nodded. I lined up the money today.

But isn't she married to some wealthy guy from Palm Beach?

I didn't break up the marriage, said Jack.

I wasn't accusing you, pardner. But isn't he paying a ransom?

He claims he did, but I have my doubts. In any event, it wasn't enough to get her released. I'm her last shot. I've lined up a quarter million dollars, and I'm angling for a simultaneous exchange. No Mia, no money.

Cassandra reached across the table and touched the back of the old man's hand. He's putting a lot on the line, Mr. Talbridge.

Talbridge retreated into thought, bringing his fingertips together to form a steeple. Then he checked his watch. I'm not sure you made it under your five-minute time limit, but I guess you won't be picking up the check tonight after all.

It took Jack a moment, but then he recalled their agreement - dinner was on Jack if he couldn't convince Talbridge to talk about Teresa's case in less than five minutes. So we can speak freely now?

Let me put it this way, said Talbridge. There's still a little matter of the attorney-client privilege, but I've just named you my co-counsel in the civil case of Teresa Bussori versus Gerard Montalvo.

The case that never was, said Jack.

And that never will be. But if you're putting out a ransom, I think it's time I brought you up to speed on the facts.

I'm eager to hear them, said Jack. All of them.

Chapter
46

After dinner, Jack said good-bye to Cassandra and followed Talbridge back downtown to his office. The old building was a smaller version of the famous Flatiron Building in New York, a triangular footprint situated on the south side of an X-shaped intersection. The Law Office of Henry Talbridge was on the third floor, and if you thought of the suite as pie-shaped, it was probably fair to describe the ingredients as mincemeat. There were chairs, but no place to sit, as every available surface was covered with expandable files, loose notepads, and law books. There were filing cabinets, but they were almost completely hidden behind floor-to-ceiling stacks of dusty banker's boxes, some even blocking the windows. Many appeared to have been there for years, the labels yellowed with age and the cardboard sagging beneath the weight. It was as if the box tops had curled into columns of smiles, the happiest blokes on the bottom.

I'm sure Teresa's file is here somewhere, said Talbridge. It's only seven years old.

Only? said Jack.

Yeah, I clear the place out about once a decade, whether it needs it or not.

Jack now fully understood why Talbridge had never taken on a partner in over forty years of private practice. He was an Oscar Madison who made Theo Knight look like Felix Unger. Any suggestions on where to look?

Not a clue. I'll call my secretary. Not sure how she does it, but she knows where everything is.

Talbridge scanned the room for a telephone, as if he knew it had to be somewhere in all the mess of files and papers. He gave up and dialed on his cell. It was a short conversation, punctuated by a few grunts from Talbridge's end, followed by an I'm truly sorry, Virginia. He tucked the phone away, then spoke to Jack. Virginia and I have been together forever, and it's always the same routine. Bitches me out for bothering her at home, then she calls back in five minutes with the answer. We'll just have to cool our heels for a while. You like a good cigar?

Actually, I'm not big on them. Yet another source of cultural embarrassment for this half-Cuban boy's abuela.

Talbridge lit one for himself, going through several stick matches. Don't tell my doctor.

A cloud of smoke soon filled the room, as there was no after-hours A/C to clear the air. If Talbridge's secretary didn't call back soon, it would take a good month for Jack to stop smelling like a walking Monte Cristo. So, tell me something, said Jack. Whose idea was it to make the one-dollar settlement offer at the preliminary hearing? Yours or Charlene Wright's?

He inhaled deeply, his face aglow with a cigar lover's satisfaction. Actually, it was Teresa's.

Was it ever really her intention to file a lawsuit?

She came to me because she wanted to know all her rights as a victim. Honestly, her focus was on the criminal process, mostly staying informed about the progress of the case and making sure that the DA didn't cut some sweetheart deal with the Montalvo family that ended with a slap on Gerard's wrist.

But you did talk about a civil lawsuit?

Sure we did. And there's not a damn thing wrong with a victim exercising her right to seek compensation from a rapist. If I walked up and hit you over the head with a hockey stick, you'd probably sue me, right? This isn't some joker who wants a million dollars for the emotional distress of finding no prize in his box of Cracker Jack.

But obviously she was willing to forfeit that right.

I thought it was beyond reproach when she put the one-dollar settlement offer on the table. She wanted to make it a nonissue. But Montalvo's lawyers started spinning the media just as soon as we walked out of the courthouse.

How do you mean?

Well, they tried to characterize it as purely a publicity stunt. They said the only reason we made the offer was because we knew it would never be accepted in open court. That kind of thing.

What was your response?

Talbridge examined the uneven burn on the tip of his cigar, struck another match. Nothing at first. I felt like they were just digging a deeper hole for themselves. But I was pretty quick to realize that these guys were no public relations dummies.

They had a counterattack planned, I presume.

Oh, you bet they did. But the old he-coon walks just before the light of day.

Excuse me?

Talbridge smiled, the smoldering cigar clenched between his teeth. Sorry, we southerners are full of our expressions, which of course goes hand in hand with our God-given ability to just keep on talking till we think of something to say. What I mean is that Henry Talbridge ain't no fool. I was on to Montalvo and his high-priced spinmasters. I got wind that they had a plan of their own.

A counteroffer?

Nah. The settlement was a dead letter. They was gonna have Gerard sit for a polygraph. You know, have it administered by some flunky who would give them the best results that money could buy. Then they'd run to the press and say Gerard passed a lie detector test. But I decided to beat them to the punch.

How?

I went to Charlene Wright and said let's give Teresa a polygraph.

The phone rang before Jack could follow up. Talbridge answered with an obsequious Yes, Virginia, darling. He thanked her several times, promised never to bother her again at home before hanging up. Then he said to Jack, Told you she'd call back. Help me out here, would you, pardner? Looks like we'll be digging straight to the bottom of stack D.

Talbridge led him to the conference room, which was filled with stacks of banker's boxes that looked even older than those in the reception area. Your back's gotta be stronger than mine, young man. It's that one - D-eleven - second from the bottom.

Jack unloaded two boxes at a time until they reached the right one. So, did you end up giving her a polygraph? asked Jack.

Talbridge flipped off the box top and thumbed through the files. Oh, yeah. That's what I wanted to show you. He yanked out a file, announcing, Here it is.

What's that?

Report from Teresa's polygraph examiner. Charlene and I agreed that we should use the best in the business, and we found him. Former FBI, list of references you wouldn't believe. No monkey business in his examinations. Not everyone believes in polygraphs, but even the skeptics give this guy credit.

Jack thumbed through the report, skipping the standard introductory pages about how the test was administered, where, over what period of time. He went straight to the final page - the results - and stopped cold.

She failed, Jack said in quiet disbelief.

Yup. She failed. Interesting, ain't it?

Jack was gazing in the general direction of Mia's old lawyer, but suddenly the room was a blur, a big cloud of cigar smoke. Yeah. I'd say that's interesting, all right.

Chapter
47

Jack flew back to Miami early the next morning, and Theo picked him up at the airport. Jack almost didn't recognize his friend's VW. A strange contraption was mounted on the forward section of the roof, extending out above the windshield. It appeared to be sculpted fiberglass, spanning the width of the car, about two feet high and two feet long. The design was somewhat aerodynamic, like one of those roof-mounted luggage boxes - not the whole box, however, just the nose. Jack couldn't imagine how it could enhance the looks or performance of Theo's low-riding Jetta.