The Lawyer's Lawyer (17 page)

R
on had been banging on the condo door for almost five minutes before he decided to use his key and just open it. He’d been
calling Jack for hours before that to no avail so he decided to drive over. Jack’s car was outside, but he wouldn’t answer
the door. Ron was worried. He’d heard the news about Sam Jeffries’s daughter—it was everywhere now—and he knew that Jack would take it hard.

Once in the apartment he looked around but didn’t see anybody. The place was a little bit of a mess but not too bad. Ron spied
two bottles of Jack Daniel’s side by side on the kitchen counter.

“Jack, are you here?”

No answer.

He checked out the two bedrooms and the bathroom. Nobody.

“C’mon Jack, where the hell are you?” Ron yelled, knowing that Jack could have gone out for a run or a bike ride or a plain
old walk. It just didn’t seem like he would after getting this news though. And the bottles of Jack Daniel’s were a pretty
good indicator that he was temporarily off his training regimen. Then Ron saw the curtain fluttering by the open sliding glass
door leading out to the patio. He headed that way. Jack was sitting outside, a cigar in his right hand, an empty shot glass
on the table in front of him, and a half-full bottle of Miller Lite in his left hand.

It was a tall table with tall chairs, and Ron’s first thought was that Jack looked so unstable that he might fall off his
chair.

“Jack, didn’t you hear me calling you?”

Jack ignored the question. “Sit down, Ronnie.” He slurred the words. “No, better yet, why don’t you walk out to the kitchen
and get the full bottle of Jack and a couple of beers from the refrigerator. I’d do it myself but I’m a little under the weather
right now.”

Ron figured it wasn’t the right time for a lecture, and if he wanted to get Jack to open up and let the poison out, he was
going to have to sit with him for a while and share a drink or two. Jack would eventually tell him, he knew that. He only
hoped he had the right answers when the discussion started. His friend needed help but he wasn’t in the right frame of mind
to listen. Ron had to get through to him somehow.

In the meantime, he headed for the kitchen to get the beer and the whiskey.

A couple of beers and one shot later, the real discussion began.

“Did you ever make a monumental mistake, Ronnie? One you didn’t think you’d recover from?”

“Tons of ’em.”

“I’m not talking about failed businesses and shit like that. I’m talking about something that goes to your core, that affects
who you are.”

“I know what you’re talking about, Jack. I left my first wife and my son. He grew up without me around. That was a fundamental,
monumental fuckup that I still regret to this day.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I can’t change it. I just have to go on and I have to make up for it in some way with the people I meet. I have to give more
of myself because I didn’t in the past.”

“That’s it?”

“I tried to make it up to my son but he resented me. We’re a little better now but it’ll never be great. At least I’m still
here. At least I can help him if he needs it.”

“I don’t have that option. I caused a woman to lose her life and her father to lose his daughter after already losing his
wife. How do you remedy that?”

“You didn’t cause anybody to lose their life, Jack. You represented a man who you believed was innocent. Apache County set
him free, for Christ’s sake, not you. They could have prosecuted him for that attempted murder. A judge could have put him
away for another twenty-five years but the county chose not to do so.”

“I represented a serial killer, Ronnie.” Jack leaned over the table until his face was almost in Ron’s. He started to fall
off his chair. Ron caught him and straightened him back up. He kept talking as if he hadn’t noticed what had happened. “Danni
told me not to do it. She told me I was getting into something I knew nothing about. I refused to listen.”

“Think about all the people you’ve helped, Jack, because you didn’t prejudge, you didn’t listen to anybody—you relied only
on the facts. You’re not perfect, my friend. You were bound to make a mistake. If there weren’t people like you, Jack, a lot
of innocent folks would have been executed.”

“You don’t understand, Ronnie. This was a serial killer.” He leaned in and almost toppled over again. Ron knew it wouldn’t
be long before he was sleeping it off.

“I’m sure I don’t understand, Jack. It was an awesome responsibility. But it’s over. You need to find a purpose again. Maybe
you won’t be able to do this death row stuff for a while, but you can do something for the greater good. Something worthwhile.
That’s who you are. Wasn’t it you who told me you have to give back to the universe to even things out?”

“Don’t hit me with that garbage now. And you’re still not getting it. I’m not talking about responsibility, I’m talking about
arrogance. Why did I think I was smarter than the people who put this guy away?”

“I’m sure you had your reasons, and they were good reasons. I’ve met a lot of arrogant bastards in my time and you’re not
one of them. You’re the opposite of that.”

Just then the front doorbell rang.
The doorbell
, Ron thought to himself.
Why didn’t I think of that?
He knew the answer. He’d knocked on doors his whole life. There weren’t any tenement apartments in New York with doorbells.

“I’ll get it,” Ron said.

“No, no, I’ll get it,” Jack said as he once again almost fell off the chair.

“Then I’ll go with you,” Ron said as he caught Jack on his right side and steadied him. Together they went to the front door.
Ron opened it to find two Oakville police officers standing there.

“Officers, can I help you?” Jack said.

“Are you Jack Tobin?”

“In the flesh.”

It was apparent to the two cops that Jack was drunk since he was swaying back and forth, and Ron was still holding his right
arm.

“We have been asked to give you a message by Assistant Chief Martin. He says to tell you that you might want to go back home,”
one of the officers said.

“What did he mean by that statement?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know,” the same cop answered.

The other cop spoke for the first time. “A lot of people in this town are angry about what happened and they blame him,” he
said, pointing at Jack.

That explanation didn’t make a lot of sense to Ron. Cops coming to give a message to somebody to get out of town because the
town folk were angry. It sounded like a scene from an old Western.

“Where’s Sam Jeffries? Why didn’t he tell you to deliver the message?” Ron asked.

“Nobody’s seen him since he got the news. I was the one who told him. He didn’t take it well,” the officer who had spoken
first told Ron.

“What do you mean nobody’s seen him? Is he home?”

“No sir,” the first cop continued. “His son is looking for him, too. Assistant Chief Martin is very concerned.”

“Maybe he’s in Miami making funeral arrangements.”

“No, sir. The son took care of that. They’re shipping the body here for the funeral and the burial.”

So that was it. They weren’t worried about Jack. They were worried that Sam Jeffries might kill Jack. At least that made sense.

“Would you give Chief Jeffries my apologies?” Jack muttered. “Tell him I’m going to kill that son-of-a-bitch client of mine
myself.”

“I wouldn’t be making statements like that if I were you, Mr. Tobin,” the second cop said.

To Ron’s relief, Jack didn’t answer. Jack didn’t need to be making any more statements to the police in his current condition.
Ron needed to end this conversation.

“Thank you, officers,” he said. “And thank Assistant Chief Martin for his concern. I can assure you Jack will be relocating
based on his advice.”

Ron politely but firmly closed the door.

“What was that about? I’m not relocating,” Jack said.

“I think you should. That was about Assistant Chief Martin telling you in a very subtle way that Sam Jeffries is temporarily
out of his mind and that he may come looking for you.”

“He should.”

“Come on, Jack, stop that nonsense. Look, I’ve got another condo about two miles from here on the east side of town. It’s
fully furnished. You just need to take your clothes. Why don’t we do that right now.”

“Okay,” Jack said to Ron’s complete surprise. He’d expected an argument. “I need a change of scenery anyway,” Jack continued,
still slurring his words.

“I’ll drive you over,” Ron said. “And I’ll pick you up in the morning and drive you to get your car.”

It was an excuse to check on him the next morning.

T
wo days after she returned from Boulder and a day before the funeral of Kathleen Jeffries, Danni received a surprise guest
at her home. She opened the door and there stood Sam Jeffries, rumpled and disheveled with at least a three days’ growth on
his face, maybe more.

“Sam, come on in.” She gave him a long hug after he entered the house. “I’m so sorry for your troubles, Sam.”

“Thanks, Danni. You know the funeral is tomorrow.”

“Yeah, they called me from the station and told me. That’s pretty quick.”

“I want it over with. I’ve got things to do.”

“Why don’t you come in and sit down, Sam. I’ll get you some coffee.”

“Thanks.”

Danni had an intimate little table for two in her kitchen. They sat there to drink their coffee.

“How are you doing?” she asked, knowing at least part of the answer. Sam’s hands were shaking, which told her he’d been doing
what cops did in times of trouble—drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

“Well, you don’t need to take my guns if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve had my moments but now I’m focused.”

Danni was pretty sure she knew what he was focused on, but she felt obligated to ask the question.

“On what?”

“On finding Tom Felton and killing him. I’d like to cut his fuckin’ balls off and stick them in his mouth and while he was
choking slowly slit his throat, but I want to keep my job, so I’ll have to settle for a bullet to the head or the heart, whichever
is most convenient.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’d like to do the same for your boy Tobin.”

“He’s not my boy.”

“He was at one time, Danni. You were head over heels for him. Don’t deny it.”

“What’s your point, Sam?”

“My point is that he’s a piece of shit and I’d like to spare the world his presence as well if I could get away with it.”

“Is that what you came here to tell me?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about this constantly, even when I was so drunk I could hardly move. Felton’s a smart boy. He had
ten years in a small cell to figure out there was only a small group of people that had the ability to fuck him over. He likes
to kill women so he went after my daughter first. I assume you figured this part out already.”

“I have.”

“And Hannah is safe?”

“She is.”

“That leaves you, Danni. He’s coming for you as sure as I’m sitting here. He’s not going to back off. Killing the women of
the people who fucked him, or, in your case, the woman who might have directly fucked him over, is probably the ultimate jolly
for this sick bastard.”

“Are you trying to scare the shit out of me, Sam?”

“Absolutely not. You were a homicide cop for fifteen of your twenty years. You know all this shit already. I’m here to ask
you if I can stay here at night and wait for him. You can stay here, too, if you like. I won’t be sleeping. Or you could go
to my house. I want to catch this bastard, Danni. I need to catch him.”

Danni understood the sentiment all too well. Her feelings mirrored those of Sam Jeffries although Sam’s hunger was so much
greater than her own. She would have let Sam do what he wanted but she just didn’t agree with his reasoning.

“I want you to catch him, Sam, I really do, but you can’t do it this way.”

“Why not?”

“Felton is smart—you said so yourself. You won’t be able to get in and out of this house every day without him seeing you.
He wants me alone.”

“Then I’ll stay here all the time.”

“It won’t work, Sam. He’ll know you’re here.”

Sam started rubbing his hair with his hands and then working them around to his neck. He was like a big agitated grizzly.
If Danni hadn’t known him so well, she would have been frightened. He was ready to snap. She needed to give him something.

“Where do you think he’ll come at me from?” she asked.

“The woods would be my guess.”

The street in front of Danni’s house was well lit and her home was bordered on both sides by other single-family homes. She
had a small backyard with nothing but thick woods behind it. There was a road on the other side of the woods. A person could
enter from the road and walk for a half mile or so and exit in Danni’s backyard. It was the logical place for Felton to come
from.

“I think you’re right, Sam. So if you weren’t here waiting for Felton, where would be your next best spot?”

“The road on the other side of the woods.”

“Exactly.”

“But there’s no place to set up a surveillance back there. The other side of the road is all meadow.”

“I know. The best you could do is drive by—maybe do a circle of the front of the house and back by the road. You’d have to
use unmarked cars and you’d have to change cars frequently. We don’t want to scare him away. We want him to come.”

“That’s hit or miss.”

“I know, but I’m going to be waiting for him every night, too, Sam. I’m going to sleep during the day. If a shot goes off
or if you hear anything, it’s nice to know you’ll come running.”

It was obvious Sam didn’t like that option. He was rubbing his upper arms with his hands and then rubbing his hands together.

“I don’t like it. You’re too exposed.”

Danni knew it wasn’t about her being exposed. He’d already acknowledged that she could manage the risk. Sam wanted the kill,
plain and simple.

“I could hide in the woods,” he said.

“Sam, you are a big man and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not in great shape. You wouldn’t be hiding
in the woods, you’d be telling him you’re coming—telegraphing your every move. It might be a good idea to put somebody from
the SWAT team in there, though.”

He didn’t like that option.

“I don’t want the department involved. Too many people know about this, it’ll get all fucked up.”

That wasn’t true either. Sam was the chief of police, for Christ’s sake. He could easily take a SWAT team member, give him
the assignment, and swear him to silence. He didn’t look or act like the chief of police though, sitting there at her little
kitchen table.

He looked like a troubled, unstable man.