Double Indemnity, page 30
“I’m not sure that’s true.” Liz paused. “But why would Tyson Nash be at the Burnt Pine Tree Hunting Lodge and not in Atlanta?”
“I don’t know,” Elena replied. “Unless he wanted to actually see who was here before going to Atlanta. Would you like me to call and ask him?”
“Yes.” Liz thought for a moment. “Is it okay if I tell Connor that the phone belonged to your private investigator?”
“Why is that important?”
“He wants to know.”
“No.”
Liz winced. This was going to be tough to navigate with Connor.
“One other thing,” Liz said. “Did Tyson obtain a copy of the pro forma financial statement for you?”
“No, even with all the executives and support staff at the retreat, he said there were a couple of people at the office when he showed up.”
“So, he drove from Bryson to Atlanta for nothing?”
“Yes, but based on what you’ve been told by Neil, it’s no longer a secret that the company is in big trouble.”
Chapter 35
On his way out, Connor stayed in the reception area for a few minutes to talk to Becky. When he asked about her little brother, the receptionist told him the young man, who was a freshman in college, was having a lot of trouble adjusting to being away from home.
“We all know that Bo is my mama’s favorite,” Becky said. “After all, he’s the baby, and the rest of us girls all had a hand in raising him.”
The phone on Becky’s desk buzzed and she picked up the receiver.
“Yes, he’s still here.” Becky lowered the phone. “Liz wants to see you.”
“What’s going on?” Connor asked when Liz appeared.
“Let’s go to my office,” she said.
Liz’s work space had a single chair in front of her desk. She positioned herself in front of her computer monitor. A small framed photograph of Liz with a middle-aged couple rested on the corner of her desk.
“Is that your parents?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Connor picked up the photo. Liz had her father’s dark eyes and hair but shared her mother’s nose and mouth. He returned the picture to the desk. Liz was typing on her keyboard.
“Here it is,” she said. “The Fletchall Group Limited. I’ll go to their website.”
“What’s the Fletchall Group?”
“A private investigation firm.”
“Is that who Elena hired to spy on Matt?” Connor asked.
“She told you about that?”
“No, Matt mentioned it a few days before he died. I never asked Elena.”
Liz spoke. “Listen to this: ‘Due to the sensitive nature of our services, we do not list the names of our professional investigators or post photographs. Information is available upon signing a confidentiality agreement.’”
“Why do you want to show me a photo of the investigator?” Connor asked.
“To see if you recognize him.”
Connor thought for a moment. “Do you think the investigator might be the man in the video? He had a British accent. Call Elena and ask her if the person she hired fits that description.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Connor asked with a puzzled look on his face. “It’s a simple question.”
Liz simply shook her head. Taking out his phone, Connor searched for the Fletchall Group.
“They have an office in South Africa,” he said, glancing up at Liz. “That would connect with the accent of the man I encountered in the woods.”
“Please don’t say anything to Elena about this.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. But it bothers me that she didn’t want you to tell me.”
“I shouldn’t have stopped you before you left. It was just—” Liz looked down.
“You meant it when you said you wanted to help me in any way you can.”
“Yes,” Liz sighed.
Driving home from the law office, Connor received a call from Reg Bullock.
“What can you tell me?” Connor quickly asked.
“The hard drive for the computer that contained the original videos taken on the Burnt Pine Tree property crashed a few weeks ago. There’s nothing to document a date different from the one that appears on the smoker video Andy showed you earlier.”
“The computer crashed?”
“Or was damaged in a lightning storm. That computer and another one in a spare room weren’t plugged into protective strips. I know this is disappointing, Connor, but I still feel your gut instinct is right and the video has been tampered with. I’ll keep checking what I can.”
Connor took a moment to absorb the bad news. “Thanks, Reg. I appreciate that. Could you ask Andy another question? Was there a private detective on the property the day Matt died? He would have spoken with a British or South African accent. I think he may be the person who shows up in the video I took of the big buck.”
“Why don’t you call Andy? He knows I want him to cooperate with you. I’ll text his number.”
At home, Connor phoned Andy, who didn’t remember a private investigator being on the property.
“What about a man with a British accent?”
“Yes, there was a guy who worked for Daughbert Technology. I think his name was Jerry or something like that.”
“Jerome Rossi,” Connor said. “But I know he wasn’t in the video I took.”
The call ended. Frustrated, and wanting to do something physical, Connor went into his backyard and spent time pulling weeds and repairing the boards for his raised garden beds. He stayed outside until noon. Hungry, he was in the kitchen fixing a sandwich when there was a knock on his front door.
Detective Norman was standing on the stoop. He handed Connor a sheet of paper. “Connor Grantham, this is a warrant for your arrest charging you with the murder of Matthew Thompson.”
Norman read Connor his Miranda rights. Connor heard what the detective was saying but struggled to believe it applied to him.
“May I call my lawyer now?” he managed.
“After we book you at the jail. Do you have any weapons on your person?”
“No.”
“Get in the patrol car.”
* * *
Liz told Harold about her conversation with Elena.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” the senior partner asked when she finished.
Liz nodded. “That the GBI and sheriff’s department need to interview the private investigator who works for Elena and find out why he was on the Burnt Pine Tree property the day of Matt Thompson’s death.”
“You’re right, but we don’t work for a governmental agency. We work for Elena Thompson. And if Elena didn’t want you to mention anything about her private investigator to Connor Grantham, you should have followed her instructions.”
“But Connor has more reason than anyone to find out what he can about Tyson Nash,” Liz protested.
“True, but he can’t use this law firm as a source of information when it conflicts with our duty to another client. The deeper Connor is sucked into the investigation of Matt Thompson’s death, the more certain I am that we can’t represent him, even in a limited way.”
Liz’s face fell. Harold continued. “You’ve known from the beginning that if a conflict of interest arose between Elena and Connor, she had priority. We agreed to that, and it’s time to inform Connor that he needs to find another lawyer.”
“Is that what you really want to do? I’d much rather represent Connor than Elena.”
“No, that’s not possible.”
“Is this because of how much money the firm can bill Elena?”
Harold gave her a steely-eyed look. “I’m not going to react to your question as strongly as I might like to. Our decision isn’t about money, it’s about our ethical obligation to Elena. She specifically told you not to inform Connor about the investigator, and you tried to get around those instructions. There’s too much potential overlap to avoid a problem. Tell Elena what you did, and cut Connor loose.”
“What if he hires someone like Marvin Stancill?”
“This matter is settled. No further discussion.”
Liz bit her lower lip. There was nothing else she could think of to say except “Yes, sir.”
* * *
Detective Norman’s car didn’t have wire mesh between the rear seat and the front seat. As soon as Norman was behind the wheel, the detective spoke into a radio receiver. “Grantham is in custody. I’m transporting him to the jail.”
“Ten-four,” a female voice responded.
Dazed and in shock, Connor sat with his hands in his lap during the short ride to the sheriff’s department.
“I left my phone at my house,” he said when they pulled up to the rear of the building.
“You won’t need it. There’s a phone near the booking area you can use to call your lawyer.”
When the car stopped, Connor instinctively tried to open the rear door but couldn’t. Norman escorted him through a solid metal door that buzzed as they approached. They entered a hallway.
“Sit here,” the detective said, motioning to a row of five plastic chairs lined up against a yellow wall.
Across from the chairs was the booking area. Two women sat at desks with computer monitors in front of them. The older of the women came over to Connor and asked if he had identification. He took out his wallet and handed her his driver’s license.
“Empty your pockets so I can inventory your personal possessions,” she said.
All Connor had was his wallet. He’d not even locked the house. The woman put his wallet in a ziplock plastic bag and returned to her desk. A couple of minutes later she led him into the booking area. Connor sat beside her desk while she asked a series of background questions. She then took his fingerprints and told him to stand against the wall for his mug shot. The first photo was rejected because Connor’s eyes were closed.
“Open your eyes,” the woman said.
The second photo was acceptable. Connor’s heart ached at the thought that the picture would appear in the local newspaper.
“May I call my lawyer?” he asked.
“Yes, we have phones in the interview rooms. Press 9 for an outside line.”
The woman took him to a small enclosed space that contained a table and three chairs. A phone sat on one corner of the table. Connor picked up the phone and pressed 9 before realizing he didn’t have either Liz’s work or cell numbers memorized. He returned to the booking area.
“I need the number for the Pollard law firm,” he said.
The woman rattled off the phone number without having to look it up.
“Could you repeat it, please?”
She did so more slowly. Connor returned to the interview room and dialed the number. He recognized Becky Carrington’s voice.
“Becky, I need to speak to Liz. It’s urgent.”
“She’s at lunch. Would you like me to have her call you back as soon as she returns?”
“I need to reach her now. What’s her cell number? I don’t have my phone with me.”
There was a brief pause. Connor hoped Becky wouldn’t ask him why he didn’t have his cell phone. Delay was futile. Within twenty-four hours everyone in Bryson would know he was in jail. Becky came back on the line and gave him the number.
“Thanks so much,” Connor said and hung up.
There was a knock on the door of the interview room. Detective Norman entered.
“I need to take you to lock up,” the detective said.
“I’ve not yet reached my lawyer.”
Norman glanced down at his watch. “Five minutes,” he said. “No stalling.”
The petty comment infuriated Connor. In a split second he went from being numb to enraged. The detective closed the door before Connor could respond. He took a deep breath and called Liz.
* * *
Wanting to put off her conversations with Elena and Connor, Liz left the office. To distract herself, she went to her favorite salad restaurant for lunch. She was eating and scrolling through her phone when an unknown number appeared. She ignored the call and let it go to voice mail. Seconds later the same number popped up.
“Hello,” she said as she lowered her water glass.
“Liz, it’s Connor. I’ve been arrested and charged with Matt’s murder. I’m calling you from the jail.”
Liz sat back in the chair, her eyes wide. “Who arrested you? The GBI?”
“Detective Norman. I’ve not seen or heard from anyone at the GBI.”
Liz didn’t know where to start. She remembered her time serving at the public defender’s office.
“Don’t say anything or talk to anyone,” she said quickly. “Has anyone tried to interrogate you?”
“No. Norman read me my rights while we were standing on the front stoop of my house. I left without my phone, keys, everything except my wallet. I have one phone call to my lawyer. Will you talk to Harold and see what he can find out? I figure he could talk directly to the sheriff and find out why they’ve done this now.”
Liz was frantic. She had to force the words from her mouth.
“We’re not going to be able to represent you,” she said. “There was already a conflict of interest between you and Elena over the private investigator matter. And now, with you being charged with her husband’s murder, it’s impossible—”
“You’re telling me this while I’m sitting in an interview room at the jail?”
“This isn’t my choice!” Liz said so loudly that people sitting at the tables nearby turned and stared in her direction. “I want to help you!”
“I need a lawyer, not sympathy.”
Liz steadied herself. “I know, I know. Let me tell Harold what’s happened and find out what he says.”
“If you’re not my attorney, how will we communicate?”
“I’m sure there’s a way for people to talk to you at the jail. I’ll come see you no matter what. I promise.”
“I’m not going anywhere soon,” Connor said and hung up.
Chapter 36
Abandoning her food, Liz left the restaurant. She ignored Becky’s greeting and walked rapidly to Harold’s office. The senior partner was on the phone, and he lifted an index finger to his lips when she entered.
“I can’t budge off that number,” he said to the other person on the line. “And if the offer isn’t accepted within the next twenty-four hours, I’m going to pull it off the table.”
Harold listened for a few moments and nodded his head. “I’m glad we could work this out. I’ll send over the settlement documents by the end of the week.”
He lowered the receiver.
“Connor is in jail charged with Matt Thompson’s murder,” Liz said.
“Sheriff Holland sent me a courtesy text ten minutes ago. I responded that we’re no longer representing Reverend Grantham. Do you want me to break the news to Connor? I know that would be tough for you to do.”
“I just told him we had to withdraw when he called me from the jail. He asked if you could still talk to the sheriff and find out what caused them to arrest him at this time.”
“No, you and I have to back away.”
“This isn’t right!”
“And your personal feelings can’t determine what you can do as a lawyer. We’ve already been over this. It’s even clearer now that we can’t be involved.”
“Yes, yes.” Liz pressed her lips together tightly. “May I visit him at the jail?”
“As a friend. Unlike a lawyer, you won’t have unlimited access. It will be on visiting days. He’ll have to put you on the list of people he wants to see.”
“That may not happen after what I’ve done.”
Harold didn’t respond.
Liz sat silently for several moments before standing. “I’m going to call Elena and let her know that we’re no longer representing Connor and why,” she said.
“Good.”
* * *
The woman in the booking area took Connor to a cell that contained four cots. No one else was there.
“Detective Norman gave orders for you to stay here instead of placing you with the general population. A magistrate will set your bond. That could happen by tomorrow or not at all. Sometimes they don’t set bond for a murder charge.”
“When can I make another phone call?”
“There’s no set time. But you can’t abuse the privilege. I’ll check back in a couple of hours.”
The woman closed the solid metal door with a clang. The twelve-by-twelve-foot room had no windows. Connor immediately felt claustrophobic. There was a small metal sink against one wall with an open toilet beside it. Connor sat on the edge of one of the bunks. His next call would be to Reg Bullock.
He couldn’t sit still and began pacing back and forth. He was angry. The injustice of the murder charge. The abrupt way in which he’d been jerked away from his home and locked up. The abandonment by Liz and her boss. He stopped and rested his hands against the cool metal of the door, then banged the door with the right side of his fist several times. If anyone heard, no one came.
Connor wasn’t wearing a watch and without his phone he had no idea about the passage of time. He was sitting on the cot when the lock mechanism on the door clicked, and the woman from the booking area entered. She handed him a plastic drinking cup.
“I should have given you one of these,” she said. “City water comes from the sink. It’s safe.”
“May I make another phone call?” he asked.
“Not yet. I’ll be back later.”
The door closed. Connor wished he’d asked how long he’d be in the cell. He’d always liked solitude, but aloneness coupled with confinement changed it from a welcome retreat to cruel torture. He returned to the cot and tried to pray, but the words that formed in his mind weren’t escaping his head or penetrating the walls of the jail. He lay down on the cot and stared at the upper bunk. He closed his eyes and then quickly opened them. The idea of falling asleep and waking in this place was a nightmare he wanted to avoid. Without realizing it, he nodded off. He jerked awake at the sound of the door opening. He quickly swung his feet onto the concrete floor.
“You can make your phone call now,” the woman said.
“I don’t know,” Elena replied. “Unless he wanted to actually see who was here before going to Atlanta. Would you like me to call and ask him?”
“Yes.” Liz thought for a moment. “Is it okay if I tell Connor that the phone belonged to your private investigator?”
“Why is that important?”
“He wants to know.”
“No.”
Liz winced. This was going to be tough to navigate with Connor.
“One other thing,” Liz said. “Did Tyson obtain a copy of the pro forma financial statement for you?”
“No, even with all the executives and support staff at the retreat, he said there were a couple of people at the office when he showed up.”
“So, he drove from Bryson to Atlanta for nothing?”
“Yes, but based on what you’ve been told by Neil, it’s no longer a secret that the company is in big trouble.”
Chapter 35
On his way out, Connor stayed in the reception area for a few minutes to talk to Becky. When he asked about her little brother, the receptionist told him the young man, who was a freshman in college, was having a lot of trouble adjusting to being away from home.
“We all know that Bo is my mama’s favorite,” Becky said. “After all, he’s the baby, and the rest of us girls all had a hand in raising him.”
The phone on Becky’s desk buzzed and she picked up the receiver.
“Yes, he’s still here.” Becky lowered the phone. “Liz wants to see you.”
“What’s going on?” Connor asked when Liz appeared.
“Let’s go to my office,” she said.
Liz’s work space had a single chair in front of her desk. She positioned herself in front of her computer monitor. A small framed photograph of Liz with a middle-aged couple rested on the corner of her desk.
“Is that your parents?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Connor picked up the photo. Liz had her father’s dark eyes and hair but shared her mother’s nose and mouth. He returned the picture to the desk. Liz was typing on her keyboard.
“Here it is,” she said. “The Fletchall Group Limited. I’ll go to their website.”
“What’s the Fletchall Group?”
“A private investigation firm.”
“Is that who Elena hired to spy on Matt?” Connor asked.
“She told you about that?”
“No, Matt mentioned it a few days before he died. I never asked Elena.”
Liz spoke. “Listen to this: ‘Due to the sensitive nature of our services, we do not list the names of our professional investigators or post photographs. Information is available upon signing a confidentiality agreement.’”
“Why do you want to show me a photo of the investigator?” Connor asked.
“To see if you recognize him.”
Connor thought for a moment. “Do you think the investigator might be the man in the video? He had a British accent. Call Elena and ask her if the person she hired fits that description.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Connor asked with a puzzled look on his face. “It’s a simple question.”
Liz simply shook her head. Taking out his phone, Connor searched for the Fletchall Group.
“They have an office in South Africa,” he said, glancing up at Liz. “That would connect with the accent of the man I encountered in the woods.”
“Please don’t say anything to Elena about this.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. But it bothers me that she didn’t want you to tell me.”
“I shouldn’t have stopped you before you left. It was just—” Liz looked down.
“You meant it when you said you wanted to help me in any way you can.”
“Yes,” Liz sighed.
Driving home from the law office, Connor received a call from Reg Bullock.
“What can you tell me?” Connor quickly asked.
“The hard drive for the computer that contained the original videos taken on the Burnt Pine Tree property crashed a few weeks ago. There’s nothing to document a date different from the one that appears on the smoker video Andy showed you earlier.”
“The computer crashed?”
“Or was damaged in a lightning storm. That computer and another one in a spare room weren’t plugged into protective strips. I know this is disappointing, Connor, but I still feel your gut instinct is right and the video has been tampered with. I’ll keep checking what I can.”
Connor took a moment to absorb the bad news. “Thanks, Reg. I appreciate that. Could you ask Andy another question? Was there a private detective on the property the day Matt died? He would have spoken with a British or South African accent. I think he may be the person who shows up in the video I took of the big buck.”
“Why don’t you call Andy? He knows I want him to cooperate with you. I’ll text his number.”
At home, Connor phoned Andy, who didn’t remember a private investigator being on the property.
“What about a man with a British accent?”
“Yes, there was a guy who worked for Daughbert Technology. I think his name was Jerry or something like that.”
“Jerome Rossi,” Connor said. “But I know he wasn’t in the video I took.”
The call ended. Frustrated, and wanting to do something physical, Connor went into his backyard and spent time pulling weeds and repairing the boards for his raised garden beds. He stayed outside until noon. Hungry, he was in the kitchen fixing a sandwich when there was a knock on his front door.
Detective Norman was standing on the stoop. He handed Connor a sheet of paper. “Connor Grantham, this is a warrant for your arrest charging you with the murder of Matthew Thompson.”
Norman read Connor his Miranda rights. Connor heard what the detective was saying but struggled to believe it applied to him.
“May I call my lawyer now?” he managed.
“After we book you at the jail. Do you have any weapons on your person?”
“No.”
“Get in the patrol car.”
* * *
Liz told Harold about her conversation with Elena.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” the senior partner asked when she finished.
Liz nodded. “That the GBI and sheriff’s department need to interview the private investigator who works for Elena and find out why he was on the Burnt Pine Tree property the day of Matt Thompson’s death.”
“You’re right, but we don’t work for a governmental agency. We work for Elena Thompson. And if Elena didn’t want you to mention anything about her private investigator to Connor Grantham, you should have followed her instructions.”
“But Connor has more reason than anyone to find out what he can about Tyson Nash,” Liz protested.
“True, but he can’t use this law firm as a source of information when it conflicts with our duty to another client. The deeper Connor is sucked into the investigation of Matt Thompson’s death, the more certain I am that we can’t represent him, even in a limited way.”
Liz’s face fell. Harold continued. “You’ve known from the beginning that if a conflict of interest arose between Elena and Connor, she had priority. We agreed to that, and it’s time to inform Connor that he needs to find another lawyer.”
“Is that what you really want to do? I’d much rather represent Connor than Elena.”
“No, that’s not possible.”
“Is this because of how much money the firm can bill Elena?”
Harold gave her a steely-eyed look. “I’m not going to react to your question as strongly as I might like to. Our decision isn’t about money, it’s about our ethical obligation to Elena. She specifically told you not to inform Connor about the investigator, and you tried to get around those instructions. There’s too much potential overlap to avoid a problem. Tell Elena what you did, and cut Connor loose.”
“What if he hires someone like Marvin Stancill?”
“This matter is settled. No further discussion.”
Liz bit her lower lip. There was nothing else she could think of to say except “Yes, sir.”
* * *
Detective Norman’s car didn’t have wire mesh between the rear seat and the front seat. As soon as Norman was behind the wheel, the detective spoke into a radio receiver. “Grantham is in custody. I’m transporting him to the jail.”
“Ten-four,” a female voice responded.
Dazed and in shock, Connor sat with his hands in his lap during the short ride to the sheriff’s department.
“I left my phone at my house,” he said when they pulled up to the rear of the building.
“You won’t need it. There’s a phone near the booking area you can use to call your lawyer.”
When the car stopped, Connor instinctively tried to open the rear door but couldn’t. Norman escorted him through a solid metal door that buzzed as they approached. They entered a hallway.
“Sit here,” the detective said, motioning to a row of five plastic chairs lined up against a yellow wall.
Across from the chairs was the booking area. Two women sat at desks with computer monitors in front of them. The older of the women came over to Connor and asked if he had identification. He took out his wallet and handed her his driver’s license.
“Empty your pockets so I can inventory your personal possessions,” she said.
All Connor had was his wallet. He’d not even locked the house. The woman put his wallet in a ziplock plastic bag and returned to her desk. A couple of minutes later she led him into the booking area. Connor sat beside her desk while she asked a series of background questions. She then took his fingerprints and told him to stand against the wall for his mug shot. The first photo was rejected because Connor’s eyes were closed.
“Open your eyes,” the woman said.
The second photo was acceptable. Connor’s heart ached at the thought that the picture would appear in the local newspaper.
“May I call my lawyer?” he asked.
“Yes, we have phones in the interview rooms. Press 9 for an outside line.”
The woman took him to a small enclosed space that contained a table and three chairs. A phone sat on one corner of the table. Connor picked up the phone and pressed 9 before realizing he didn’t have either Liz’s work or cell numbers memorized. He returned to the booking area.
“I need the number for the Pollard law firm,” he said.
The woman rattled off the phone number without having to look it up.
“Could you repeat it, please?”
She did so more slowly. Connor returned to the interview room and dialed the number. He recognized Becky Carrington’s voice.
“Becky, I need to speak to Liz. It’s urgent.”
“She’s at lunch. Would you like me to have her call you back as soon as she returns?”
“I need to reach her now. What’s her cell number? I don’t have my phone with me.”
There was a brief pause. Connor hoped Becky wouldn’t ask him why he didn’t have his cell phone. Delay was futile. Within twenty-four hours everyone in Bryson would know he was in jail. Becky came back on the line and gave him the number.
“Thanks so much,” Connor said and hung up.
There was a knock on the door of the interview room. Detective Norman entered.
“I need to take you to lock up,” the detective said.
“I’ve not yet reached my lawyer.”
Norman glanced down at his watch. “Five minutes,” he said. “No stalling.”
The petty comment infuriated Connor. In a split second he went from being numb to enraged. The detective closed the door before Connor could respond. He took a deep breath and called Liz.
* * *
Wanting to put off her conversations with Elena and Connor, Liz left the office. To distract herself, she went to her favorite salad restaurant for lunch. She was eating and scrolling through her phone when an unknown number appeared. She ignored the call and let it go to voice mail. Seconds later the same number popped up.
“Hello,” she said as she lowered her water glass.
“Liz, it’s Connor. I’ve been arrested and charged with Matt’s murder. I’m calling you from the jail.”
Liz sat back in the chair, her eyes wide. “Who arrested you? The GBI?”
“Detective Norman. I’ve not seen or heard from anyone at the GBI.”
Liz didn’t know where to start. She remembered her time serving at the public defender’s office.
“Don’t say anything or talk to anyone,” she said quickly. “Has anyone tried to interrogate you?”
“No. Norman read me my rights while we were standing on the front stoop of my house. I left without my phone, keys, everything except my wallet. I have one phone call to my lawyer. Will you talk to Harold and see what he can find out? I figure he could talk directly to the sheriff and find out why they’ve done this now.”
Liz was frantic. She had to force the words from her mouth.
“We’re not going to be able to represent you,” she said. “There was already a conflict of interest between you and Elena over the private investigator matter. And now, with you being charged with her husband’s murder, it’s impossible—”
“You’re telling me this while I’m sitting in an interview room at the jail?”
“This isn’t my choice!” Liz said so loudly that people sitting at the tables nearby turned and stared in her direction. “I want to help you!”
“I need a lawyer, not sympathy.”
Liz steadied herself. “I know, I know. Let me tell Harold what’s happened and find out what he says.”
“If you’re not my attorney, how will we communicate?”
“I’m sure there’s a way for people to talk to you at the jail. I’ll come see you no matter what. I promise.”
“I’m not going anywhere soon,” Connor said and hung up.
Chapter 36
Abandoning her food, Liz left the restaurant. She ignored Becky’s greeting and walked rapidly to Harold’s office. The senior partner was on the phone, and he lifted an index finger to his lips when she entered.
“I can’t budge off that number,” he said to the other person on the line. “And if the offer isn’t accepted within the next twenty-four hours, I’m going to pull it off the table.”
Harold listened for a few moments and nodded his head. “I’m glad we could work this out. I’ll send over the settlement documents by the end of the week.”
He lowered the receiver.
“Connor is in jail charged with Matt Thompson’s murder,” Liz said.
“Sheriff Holland sent me a courtesy text ten minutes ago. I responded that we’re no longer representing Reverend Grantham. Do you want me to break the news to Connor? I know that would be tough for you to do.”
“I just told him we had to withdraw when he called me from the jail. He asked if you could still talk to the sheriff and find out what caused them to arrest him at this time.”
“No, you and I have to back away.”
“This isn’t right!”
“And your personal feelings can’t determine what you can do as a lawyer. We’ve already been over this. It’s even clearer now that we can’t be involved.”
“Yes, yes.” Liz pressed her lips together tightly. “May I visit him at the jail?”
“As a friend. Unlike a lawyer, you won’t have unlimited access. It will be on visiting days. He’ll have to put you on the list of people he wants to see.”
“That may not happen after what I’ve done.”
Harold didn’t respond.
Liz sat silently for several moments before standing. “I’m going to call Elena and let her know that we’re no longer representing Connor and why,” she said.
“Good.”
* * *
The woman in the booking area took Connor to a cell that contained four cots. No one else was there.
“Detective Norman gave orders for you to stay here instead of placing you with the general population. A magistrate will set your bond. That could happen by tomorrow or not at all. Sometimes they don’t set bond for a murder charge.”
“When can I make another phone call?”
“There’s no set time. But you can’t abuse the privilege. I’ll check back in a couple of hours.”
The woman closed the solid metal door with a clang. The twelve-by-twelve-foot room had no windows. Connor immediately felt claustrophobic. There was a small metal sink against one wall with an open toilet beside it. Connor sat on the edge of one of the bunks. His next call would be to Reg Bullock.
He couldn’t sit still and began pacing back and forth. He was angry. The injustice of the murder charge. The abrupt way in which he’d been jerked away from his home and locked up. The abandonment by Liz and her boss. He stopped and rested his hands against the cool metal of the door, then banged the door with the right side of his fist several times. If anyone heard, no one came.
Connor wasn’t wearing a watch and without his phone he had no idea about the passage of time. He was sitting on the cot when the lock mechanism on the door clicked, and the woman from the booking area entered. She handed him a plastic drinking cup.
“I should have given you one of these,” she said. “City water comes from the sink. It’s safe.”
“May I make another phone call?” he asked.
“Not yet. I’ll be back later.”
The door closed. Connor wished he’d asked how long he’d be in the cell. He’d always liked solitude, but aloneness coupled with confinement changed it from a welcome retreat to cruel torture. He returned to the cot and tried to pray, but the words that formed in his mind weren’t escaping his head or penetrating the walls of the jail. He lay down on the cot and stared at the upper bunk. He closed his eyes and then quickly opened them. The idea of falling asleep and waking in this place was a nightmare he wanted to avoid. Without realizing it, he nodded off. He jerked awake at the sound of the door opening. He quickly swung his feet onto the concrete floor.
“You can make your phone call now,” the woman said.
