Hear No Evil

25

As the case drew closer to trial, Jack found himself spending more and more time with Sofia. It was agreed that Jack would be the lead trial counsel, but Sofia still had a major role in the preparation, especially since Jack had given Lindsey his word that Sofia would be the point person for any direct communication with Brian.

“Any luck setting up an interview?” asked Jack.

Sofia took a seat at the conference table. “Same old story. I call Mr. Pintado. He promises to get back to me right away with a date when I can meet with his grandson. And then I never hear from him again.”

“We’re ten days from trial,” said Jack. “We have to talk with him.”

“We may have to go to the judge.”

“I hate to do that. It makes us seem like the bad guys.”

“I know Lindsey won’t like it either,” said Sofia. “Just from the standpoint of what it does to Brian.”

There was a knock at the door. Jack’s secretary entered with their food delivery. Orange beef and cashew chicken from New Chinatown restaurant. Jack pushed aside the papers to make room for the food.

“Want to know one of the world’s best-kept culinary secrets?” said Jack.

“What?” his secretary asked as she placed the cartons on the table.

“White rice. Cuban Americans make it better than the Chinese.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that. But how was the rice when you went to Cuba?”

“Rationed. Like everything else. Unless you’re a tourist. But don’t get me started.” Jack served himself some orange beef. “You care to join us, Maria?”

“No, thanks. I’ll let you two legal scholars get your brain food. But stop being such a slave driver, Jack. Take the girl out once in a while, won’t you?”

Jack and Sofia exchanged glances, then offered a simultaneous, “Good night, Maria.”

The door closed, and for the third evening in a row, it was just the two of them. Sofia poked at her food with a chopstick, then put the carton atop the desk.

“I wonder what Lindsey’s eating tonight,” she said wistfully.

“Probably the same thing she ate last night,” said Jack.

“Do you think she’ll ever get out?”

Jack coughed on an orange peel, not expecting such a direct question. “Are you asking if I think she’s guilty, or if I think she’ll be acquitted?”

“Do those questions have different answers?”

Jack didn’t respond, at least not directly. “She has some serious problems, no doubt about it. You start with her statement that she was at work when her husband was shot. The medical examiner’s estimated time of death says otherwise.”

“But her son told the police that he found the body and called her at work.”

“Hopefully he’ll confirm that. If his grandfather ever lets him talk to us.”

Sofia opened a diet soda. “Of course, Brian isn’t going to save the day. He was sleeping when his father was shot. So Lindsey could have shot her husband, and then gone to work.”

“Unless there was an intruder,” said Jack.

“But there is no sign of break-in. Nothing of value was taken. So if it was an intruder, it was someone who came for no other reason than to kill Captain Pintado.”

“Or someone who got scared off before he could take anything of value.”

Sofia got a cup of ice, poured herself some soda, and gave the rest to Jack. “Which brings us right back to our original problem. We have only one witness who puts an intruder at the scene.”

“And he happens to wear the wrong nation’s uniform,” said Jack.

The words seemed to take the fizz right out of their Diet Coke. “What are we going to do about that?” she asked. “You plan to call him to the witness stand or not?”

“I’m still pondering it.”

“Well, I think I might let you ponder that one alone tonight.”

“You’re punching out already?”

“I figure my social life will go completely to hell once the trial actually starts. So I have a date tonight.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t say I had a boyfriend. I said I had a date.”

“So you date women?”

“No,” she said with a playful smile. “Now get the hell out of your cross-examination mode, and mind your own business.”

“No problem. Have fun.”

“See you tomorrow.” She grabbed her bag and headed out the door. She’d parked in a metered spot right outside Jack’s office, and Jack watched through the window as she walked to her car. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him peeking through the blinds.

“Just wanted to make sure you got there safe,” said Jack, though he felt a little foolish. Not only couldn’t she hear him, but she’d walked all of fifty feet to her car down a pedestrian-filled sidewalk. Hardly a dangerous journey.

So she caught me watching. Is that a crime?

Sofia waved, got in her car, and drove away. Jack glanced from the empty parking space to the sidewalk across the street. A woman was leaving the ice-cream shop with a young boy who looked to be about ten. He reminded Jack of Brian, and for a minute the woman resembled not Lindsey but Jack’s old girlfriend, Jessie. Then he came to his senses. Jessie was dead. Lindsey was in jail. Brian was living with his grandparents.

And Jack was alone, wondering what to do next.

He got out the phone book, found the number, and dialed the Pintado residence. One lonely ring after another pulsed in his ear. He wondered what he’d do if Brian answered, which he realized wasn’t likely, since the boy was deaf.

“Hello.” It was a woman.

Jack said, “Is this Mrs. Pintado?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My name is Jack Swyteck. I’m the attorney for Lindsey Hart.”

There was silence on the line. Jack said, “Please, don’t hang up. I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s very important that we schedule a time and a place where I can meet with your grandson. His mother has that right.”

“Brian is sick.”

Jack had his doubts, and his tone conveyed it. “Is that so?”

“It’s true. Brian has been throwing up since this afternoon. I don’t know what it is. I guess maybe the flu. I’ve been ru

If she was lying, she definitely subscribed to the “Big Lie” school of thought. Jack said, “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, no. Of course not. But obviously I’m in no position to schedule an interview with him. Now, please, leave us alone.”

Jack heard a retching noise in the background, which only confirmed that Mrs. Pintado wasn’t making up stories. “Is that him?” asked Jack.

“Yes, yes. I told you he was sick. I have to go.”

“I understand. Take care of your grandson.”

“Thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.” Jack hung up. He was concerned about Brian’s illness, but a sardonic smile slipped across his lips. He’d seen photographs of the boy, and Lindsey had told him a little bit about him. But this was the first time Jack had ever heard him. And he was puking his guts out.

Kids. Gotta love ’em.

Then he thought about going home to no one, and suddenly schlepping towels and buckets and making late-night runs to the emergency room didn’t sound quite so bad.

He cleaned up the empty food cartons, then went to his desk to check his mail. It took him an hour to get to the bottom of the inbox. He had other cases, but none seemed quite as important as this one. This evening, however, he didn’t have another late night in him. He packed up his briefcase, switched off the lights, and locked up the office.

The main lobby was locked, so he left the building through the nighttime exit. His car was parked in the garage across the street. He walked up the ramp to level Red 2. The parking garage catered to a working crowd, so most of the cars had gone already. The lighting was dim, several bulbs burned out. The lonely click of his heels echoed off walls of unfinished concrete. As he reached for his keys, he heard footsteps behind him, but he had no time to react.