The Pelican Brief

“I love Western girls. They’re so independent and unpretentious and they tend to wear Levis and have long legs. I may marry one. Does she have money?”

“No. Her father was killed in a plane crash four years ago and her mother got a nice settlement.”

“Then she has money.”

“She’s comfortable.”

“I’ll bet she is. Do you have a photo?”

“No. She’s not a grandchild or a poodle.”

“Why didn’t you bring a picture?”

“I’ll get her to send you one. Why is this so amusing to you?”

“It’s hilarious. The great Thomas Callahan, he of the disposable women, has fallen hard.”

“I have not.”

“It must be a record. What, nine, ten months now? You’ve actually maintained a steady relationship for almost a year, haven’t you?”

“Eight months and three weeks, but don’t tell anyone, Gavin. It’s not easy for me.”

“Your secret’s safe. Just give me all the details. How tall is she?”

“Five-eight, hundred and twelve pounds, long legs, tight Levis, independent, unpretentious, your typical Western girl.”

“I must find one for myself. Are you go

“Of course not! Finish your drink.”

“Are you, like, monogamous now?”

“Are you?”

“Hell no. Never have been. But we’re not talking about me, Thomas, we’re talking about Peter Pan here, Cool Hand Callahan, the man with the monthly version of the world’s most gorgeous woman. Tell me, Thomas, and don’t lie to your best friend, just look me in the eyes and tell me if you have succumbed to a state of monogamy.”

Verheek was leaning halfway across the table, watching and gri

“Not so loud,” Callahan said, looking around.

“Answer me.”

“Give me the other names on the list, and I’ll tell you.”

Verheek withdrew. “Nice try. I think the answer is yes. I think you’re in love with this gal, but too cowardly to admit it. I think she’s got your number, pal.”

“Okay, she does. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah, much better. When can I meet her?”

“When can I meet your wife?”

“You’re confused, Thomas. There’s a basic difference here. You don’t want to meet my wife, but I do want to meet Darby. You see. I assure you they are very dissimilar.”

Callahan smiled and sipped. Verheek relaxed and crossed his legs in the aisle. He tilted the green bottle to his lips.

“You’re wired, buddy,” Callahan said.

“I’m sorry. I’m drinking as fast as I can.”

The mushrooms were served in simmering skillets. Verheek stuffed two in his mouth and chewed furiously. Callahan watched. The Chivas had knocked off the hunger pains, and he would wait a few minutes. He preferred alcohol over food anyway.

Four Arabs noisily filled a table next to them, yakking and jabbering in their language. All four ordered Jack Daniel’s.

“Who killed them, Gavin?”

He chewed for a minute, then swallowed hard. “If I knew, I wouldn’t tell. But I swear I do not know. It’s baffling. The killers vanished without a trace. It was meticulously pla

“Why the combination?”

He stuffed another in his mouth. “Quite simple. It’s so simple, it’s easy to overlook. They were such natural targets. Rosenberg had no security system in his townhouse. Any decent cat burglar could come and go. And poor Jensen was hanging around those places at midnight. They were exposed. At the exact moment each died, the other seven Supremes had FBI agents in their homes. That’s why they were selected. They were stupid.”

“Then who selected them?”

“Someone with a lot of money. The killers were professionals, and they were probably out of the country within hours. We figure there were three, maybe more. The mess at Rosenberg’s could have been done by just one. We figure there were at least two working on Jensen. One or more looking out while the guy with the rope did his thing. Even though it was a dirty little place, it was open to the public, and quite risky. But they were good, very good.”

“I’ve read a lone assassin theory.”

“Forget it. It’s impossible for one man to kill both of them. Impossible.”

“How much would these killers charge?”

“Millions. And it took a bunch of money to plan it all.”

“And you have no idea?”

“Look, Thomas, I’m not involved in the investigation, so you’ll have to ask those guys. I’m sure they know a helluva lot more than I do. I’m just a lowly government lawyer.”

“Yeah, who just happens to be on a first-name basis with the Chief Justice.”

“He calls occasionally. This is boring. Let’s get back to women. I hate lawyer talk.”

“Have you talked to him lately?”

“Picking, Thomas, always picking. Yes, we chatted briefly this morning. He’s got all twenty-seven law clerks scouring the federal dockets high and low looking for clues. It’s fruitless, and I told him so. Every case that reaches the Supreme Court has at least two parties, and each party involved would certainly benefit if one or two or three justices would disappear and be replaced by one or two or three more sympathetic to its cause. There are thousands of appeals that could eventually end up here, and you can’t just pick one and say ‘This is it! This is the one that got ‘em killed.’ It’s silly.”

“What did he say?”

“Of course he agreed with my brilliant analysis. I think he called after he read the Post story to see if he could squeeze something out of me. Can you believe the nerve?”

The waiter hovered over them with a hurried look.

Verheek glanced at the menu, closed it, and handed it to him. “Grilled swordfish, blue cheese, no vegetable.”

“I’ll eat the mushrooms,” Callahan said. The waiter disappeared.

Callahan reached into his coat pocket and removed a thick envelope. He laid it on the table next to the empty Moosehead. “Take a look at this when you get a chance.”

“What is it?”

“It’s sort of a brief.”

“I hate briefs, Thomas. In fact, I hate the law, and the lawyers, and with the exception of you, I hate law professors.”

“Darby wrote it.”

“I’ll read it tonight. What’s it about?”

“I think I told you. She is very bright and intelligent, and a very aggressive student. She writes better than most. Her passion, other than me of course, is constitutional law.”

“Poor thing.”

“She took off four days last week, totally ignored me and the rest of the world, and came up with her own theory, which she has now discarded. But read it anyway. It’s fascinating.”

“Who’s the suspect?”

The Arabs erupted in screaming laughter, slapping each other and spilling whiskey. They watched them for a minute until they died down.

“Don’t you hate a bunch of drunks?” Verheek said.

“It’s sickening.”

Verheek stuffed the envelope into his coat on the back of his chair. “What’s her theory?”

“It’s a bit unusual. But read it. I mean, it can’t hurt, can it? You guys need the help.”

“I’ll read it only because she wrote it. How is she in bed?”

“How’s your wife in bed?”

“Rich. In the shower, in the kitchen, at the grocery. She’s rich in everything she does.”

“It can’t last.”

“She’ll file by the end of the year. Maybe I’ll get the townhouse and some change.”

“No prenuptial agreement?”

“Yes, there is, but I’m a lawyer, remember. It’s got more loopholes than a tax reform act. A buddy of mine prepared it. Don’t you love the law?”

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“Women?”

“I’ve got an idea. You want to meet the girl, right?”

“We’re talking about Darby?”

“Yes. Darby.”

“I’d love to meet her.”

“We’re going to St. Thomas during Thanksgiving. Why don’t you meet us there?”

“Do I have to bring my wife?”

“No. She’s not invited.”

“Will she run around in a little string job on the beach? Sort of put on a show for us?”

“Probably.”

“Wow. I can’t believe this.”