The Pelican Brief

“No more, okay? If you want something from me, just ask. If I say no, then leave it alone.”

Grantham shrugged and agreed. Forget the hair. On to less sensitive matters. “So who selected Rosenberg and Jensen? Mattiece is not a lawyer.”

“Rosenberg is easy. Jensen wrote little on environmental issues, but he was consistent in voting against all types of development. If they shared common ground with any consistency, it was protecting the environment.”

“And you think Mattiece figured this out by himself?”

“Of course not. A pretty wicked legal mind presented him with the two names. He has a thousand lawyers.”

“And none in D.C.?”

Darby raised her chin and frowned at him. “What did you say?”

“None of his lawyers are in D.C.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I thought you said the law firms were primarily from New Orleans and Houston and other cities. You didn’t mention D.C.”

Darby shook her head. “You’re assuming too much. I can think of at least two D.C. firms that I ran across. One is White and Blazevich, a very old, powerful, rich Republican firm with four hundred lawyers.”

Gray moved to the edge of the sofa.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. He was suddenly wired. He was on his feet walking to the door, then back to the sofa.

“This may fit. This may be it, Darby.”

“I’m listening.”

“Are you listening?”

“I swear I’m listening.”

He was at the window. “Okay, last week I got three phone calls from a lawyer in D.C. named Garcia, but that’s not his name. He said he knew something and saw something about Rosenberg and Jensen, and he wanted so badly to tell me what he knew. But he got scared and disappeared.”

“There are a million lawyers in D.C.”

“Two million. But I know he works in a private firm. He sort of admitted it. He was sincere and very frightened, thought they were following. I asked who they were, and he of course wouldn’t say.”

“What happened to him?”

“We had a meeting pla

“He could be your verification.”

“What if he works for White and Blazevich? We’ve suddenly narrowed it to four hundred lawyers.”

“The haystack is much smaller.”

Grantham darted to his bag, flipped through some papers, and presto! pulled out a five-by-seven black and white. He dropped it in her lap. “This is Mr. Garcia.”

Darby studied the picture. It was a man on a busy sidewalk. The face was clear. “I take it he didn’t pose for this.”

“Not exactly.” Grantham was pacing.

“Then how’d you get it?”

“I ca

She slid it onto the coffee table, and rubbed her eyes. “You’re scaring me, Grantham. This has a sleazy feel to it. Tell me it’s not sleazy.”

“It’s just a little sleazy, okay? The kid was using the same pay phone, and that’s a mistake.”

“Yes, I know. That’s a mistake.”

“And I wanted to know what he looked like.”

“Did you ask if you could take his photograph?”

“No.”

“Then it’s sleazy as hell.”

“Okay. It’s sleazy as hell. But I did it, and there it is, and it could be our link to Mattiece.”

“Our link?”

“Yes, our link. I thought you wanted to nail Mattiece.”

“Did I say that? I want him to pay, but I’d rather leave him alone. He’s made a believer out of me, Gray. I’ve seen enough blood to last me a long time. You take this ball and run with it.”

He didn’t hear this. He walked behind her to the window, then back to the bar. “You mentioned two firms. What’s the other?”

“Brim, Stearns, and somebody. I didn’t get a chance to check them out. It’s sort of odd because neither firm is listed as counsel of record for any of the defendants, but both firms, especially White and Blazevich, kept popping up as I went through the file.”

“How big is Brim, Stearns, and somebody?”

“I can find out tomorrow.”

“As big as White and Blazevich?”

“I doubt it.”

“Just guess. How big?”

“Two hundred lawyers.”

“Okay. Now we’re up to six hundred lawyers in two firms. You’re the lawyer, Darby. How can we find Garcia?”

“I’m not a lawyer, and I’m not a private detective. You’re the investigative reporter.” She didn’t like this “we” business.

“Yeah, but I’ve never been in a law office, except for the divorce.”

“Then you’re very fortunate.”

“How can we find him?”

She was yawning again. They had been talking for almost three hours, and she was exhausted. This could resume in the morning. “I don’t know how to find him, and I really haven’t given it much thought. I’ll sleep on it, and explain it to you in the morning.”

Grantham was suddenly calm. She stood and walked to the bar for a glass of water.

“I’ll get my things,” he said, picking up the tapes.

“Would you do me a favor?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

She paused and looked at the sofa. “Would you mind sleeping on the sofa tonight? I mean, I haven’t slept well in a long time, and I need the rest. It would, well, it would be nice if I knew you were in here.”

He swallowed hard, and looked at the sofa. They both looked at the sofa. It was a five-footer at most, and did not appear to be the least bit comfortable.

“Sure,” he said, smiling at her. “I understand.”

“I’m spooked, okay?”

“I understand.”

“It’s nice to have someone like you around.” She smiled demurely, and Gray melted.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “No problem.”

“Thanks.”

“Lock the door, get in the bed, and sleep well. I’ll be right here, and everything’s all right.”

“Thanks.” She nodded and smiled again, then closed the door to her bedroom. He listened, and she did not lock it.

He sat on the sofa in the darkness, watching her door. Some time after midnight, he dozed and slept with his knees not far from his chin.

Her boss was Jackson Feldman, and he was the executive editor, and this was her turf, and she didn’t take any crap off anyone but Mr. Feldman. Especially an insolent brat like Gray Grantham, who was standing in front of Mr. Feldman’s door, guarding it like a Doberman. She glared at him, and he sneered at her, and this had been going on for ten minutes, ever since they huddled in there and closed the door. Why Grantham was waiting outside, she did not know. But this was her turf.

Her phone rang, and Grantham yelled at her. “No calls!”

Her face was instantly red, and her mouth flew open. She picked up the receiver, listened for a second, then said, “I’m sorry, but Mr. Feldman is in a meeting.” She glared at Grantham, who was shaking his head as if to dare her. “Yes, I’ll have him call you back as soon as possible.” She hung up.

“Thanks!” Grantham said, and this threw her off guard. She was about to say something nasty, but with the “Thanks” her mind went blank. He smiled at her. And it made her even madder.

It was five-thirty, time for her to leave, but Mr. Feldman asked her to stay. He was still smirking at her over there by the door, not ten feet away. She had never liked Gray Grantham. But then, there weren’t too many people at the Post she did like. A news aide approached and appeared headed for the door when the Doberman stepped in front of him. “Sorry, you can’t go in right now,” Grantham said.

“And why not?”

“They’re in a meeting. Leave it with her.” He pointed at the secretary, who despised being pointed at and despised being referred to simply as “her.” She had been here for twenty-one years.

The news aide was not easily intimidated. “That’s fine. But Mr. Feldman instructed me to have these papers here at precisely five-thirty. It’s precisely five-thirty, here I am, and here are the papers.”