The Pelican Brief

“That’s me.”

“I’m Gray Grantham with the Washington Post. I’d like to ask you a couple of very quick questions.”

The door was unchained and opened. Gray stepped inside the two-room apartment. A bicycle was parked in the center, and took up most of the space.

“What’s up?” Maylor asked. He was intrigued by this, and appeared eager to answer questions.

“I understand you clerked for White and Blazevich last summer.”

“That’s correct. For three months.”

Gray scribbled on his notepad. “What section were you in?”

“International. Mostly grunt work. Nothing glamorous. A lot of research and rough drafting of agreements.”

“Who was your supervisor?”

“No single person. There were three associates who kept me busy. The partner above them was Stanley Coopman.”

Gray pulled a photograph from his coat pocket. It was Garcia on the sidewalk. “Do you recognize this face?”

Maylor held the picture and studied it. He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Who is he?”

“He’s a lawyer, I think with White and Blazevich.”

“It’s a big firm. I was stuck in the corner of one section. It’s over four hundred lawyers, you know.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. You’re sure you haven’t seen him?”

“Positive. They cover twelve floors, most of which I never went on.”

Gray placed the photo in his pocket. “Did you meet any other clerks?”

“Oh. Sure. A couple from Georgetown that I already knew, Laura Kaas and JoA

“You plan to work there when you finish?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m cut out for the big firms.”

Gray smiled and stuck the notepad in his rear pocket. “Look, you’ve been in the firm. How would I find this guy?”

Maylor pondered this for a second. “I assume you can’t go there and start asking around.”

“Good assumption.”

“And all you’ve got is the picture?”

“Yep.”

“Then I guess you’re doing the right thing. One of the clerks will recognize him.”

“Thanks.”

“Is the guy in trouble?”

“Oh no. He may have witnessed something. It’s probably a long shot.” Gray opened the door. “Thanks again.”

Darby studied the fall listing of classes on the bulletin board across the lobby from the phones. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d do when the nine o’clock classes were over, but she was trying like hell to think of something. The bulletin board was exactly like the one at Tulane—class listings tacked neatly in a row; notices for assignments; ads for books, bikes, rooms, roommates, and a hundred other necessities stuck haphazardly about; a

Darby smiled at her. “Excuse me. Would you happen to know Laura Kaas?”

“Sure.”

“I need to give her a message. Could you point her out?”

“Is she in class?”

“Yeah, she’s in administrative law under Ship, room 207.”

They walked and chatted in the direction of Ship’s admin law. The lobby was suddenly busy as four classrooms emptied. The hiker pointed to a tall, heavyset girl walking toward them. Darby thanked her, and followed Laura Kaas until the crowd thi

“Excuse me, Laura. Are you Laura Kaas?” The big girl stopped and stared. “Yes.”

This was the part she didn’t like—the lying. “I’m Sara Jacobs, and I’m working on a story for the Washington Post. Can I ask you a few questions?” She selected Laura Kaas first because she did not have a class at ten. Michael Akers did. She would try him at eleven.

“What about?”

“It’ll just take a minute. Could we step in here?” Darby was nodding and walking to an empty classroom. Laura followed slowly.

“You clerked for White and Blazevich last summer.”

“I did.” She spoke slowly, suspiciously.

Sara Jacobs fought to control her nerves. This was awful. “What section?”

“Tax.”

“You like tax, huh?” It was a weak effort at small talk.

“I did. Now I hate it.”

Darby smiled like this was the fu

“Do you recognize this man?”

“No.”

“I think he’s a lawyer with White and Blazevich.”

“There are plenty of them.”

“Are you certain?”

She handed it back. “Yep. I never left the fifth floor. It would take years to meet everyone, and they come and go so fast. You know how lawyers are.”

Laura glanced around, and the conversation was over. “I really appreciate this,” Darby said.

“No problem,” Laura said on her way out the door.

At exactly ten-thirty, they met again in room 336. Gray had caught Ellen Reinhart in the driveway as she was leaving for class. She had worked in the litigation section under a partner by the name of Daniel O’Malley, and spent most of the summer in a class action trial in Miami. She was gone for two months, and spent little time in the Washington office. White and Blazevich had offices in four cities, including Tampa. She did not recognize Garcia, and she was in a hurry.

Judith Wilson was not at her apartment, but her roommate said she would return around one.

They scratched off Maylor, Kaas, and Reinhart. They whispered their plans, and split again. Gray left to find Edward Li

At ten forty-five, Darby found herself loitering again in front of the bulletin board, hoping for another miracle. Akers was a male, and there were different ways to approach him. She hoped he was where he was supposed to be—in room 201 studying criminal procedure. She eased that way and waited a moment or two until the door opened and fifty law students emptied into the hall. She could never be a reporter. She could never walk up to strangers and start asking a bunch of questions. It was awkward and uncomfortable. But she walked up to a shy-looking young man with sad eyes and thick glasses, and said, “Excuse me. Do you happen to know Michael Akers? I think he’s in this class.”

The guy smiled. It was nice to be noticed. He pointed at a group of men walking toward the front entrance. “That’s him, in the gray sweater.”

“Thanks.” She left him standing there. The group disassembled as it left the building, and Akers and a friend were on the sidewalk.

“Mr. Akers,” she called after him.

They both stopped and turned around, then smiled as she nervously approached them. “Are you Michael Akers?” she asked.

“That’s me. Who are you?”

“My name is Sara Jacobs, and I’m working on a story for the Washington Post. Can I speak to you alone?”

“Sure.” The friend took the hint and left.

“What about?” Akers asked.

“Did you clerk for White and Blazevich last summer?”

“Yes.” Akers was friendly and enjoying this.

“What section?”

“Real estate. Boring as hell, but it was a job. Why do you want to know?”

She handed him the photo. “Do you recognize this man? He works for White and Blazevich.”

Akers wanted to recognize him. He wanted to be helpful and have a long conversation with her, but the face did not register.

“Kind of a suspicious picture, isn’t it?” he said.

“I guess. Do you know him?”

“No. I’ve never seen him. It’s an awfully big firm. The partners wear name badges to their meetings. Can you believe it? The guys who own the firm don’t know each other. There must be a hundred partners.”