thing. Soul mates."
"Right. Before you testify tomorrow, is there anything you want to tell me? Anything you left out?"
He cradled his chin in his hand. Something flickered behind his eyes but he blinked it away. "No, don't think so. I told you all about the surgery. No signs of an aneurysm, no drop in blood pressure. I didn't slip with the rongeur. I didn't do it."
"I know. Besides that. Anything personal with you and the Corrigans?"
"Like what?"
Oh shit. He wasn't going to help me out. Sometimes the best way to get through the chop is to trim the sail tight and just go. "Like were you screwing Melanie Corrigan?" At the next table, a couple of spiffed-up fiftyish women with fancy shopping bags exchanged disapproving whispers.
"At what point in time?" Roger asked.
My client, and he talks like Richard Nixon.
"Hey Roger, this is your lawyer here, not a grand jury." The waiter skulked by, his thumbs buried deep in the Caesar salad bowls. He wiped one hand on his apron, sucked some salad dressing off a thumb and brought us the beer, an anonymous American brand, devoid of calories, color, and taste. At least it was cold.
Roger took a small sip, a thinking-time sip, and said, "We were involved, sure."
"So why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it has nothing to do with the case."
My voice cranked up a few decibels. "How about letting me decide that? If it comes out, Cefalo would claim you had a motive for being a little careless, or worse, having criminal intent."
"I thought of that," he said casually, "but Melanie could never use that. It would hurt her case, wouldn't it, the unfaithful wife trying to profit from her husband's death."
"That's not the way it would play. You'd be the smooth seducer, or a madman obsessed with her, chopping up the husband so she'd be all yours."
Stanton's fork stopped in mid-air. A look of concern crossed his face, but when he caught me studying him, he chased it away with a laugh. "A madman maybe," he said, smiling, "but when it comes to seduction, she's in a league by herself. Besides, I knew her before Corrigan did, and well … there's stuff you lawyers would call extenuating circumstances."
"I'm waiting."
"I'm not sure it's any of your business."
I drained my homogenized beer and tried to signal the brain-dead waiter to bring another. He looked right through me.
"Right now, my business is you, everything about you and the Corrigans," I said, waiting for him to fill me in.
Nothing.
The stone crabs arrived. Fresh, no black mottled spots, the meat tearing cleanly out of the shell, the mustard sauce tangy. I yelled for the second beer, and the waiter brought iced tea. It tasted like the beer.
I dug into the crabs two at a time, but Stanton must have lost his appetite. He fidgeted in his chair and his eyes darted from side to side. Finally, he looked me straight on, took a breath and let it go. "Okay, here it is. I met Melanie eight or nine years ago. I was just finishing my residency, hadn't spent much time with women. You know how it is, premed in college, you bust your balls, then med school, internship, residency. Never any money or time. She was just a kid, mixed up, kind of an exotic dancer, but just for a while."
"Yeah, after that she probably was Deb of the Year."
"She wasn't bad or anything. Called herself Autumn Rain. Just used her body to make a buck. So I sort of fell for her. I started my practice, bought her a car, gave her things. It didn't last long. I found out other guys were doing the same. One guy paid for her apartment, another guy her clothes, another her trips."
"Sold shares in herself like Google."
"Some guys can handle that. I couldn't. So I took off." He looked away. This wasn't a story he broadcast around town.
"Roger, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's an old story. You meet a pretty young thing who can suck a golf ball through a garden hose. You overlook the fact that she's collected enough hoses to water Sun Life Stadium. You'd be shocked how
"Right. Before you testify tomorrow, is there anything you want to tell me? Anything you left out?"
He cradled his chin in his hand. Something flickered behind his eyes but he blinked it away. "No, don't think so. I told you all about the surgery. No signs of an aneurysm, no drop in blood pressure. I didn't slip with the rongeur. I didn't do it."
"I know. Besides that. Anything personal with you and the Corrigans?"
"Like what?"
Oh shit. He wasn't going to help me out. Sometimes the best way to get through the chop is to trim the sail tight and just go. "Like were you screwing Melanie Corrigan?" At the next table, a couple of spiffed-up fiftyish women with fancy shopping bags exchanged disapproving whispers.
"At what point in time?" Roger asked.
My client, and he talks like Richard Nixon.
"Hey Roger, this is your lawyer here, not a grand jury." The waiter skulked by, his thumbs buried deep in the Caesar salad bowls. He wiped one hand on his apron, sucked some salad dressing off a thumb and brought us the beer, an anonymous American brand, devoid of calories, color, and taste. At least it was cold.
Roger took a small sip, a thinking-time sip, and said, "We were involved, sure."
"So why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it has nothing to do with the case."
My voice cranked up a few decibels. "How about letting me decide that? If it comes out, Cefalo would claim you had a motive for being a little careless, or worse, having criminal intent."
"I thought of that," he said casually, "but Melanie could never use that. It would hurt her case, wouldn't it, the unfaithful wife trying to profit from her husband's death."
"That's not the way it would play. You'd be the smooth seducer, or a madman obsessed with her, chopping up the husband so she'd be all yours."
Stanton's fork stopped in mid-air. A look of concern crossed his face, but when he caught me studying him, he chased it away with a laugh. "A madman maybe," he said, smiling, "but when it comes to seduction, she's in a league by herself. Besides, I knew her before Corrigan did, and well … there's stuff you lawyers would call extenuating circumstances."
"I'm waiting."
"I'm not sure it's any of your business."
I drained my homogenized beer and tried to signal the brain-dead waiter to bring another. He looked right through me.
"Right now, my business is you, everything about you and the Corrigans," I said, waiting for him to fill me in.
Nothing.
The stone crabs arrived. Fresh, no black mottled spots, the meat tearing cleanly out of the shell, the mustard sauce tangy. I yelled for the second beer, and the waiter brought iced tea. It tasted like the beer.
I dug into the crabs two at a time, but Stanton must have lost his appetite. He fidgeted in his chair and his eyes darted from side to side. Finally, he looked me straight on, took a breath and let it go. "Okay, here it is. I met Melanie eight or nine years ago. I was just finishing my residency, hadn't spent much time with women. You know how it is, premed in college, you bust your balls, then med school, internship, residency. Never any money or time. She was just a kid, mixed up, kind of an exotic dancer, but just for a while."
"Yeah, after that she probably was Deb of the Year."
"She wasn't bad or anything. Called herself Autumn Rain. Just used her body to make a buck. So I sort of fell for her. I started my practice, bought her a car, gave her things. It didn't last long. I found out other guys were doing the same. One guy paid for her apartment, another guy her clothes, another her trips."
"Sold shares in herself like Google."
"Some guys can handle that. I couldn't. So I took off." He looked away. This wasn't a story he broadcast around town.
"Roger, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's an old story. You meet a pretty young thing who can suck a golf ball through a garden hose. You overlook the fact that she's collected enough hoses to water Sun Life Stadium. You'd be shocked how
Similar Books
