Bodily Harm (25 page)

As Sloane walked down the hall to where the Gallegoses waited, Tom Pendergrass intercepted him. “The court in San Francisco granted the TRO, David.”

Sloane had expected as much, given his decision not to contest it. “What about the custody hearing?”

“Two weeks from today. The court ordered briefs filed by the end of this week. I’m going to need some time to talk with you.
The court looks at the child’s living situation, school, finances. There are a lot of factors.”

Sloane looked at his watch. “Okay, let’s catch up this afternoon.”

The Gallegoses sat at the conference room table still wearing their coats and looking concerned and uncomfortable. Sloane greeted them in Spanish to try to ease their anxiety. It only partially worked. Manny smiled, but Rosa-Maria continued to fidget with an oval-shaped medal around her neck.

“It’s beautiful,” Sloane said of the blue and silver medallion at the end of the chain.

She moved her hand so that he could better see it. “It is Our Lady of Guadalupe,” she said, still speaking Spanish. “Are you familiar with her?”

“I’m afraid not.” Sloane knew Mary was considered to be the mother of Jesus Christ, and he had learned somewhere that 90 percent of the households in Mexico had an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe in their homes, a higher percentage than the population of Catholics in the country.

“I’m sorry,” she said, replacing the medallion beneath her shirt.

“No,” Sloane said, sensing that the medal gave her comfort. “Tell me.”

Rosa-Maria explained that the Lady had appeared to Juan Diego, a Native American, on a hilltop outside of Mexico City during the fifteenth century and told him to instruct the bishop to build a church on that site. When the bishop resisted, demanding some sign, Diego returned in mid-December with his cloak filled with roses. Upon spilling them at the bishop’s feet he revealed the image of the Lady imprinted on the fabric. Five hundred years later that image remained behind glass on a church wall and showed no signs of decay.

“My mother named me Rosa for the roses and Maria for Our Lady,” she said. “We pray to her every night that she will take care of our Mateo and now, that she will look after your wife as well.”

Sloane was moved by her comment and thanked them both. He also sensed that her telling the story had relaxed her, and it made him again wish that he had that same kind of faith, but if he had ever had that gift as the young boy preaching in the mountains of Oaxaca, the ensuing years of loneliness and isolation had stolen it from him.

It was time to get to it. “I received a telephone call yesterday from Kendall’s attorney.”

“The woman?” Manny asked.

“She asked to meet with me following the hearing. Kendall wants to settle this matter.”

“Settle? How?” Manny asked.

“They want to pay you one million dollars.” The number caused Manny and Rosa-Maria to sit back.

“And the McFarlands?” Manny asked.

“Yes, both of you.” Sloane did not tell them they both had to agree.

“What did the McFarlands say?” Manny asked.

“This is your decision,” Sloane said. “I want you to make your decision independently before we talk further. I know it’s a lot of money. Why don’t I give you some time to think about it?”

“That is not necessary,” Rosa-Maria said. “Since you came to our home we have prayed every night to Our Lady. We believe that she sent you to us, for Mateo and the other children.”

Sloane deflected the statement. “I’m no angel,” he said.

“We have talked to the McFarlands. We know they gave back the money they received from the doctor and that you did too. We know that you are a man of principle, a good man. Your wife has died and yet you are here, trying to help us.”

Sloane felt a twinge of guilt, knowing his motives were not completely altruistic.

“If you can do it, so can we,” Rosa said.

“I’m here for my own reasons, but they are not your reasons, and I don’t want them to influence you in any manner. You need to make the decision that is best for you and your family. A million dollars would do a lot to change your lives and your children’s lives.”

“But we told you,” Rosa-Maria said. “This is not about the money. We have never had much, but we were happy. No money will ever bring back our Mateo. We will be happy only when we know that other families will not suffer. We don’t want their money. We want you to stop the toy.”

“I can’t promise you I can do that.”

“But you will try.”

“Yes, I will try,” Sloane said. “But I might not succeed, and then Kendall will not make this settlement offer again.”

“Then we will pray to Our Lady to help you win.”

Sloane didn’t know what to say. He knew what a million dollars would mean to them, and yet here they sat, not even considering it. It was a remarkable sacrifice, and he could only hope that he would be able to justify the depth of their faith in him.

THE KETTLE
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.

ANNE LEROY WALKED down steep concrete steps that smelled of mold despite what looked like a fresh coat of paint. She pushed through Dutch doors into hazy, yellow-tinted light. As with the rest of the country, smoking had been prohibited in most drinking establishments in Georgetown, including the Kettle, but
the smell of tobacco, smoked in the below ground bar for more than two hundred years, still seeped from the heavy wooden beams across the ceiling.

The plank floor was scattered with sawdust, and LeRoy circled the bar, glancing behind the wood-and-glass dividers separating the booths. No neon signs hung on the wall advertising beer, nor were there any metal street signs or posters of athletes. No televisions blasted out the evening’s sporting events, though she knew the Nationals were playing a night game. The Kettle sought to remain as it had been in the late 1700s, when it was rumored to be a drinking establishment of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and a few other of the nation’s founding fathers. And yet, despite its aversion to modern technology, the bar still maintained a steady and faithful clientele, mostly from the nearby Georgetown campus.

LeRoy liked it because it was a quiet place to get a beer and an inexpensive bite to eat within walking distance of her apartment where she didn’t have to worry about some jerk trying to hit on her.

Not seeing Peggy Seeley, LeRoy slipped off her backpack, shook the water from her hair from the unexpected late-afternoon thunder shower, and took a seat in an empty booth. When the waitress did not descend on her like a bird of prey she unzipped her pack and took out her latest Kevin O’Brien novel, opening to the dog-eared page. Three pages later the waitress stood beside her table, and LeRoy contemplated ordering the macaroni and cheese but decided instead on her usual, a Sam Adams and a cheeseburger. The waitress didn’t ask her how she wanted it cooked. The cook didn’t care. It would come with a heaping of grease-dripping French fries, the oil saturating a paper-lined wooden basket.

When the waitress departed, LeRoy watched Peggy Seeley
step through the doors and turn a corner, peering into the booths. She leaned out and flagged her down.

Seeley slipped in the other side of the booth, sounding exasperated. “I walked by this place three times,” she said. “I was about to call your cell.”

It was no wonder, given the amount of dust and particulates on the lenses of Seeley’s wire-rimmed glasses. “Didn’t you see the lantern above the door?”

“Obviously not. You didn’t tell me the door was below ground.” Seeley looked at the fire burning in a brick fireplace. “I feel like I’m in a Harry Potter novel. Do these walls open up into Diagon Alley?”

The waitress approached, pen on pad, but didn’t say a word.

“You want something to drink or eat?” LeRoy asked.

“What do you have?” Seeley asked.

The waitress leaned across the nicked and scarred table to grab a rectangular menu about twice the width of a bookmark and handed it to Seeley. Seeley considered it with a frown. “Could I get a salad and a glass of white wine?”

“Oil and vinegar?” the waitress asked.

“Do you have ranch?”

“Nope.”

“Then I guess so.”

Seeley opened her briefcase, pulled out a section of the newspaper folded in half, and slid it across the table to LeRoy. The headline indicated the article was about a lawsuit in Washington State against a toy company. Beneath it was a photo of a good-looking, dark-haired man in a suit and tie, an attorney named David Sloane.

“Tell me he’s your rich uncle and he’s single,” LeRoy said.

“You wish. Read,” Seeley said.

LeRoy did.

Associated Press

SEATTLE—Attorney David Sloane is back at it. Yesterday, on the steps of the King County courthouse in Seattle, Sloane announced a product liability action against a local landmark, Kendall Toys, Inc.

Sloane’s complaint alleges that two children, Austin McFarland (6) and Mateo Gallegos (4), died from the ingestion of tiny magnets embedded in a toy that were freed when pieces of the toy broke. Yesterday the company struck back, filing for a temporary restraining order to prevent Sloane and the two families from disclosing any information concerning the design of the as yet unreleased toy. A spokesperson for the company denied the allegations, calling the press conference “a publicity stunt.”

“Holy shit,” LeRoy said. “This is exactly what my research warned against.”

“I know,” Seeley said.

“What did Payne say?”

“What do you mean what did he say?”

“You didn’t show this to him?”

“God, no. I’m not supposed to have anything to do with you or your report.”

“But this changes everything. This is exactly why I was doing the investigation.”

“It changes nothing.”

“What are you talking about? I should call him, maybe—”

“Maybe what? It isn’t going to happen, Anne.”

LeRoy sat back, not because she was deflated, but because a thought struck her. A flame sizzled and flickered over the counter separating the bar from the small kitchen, illuminating the chef in a burst of light.

“Anne?”

“What if he knew?”

“What if who knew? What are you talking about?”

“This story, this, the magnets, what if Payne knew?”

“I’m not following you.”

LeRoy leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Remember I said that none of this made any sense: Payne shutting down an investigation that he asked me to pursue, how excited he was about the initial findings and telling me that he was going to take it to Senator Wallace.”

“Yeah.”

“What if this is the reason he shut it down? What if this company somehow knew about the report and . . .” LeRoy couldn’t finish.

“And what, Albert Payne took a bribe?” Seeley laughed. “Come on, Anne, the man won’t take an extra cookie at a party until he knows everyone has had one.”

LeRoy sat back, frustrated. “It’s just . . . The timing is an odd coincidence, you have to admit that.”

“Timing has nothing to do with it. We never even would have given the article a second glance if you hadn’t been doing the investigation. We’re just sensitive to it, that’s all.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Besides, you sent it back, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“The report. You sent back the memory stick, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going to.”

“Going to?” Seeley asked with alarm. “You haven’t done it
yet?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“What, painting? Are you looking for trouble?”

“But don’t you see?” She tapped on the article, her finger hitting the attorney directly between the eyes. “This vindicates my research. It vindicates what I was doing. Payne can’t pull the funding now. He can’t.”

“He already did. Besides, Anne, he’s still acting bizarre. I saw him the other afternoon coming out of the bathroom, and he looked like he had just thrown up. He left and didn’t come back. He doesn’t look well. He still has that rash.”

LeRoy studied the article further. “Maybe it’s Maggie Powers.”

“What?” Seeley said, sounding more exasperated.

“Maybe she told Payne to pull the funding. Maybe she knows something about this. She was in the toy industry. Maybe somebody just didn’t want a report about magnets coming out because of something like this.” She tapped the article again. “Maybe she’s pressuring Payne because someone is pressuring her.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know. Maybe this company.” She searched the article. “Kendall Toys. It says they’re coming out with a new toy that uses magnets that will revolutionize the industry. If there’s a report out there that says these magnets could be harmful . . .”

“I think you’ve been inhaling the smoke in here too long or the chemicals from your painting class have got to you. How would that company have even known you were doing a report?”

LeRoy put down the newspaper. “All I’m saying is the whole thing is weird, and this just makes it even weirder.”

“Which is exactly why you need to get rid of that report; you need to send back that zip drive. You need this like you need a hole in the head. Why would you want anything to do with this?”

LeRoy kept reading the article.

“Anne?”

“I know. I know.”

The waitress put a basket with a hamburger half-wrapped in paper and a mug of Sam Adams in front of LeRoy and the glass of wine and a salad in a wooden bowl on Seeley’s side of the table.

“So you’re going to mail back the zip drive, right?” Seeley asked.

“Yeah, I’ll give it back,” LeRoy said, but then she ignored her hamburger, focusing on the picture and the caption beneath it.

THE RENAISSANCE MAYFLOWER HOTEL
DUPONT CIRCLE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

HE COULD SPOT them from across the room, the subtle ways they carried themselves, shoulders pulled back, posture perfect, the way they tilted their heads, flirtatious, but subtle. The hemline of her dress, which carried a four-figure price tag, was an inch or two higher than necessary, the neckline an inch or two lower.

God she was delicious to look at!

Auburn hair folded behind her ears and rested against the peach-colored flesh of her back. She crossed one long, toned leg over the other, sitting at an angle, her open-toe, three-inch heel dangling from her foot. The subtle eye contact confirmed it, holding his gaze a fraction longer than necessary before diverting. Still, these things needed to be handled delicately. He couldn’t rush over like a bull elephant in heat. He had to be discerning. He watched the room to determine if anyone else had caught sight of her. Men glanced in her direction, but none looked to have the cojones to approach.