Dead Center (6 page)

• • • • •

A
S SOON AS
Tara and I are back from our morning walk, I call Richard Davidson. Ironically, the call is forwarded to the hotel that I’m already in; Richard and Allie spent the night here, since they couldn’t stay at home. We agree to meet for breakfast at the local diner, but before I leave I call Calvin to tell him that I’m going to take the case.

“Because they set fire to his house?” he asks.

“Partially,” I say. “Things like that bug me.”

“You multilegged people can be mighty strange. But whatever works for you, partner,” he says.

Richard Davidson is already at a booth in the back when I arrive. On the way toward the booth it feels like every eye in the place is staring at me. That may be because when I check it out, it turns out that in fact every eye in the place
is
staring at me. News is both rare and quick to travel in a town like this, and arriving as an outsider to take on a double murder case has made me a person of significant interest.

Richard greets me with a warm handshake and tells me that they are going to start rebuilding the damaged area of their house immediately. He seems quite upbeat about it, which is rather amazing. If my son was charged with murder and my house firebombed, I’d be up on a roof somewhere with a high-powered rifle.

I offer to help in any way I can, but if he needs me to so much as drive in a nail, he’s in big trouble. Fortunately, I can help him in another way. “I’m willing to defend your son,” I say.

His relief is palpable. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

“I’ll need to talk to Jeremy, to make sure he wants me to represent him.”

“He does. He definitely does.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “But I’ll need him to personally confirm that.”

He nods. “No problem. But I’ll be paying your fee.”

“That’s fine,” I repeat, and proceed to tell him that my fee is two hundred thousand dollars, which can move up or down depending on the length of the trial and the number of expert witnesses we will need to call and pay. I add that I will pay Calvin from the money Richard pays me.

I think I see him flinch when I tell him my fee, but it could just be a tic. “No problem,” he says. Then there is a rather uncomfortable silence, which he breaks with, “Here’s how I’d like to work this, if it’s okay with you. I’d like to give you twenty-five hundred now, and the remainder as soon as I get a mortgage on the farm.”

It’s all I can do not to moan. I’ve got almost twenty-five million dollars in the bank, and this guy is mortgaging his farm to pay me to help his son? “You’re mortgaging the farm?” I ask, just in case I heard wrong. I’m hoping what he really said was, “And the remainder as soon as I can have the money wired from my Swiss bank account.”

He nods. “Right. But don’t worry. Even with the damage from the fire, it’s worth at least that.”

“Why don’t you give me the twenty-five hundred and hold off on selling the farm until we get a better idea of how things are going to proceed?”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Positive.”

He comes with me to the jail, and within a few minutes we’re in to see Jeremy. Jeremy shares his father’s relief that I’m going to represent him. I tell Jeremy that he will have to sign a document appointing me as his counsel, and he vows to sign it the moment he gets it.

My next stop is the courthouse, where I fill out an application for
pro hac vice,
which will be presented to the judge. It’s to allow me to practice on this occasion in Wisconsin, even though I’ve never taken or passed the bar here. It’s a mere formality, and the clerk assures me it will be acted on quickly. This case is going to be a high priority in the Findlay judicial system.

I’ve got to rent a house; there is no way I can spend any length of time in that hotel. I stop off at the only real estate agent in town, Janice Taylor, who tells me that I am one lucky guy. It turns out, and I want to pinch myself to make sure that it’s true, that ninety-five-year-old Betty Camden recently died, and her family decided just this week to put her place up for rent.

Janice takes me over to see it, and it further turns out that Betty, bless her dear heart, had a yard that Tara will like to play in. She also has a houseful of furniture, which may be antiques or just old stuff. I can never tell the difference. If antiques are things from another time period that are highly valued in their old age, wouldn’t my sweatpants qualify?

Sealing the deal is the fact that the late, great Betty also had cable television, so I take the place even before I hear what the rent is. Besides, what am I worried about? I’ve got a twenty-five-hundred-dollar retainer.

I’m going to need to go back to Paterson to get some more things, close up the house, etc., but I want to do it quickly. Therefore, I don’t want to drive, and since I still won’t put Tara in the bottom of a plane, I call Laurie at her office. I bring her up-to-date on what’s going on and ask her if I can leave Tara with her for a few days. She makes no effort to conceal her delight at the prospect, especially since tomorrow is Saturday and she’ll have a couple of days off to play with her. Tara will be thrilled.

Tara and I spend a quiet evening by the television set and get to sleep early. Laurie comes by at seven in the morning to pick Tara up; I briefly wonder why she didn’t want me to drop her off. Is there some reason she doesn’t want me to see where she lives or who she’s living with? Doesn’t she know I’ll just pump Tara for the information when I get back?

“By the way,” I say as they get into the car, “that Lieutenant Parsons guy I met the other night… not much in the looks department, huh?”

“You don’t think so?” she asks with fake surprise.

“You and he good friends?”

She nods. “I’ve known him since grammar school.”

“So you know his wife also?” I ask, growing more pathetic by the moment.

“He’s not married,” she says. Then, “Andy, do you think in a million years I would stoop to having a relationship with someone who works for me?”

“You worked for me,” I point out.

She nods. “I never said
you
wouldn’t stoop that low.” She and Tara then pull away, leaving me with still another conversational defeat.

I fly from the nearby Carwell Airport to Milwaukee, from where I’ll fly to Newark. It’s not until I’m on the plane that the full impact of what has transpired hits me. I’m going to be spending months in Findlay, Wisconsin, working a probably unwinnable case. And in the background, or the foreground, or who knows where, will be Laurie.

After landing I head straight for my office, where I’ve arranged for Edna to be waiting for me. I had called ahead and asked her to find me temporary legal secretarial help that can freelance for me in Findlay.

She surprises me by being on top of things; she has located a firm in Milwaukee that will provide whatever secretarial help I need. She also promises to check in on my house every few days to make sure it hasn’t burned down.

I had also asked Kevin to do some research on Center City and the Centurion religion, and he’s characteristically prepared a complete report on it, which is waiting on my desk.

I go through some paperwork, trying to clear things away, since I’ll be spending so much time in Findlay. The clearing process is made easier by the fact that I have no current cases, so it barely takes me a half hour.

I head down to the Tara Foundation to tell Willie Miller the news. I dread doing this, since I’m essentially abandoning him and leaving him with the total responsibility of caring for the rescue dogs. First I tell him about the situation in Findlay and then the fact that I’m planning to spend quite a while there.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” he says. “Sondra and I got it covered.”

“You can hire some help, you know. I’ll pay for it.”

“Not necessary. I’m telling ya, Sondra and I got it covered.” He can see I’m feeling guilty, and he tries to head it off. “Andy, we like doing this, you know?”

I nod. “I know, but I still appreciate how easy you’re making it for me.”

“I’m more worried about what you’re running into up there,” he says.

“How’s that?”

“Firebombing houses ain’t something you’d be real good at dealing with, you know?”

Until this moment I haven’t thought about myself being in any kind of personal danger, but Willie might be right. People who hate someone so much that they’ll firebomb his house might not take too kindly to the lawyer trying to get him off. “I can take care of myself,” I say, even though we both know I can’t.

“Oh, yeah,” he mocks, “I forgot.” Then, “Why don’t you bring Marcus with you?”

Willie is talking about Marcus Clark, who I’ve employed as a freelance private investigator on recent cases. Marcus has a number of unusual attributes, but the one that most stands out is that he is the scariest, toughest person on the face of the planet. Bringing Marcus to Findlay would be like bringing a bazooka to a Tupperware party.

“I think I’ll wait and see how things go.” While Marcus and Findlay would not be a great fit, Willie’s question causes me to focus on the fact that I will need an investigator up there. My not thinking about that until now is a sign of how poorly prepared I am at this point. When I get to Findlay, I’ll ask Calvin for a recommendation. I can also ask Laurie; she’ll be familiar with the local talent, and she knows what I look for in an investigator.

I spend my last evening in civilization at Charlie’s with Pete and Vince, watching sports and overdosing on crisp french fries and beer. Their attitude about my going is similar to what it would be if I were being sent to Afghanistan to chase after the Taliban; they’ve decided that I must be miserable, and they take it upon themselves to make me feel better.

Pete says, “I had a cousin who lived in Indiana, which is like around the block from Wisconsin, and he said it’s not even that cold in the winter.”

Vince nods vigorously. “Right. You don’t really feel it. It’s a dry cold.”

“And they practically invented beer up there,” Pete says. “You can drink a different beer every day for the rest of your life, and not try them all.”

Again Vince couldn’t agree more. “People got beer trees growing in their front yards.”

“Listen, morons,” I say, “I wasn’t drafted. I’m going up there because I want to. It’s an important case… a kid’s life is on the line.”

“Right,” Pete says.

“Sure,” Vince agrees.

They think I’m going up there to win Laurie back, and the case is my excuse.

They’re wrong.

Probably.

• • • • •

I
USE THE RETURN
flight to read the report Kevin has prepared. He went online to learn whatever is available about the Centurion religion and the town of Center City. He could not find the five-year-old articles to which Laurie referred, but he found references to them.

Kevin learned some striking things about the religion. Apparently, they don’t just believe that they are on a blessed piece of land. They also believe that God speaks to them, through their leader, and thus directs their lives. The device through which God communicates is some kind of wheel, which sits in the town hall. That town hall is in the center of the town, which in their mind makes it the absolute center of the spiritual universe.

The Centurion version of a priest or rabbi, the leader of the flock, is called the Keeper, short for “Keeper of the wheel.” The current Keeper is Clayton Wallace, who has held the title for almost four years, since the death of the previous Keeper. Keepers are apparently elected by the other leaders of the church, like popes.

Very surprising, to both Kevin and me, is the total lack of effort the Centurions make to recruit outsiders. They have no desire to convert, or even interact with, the outside world. The town and the people in it are subject to the laws of the state and the country, and they offer no resistance to those laws, but they very strictly maintain as much separation as possible.

Kevin relates the Centurions’ belief that the land they occupy will be the only land left intact when Armageddon comes. The extent of my knowledge of Armageddon is that Ben Affleck and Bruce Willis were in it, so I’m not all that interested.

I land at the airport and go straight to my rented house, having called Laurie and told her of my impending arrival. She is there waiting for me with Tara.

I invite her in, and she seems to hesitate and look around for a moment before accepting. “Something wrong?” I ask.

“No… it’s just that we’re on opposite sides of this, Andy, at least in terms of our jobs.”

I nod my understanding. “I won’t ask you to compromise that, and I won’t intentionally put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“I know that,” she says, and comes inside the house.

We enter the kitchen, which represents the first time I’ve been in it; I had previously neglected to check the house further once I discovered the cable TV. “I’m sorry I have nothing to offer you,” I say as I open a cabinet, “but I haven’t had time to…”

I stop talking because I see that the cabinets are filled with groceries of all kinds. I look at Laurie, who smiles. “It’s my ‘welcome to Findlay’ present,” she says.

“I thought you gave me that the other night.”

She shakes her head. “That was my present to myself.”

“You were amazing,” I say. “Almost like you’ve been practicing.”

“Andy…” is how she admonishes me for prying. Then, “I’ve been doing some thinking. I’m the one who left… and now you’re here to do me a favor. I’ve got to be careful not to take advantage of the situation.”

“So… ,” I prompt.

“So I want you to take the lead, okay? You decide where this goes and how long it goes there.”

I understand what she’s saying, but taking the lead in a romantic relationship runs counter to my normal style. “That’s fair, but I don’t know yet which way I want it to go,” I say in a rare burst of honesty. “I’m not going to be here forever, and I found out that I wasn’t crazy about being dumped.”

She nods her understanding. “I know that. I wasn’t wild about doing it. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

I notice something in the cabinet. “Pistachio nuts. You got me pistachio nuts.” Pistachios are among my favorite things in life, and if there were a professional pistachio speed-eating league, I’d be an even richer man today.

She smiles. “And tangerines. And cut-up honeydew melon. And potato chips. And”—she does a little drumroll on the table with her hands—“Raisinets.”

We kiss again, more romantically this time, but it doesn’t lead to sex. I guess since I’ve just been appointed the leader, it’s my fault that it doesn’t. That’s something I’ll have to get used to.

Instead we talk about the case, and I ask her if she has any recommendations for private investigators I can call on. She says that this area is not exactly a hotbed of investigative talent but that she’ll come up with some names.

“By the way,” I ask, “do you think the Davidson farm is worth a quarter of a million dollars?”

She laughs. “Only if they found oil on it.”

This confirms my worst financial fears. Richard Davidson barely has enough money to hire a public defender, but he was not about to let that stand in the way of doing the best he can for his son. He probably decided he’d just have to figure it out as he goes along.

“Anything new in the investigation?” I ask. “You find out who firebombed my client’s house?”

She hesitates. “That’s really something I can’t share with you. You need to go through channels.”

I understand what she’s saying and regret forcing her to say it. I’m going to be seeking a great deal of information in the normal course of pretrial discovery, and I will have to get it from the prosecution, not the police.

“Sorry. I guess I’ll just have to start torturing Lester Chapman.”

She smiles. “I’m sure he’s expecting nothing less. By the way, Andy, don’t underestimate him. He’s actually very good.”

I return the smile. “So am I, babe. So am I.”