I'm also trying to maintain a quiet acknowledgement of how the world works, not an overt, dramatic one. ReShawn and Viona, his wife, talk on their front port, in a swing. He's still reeling from having found Simon's body...
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Monday night, ReShawn was seated in the swinging porch chair, legal briefs spread across it and his lap. It was a case where his client, a black woman in her forties, had shot her husband as he was beating her.
Fortunately, the gun had fired when she was raising it so he had only lost his spleen and a lot of blood. Which made the charge attempted murder, though Bush was hinting he’d accept a plea to assault. ReShawn had refused, going for self-defense. A lot would depend on the jury they selected, tomorrow.
But he could not focus on the briefs. He was too distracted by the weight of knowing what had happened to Simon. A quiet little guy who had done nothing more than say, No, to the legal system’s attempt to portray him in a negative light. And it was all over a damned misdemeanor.
Over nothing.
Just ego.
Some on Simon’s part, sure, but mainly thanks to Dillon’s and Paley’s unwillingness to just let it go. It was so wrong, and it hurt him in ways he could not even begin to fathom because of how little sense it made.
There was no doubt in his mind those two had something to do with Simon’s murder. The timing of it. The place it happened. The way he was buried so as not to be found. The stories leaked to the media about the search warrant and suspicions of CSA. The hints he may have jumped bail to avoid trial for it. Every word, every suggestion sounded too well-planned not to have been.
But how can you prove something without proof? The pistol used to kill him was untraceable and too common of a make to narrow down. No fingerprints. DNA ruined by an alcohol wipe, or something. The only link might be the two supposed cops who had stopped Simon en route to the bus station and taken him. Their descriptions sounded a bit like Garisov and Corelli, but Winston had interviewed them and they had proof they were on duty at the other end of the city.
Maybe. That might still bear some looking into.
But it would have to be quick. Now the little bastards knew the AG and State Troopers were looking into the murder and...
Viona drove up, breaking his descent into anger. She parked in the driveway and took a moment to exit the car. She had been at the hospital all day, dealing with...how did she put it? Neanderthals who think pounding something will make it work better.
Mostly male but also female. Stupidity has never been misogynistic.
He picked up the briefs and nodded for her to sit next to him.
She all but flopped onto the seat, weary. “I swear to God,” she murmured, “if I have to explain one more time that F-one will black their monitor out while F-two will renew it, I may smash them over the head with a mainframe.”
ReShawn chuckled.
She continued with, “Orran home?”
He nodded. “On some game with his buddies. Spaghetti’s hot on the stove, with my sauce.”
A hum of pleasure whispered from her. “I do love a man who can cook.” She set the swing to rocking, a little. “Want to hear some gossip, first?”
“What about?”
“That...um, Friday situation.”
When he’d found Simon’s body...dumped in a hole in the wet dirt and now crawling with...with...
He took in a deep breath. “Okay.”
“You’ve had dealings with Elissa Manville. Right?”
He nodded. “Couple times. Dillon Walstead’s second chair.”
“Including that old man’s case?”
He nodded. “Simon Halloran.”
She continued with, “What do you think of her?”
He thought for a moment. “Sharp. Capable. Ambitious. More open to listening to the defense than Dillon is.”
“Do you trust her?”
That made him frown. “Why’re you asking me this?”
“I think she met with the State Bar, today.”
He smiled. “And just how did you this find out?”
“Ah, lawyer comes to the fore. I overheard it in the break room. Couple of interns in a corner giggling over it. One’s brother was seeing her and she had canceled a picnic, yesterday, because she had to be in Columbus, this morning. That was the excuse she gave him. The intern was hoping he’d break up with her, because she thought that woman was a backstabbing bitch. Her exact words.”
He hesitated before asking, “Was that it?”
She smiled, slow and easy. “You remember Una Dockler? From the Christmas Party?”
“Um...older woman? Was German?”
She nodded. “Works in the DA’s office. She's in my cooking group. Does a mean creme brulee.”
“...Okay...”
“I called her. Asked her and her husband over to a barbecue. We’re set for Saturday. Orran’s team is playing in the morning so afternoon and evening feasting. And we chatted a bit. She asked how you were.” Then she hesitated. “And she knew by Friday evening that you were helping with the situation in Barrington Woods. After word started coming in about the body. Dillon didn’t seem to pay any attention to the information, but Elissa did. She was very, very quiet from the first bit of news. Stayed after everyone else left.”
“So...” said ReShawn. “She, um...you think she drove over to Columbus, yesterday?”
Viona nodded. “It’s not an easy drive in the mornings, not if you want to be there the moment their office opens.”
“You think that's why she stayed the night?”
Viona nodded. “She called in sick, today. And your buddy, Dillon, was in a meeting with Bush for hours. A meeting his father joined.”
ReShawn let out a long, deep breath and leaned back. So word was out. The AG's attempt to keep a lid of secrecy was ended. The DA’s office knew the body found in the woods was Simon’s, Bush and Dillon were preparing their stories, and Elissa was already well into her defense mode.
It was the last part that was the most telling.
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