The uniformed man led Jared to an unmarked door in the back, which opened into a private room. Inside, centered around a marble fireplace, were a sofa and two antique chairs. In one of the chairs sat a tall, elegant man with an angular face, wearing a hand-tailored black blazer. His slightly graying blond hair was brushed back from his forehead, and although it was impossible to tell by looking at him, one of his legs was imperceptibly shorter than the other. The disproportion was caused by an old football injury that he wore as a badge of honor. Indeed, for him it wasn’t just a football injury. It was a Princeton football injury. And in his mind, that made all the difference.
Hearing them approach, he stood and extended a well-manicured hand. “So nice to finally meet you, Mr. Lynch,” he said.
“Do you mind telling me what this is about?” Jared asked.
The man ignored him. “My name is Oscar Rafferty. Won’t you please sit down?” He gestured to the sofa, then turned to the attendant. “That’ll be it, George, thank you.” The smooth graciousness of Rafferty’s voice suggested that he was a man who was accustomed to having things go his way.
Jared assumed the same when he noticed the signature gold B on the black buttons of Rafferty’s Brioni blazer. Even Thomas Wayne didn’t wear two-thousand-dollar Brioni jackets. So for Jared, Rafferty’s buttons meant one thing: This wasn’t going to be a typical client meeting.
Cautiously taking a seat on the sofa, Jared picked up a matchbook from a bowl on the coffee table between them.
“I understand you’re from Highland Park,” Rafferty said in an engaging tone. “Do you know the Pritchard family, Judge Henry Pritchard? Both his sons are clients of mine. One’s a playwright, the other’s a producer – which means he does much of nothing.”
Confused by Rafferty’s attempt to find common ground, Jared said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but is there something I can help you with, Mr. Rafferty?”
Suddenly, Rafferty’s expression changed. He didn’t like being cut short. “Actually, there is, Jared. And since I’m the one who’ll be paying Tony Kozlow’s legal fees, I thought we should get together. There are a few pieces of information you’re still missing.”
“Well, if it’s about the case, I want you to know that, regrettably, I have to withdraw as counsel. I just found out my wife is the prosecutor on the other side.”
“That’s all right. We don’t mind.”
“But I do,” Jared said. “That’s why I’m stepping down. If you want, though, I’m happy to recommend someone else at the firm to take over the case.”
Rafferty’s eyes grew dark as he looked disapprovingly at Jared. “I don’t think you understand,” he said. “You’re not stepping down. You’re our lawyer on this.”
“Oh, I am?”
“Yes. You are,” Rafferty said coldly. “Like it or not, Jared, we have to win this case. And while you’re obviously impressed with your own overinflated, career-climbing résumé, you really have only one thing to offer us – you’re married to the prosecutor. You therefore know how she thinks, how she approaches a problem, and most important, how to exploit her weaknesses. To be blunt, you know how to beat her.”
“But I’m not taking the case,” Jared insisted.
“Jared, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. Our friend Anthony Kozlow cannot be found guilty. And if you’re hoping to continue with your sexual exploits on the kitchen counter, you’ll make sure he’s not.”
“How do you know we-”
“Pay close attention,” Rafferty said calmly. “We’ll all be happier if you win the case.”
“All be happier? What the hell does that mean?”
Without answering, Rafferty handed Jared a large manila envelope. When Jared opened it, he saw a stack of two dozen black-and-white photographs. All of them of Sara.
“That’s Sara on her way to the office,” Rafferty said as Jared looked at a clear outdoor shot. “And that’s her coming home.” The photos showed most of the places that Sara had been in the past twenty-four hours. When Jared got to a shot of Sara waiting near the edge of the subway platform, Rafferty added, “That’s when she was coming home late after last night’s arraignment. I guess she was anxious to get home, because she kept sticking her head over the edge, looking to see if the train was coming. That’s not a safe thing to do, Jared. One little push is all it takes.”
Staring straight down at the pictures, Jared felt nauseated. The drumbeats of the African music seemed to be blaring from all directions. The photos of Sara blurred in a rush of dizziness. Closing his eyes, he struggled to pull himself together. Eventually he looked up at Rafferty. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I want you to win,” Rafferty said. “That’s all.”
“And if I don’t?” Jared asked.
Without saying a word, Rafferty picked up the photographs and put them back in the envelope.
“Answer me,” Jared insisted. “What if I don’t?”
Rafferty resealed the envelope. “Jared, I think you know the answer to that.” He let his words sink in. “Now listen to what I’m about to say, because I know what you’re thinking. If you go to the police, or any other law enforcement body, I promise you, you’ll be haunted by that decision for the rest of your life. Silence is golden – if you tell anyone, including your wife, we’ll kill her. The moment you open your mouth, she’s dead. I’ll have Kozlow standing on her throat faster than you can put down the telephone,” Rafferty warned. “Naturally, I know it won’t come to that – you’re an intelligent lawyer, Jared. For the next few weeks, all we ask is that you do your job. Prepare for trial, be the good defense attorney, and deliver a win. That’s what it has to be – no settlements allowed. Make it disappear or get me a win. You do that, and we’re out of your life. No headache, no trouble. Am I making myself clear?”
Slowly, Jared nodded, his eyes locked on the crimson tapestry that covered the floor.
“I’ll take that awkward silence as a yes,” Rafferty said. “Which means Kozlow will be at your office first thing tomorrow morning. Enjoy what’s left of your day.”
Rafferty stood up and escorted Jared to the front entrance of the club. Outside, a private car was waiting for him. As Jared got in the car, Rafferty said, “Good-bye, Jared.” Jared barely registered the remark. It wasn’t until the door slammed shut that the full weight of the moment hit him. Sitting alone in the back of the car, Jared replayed the scene in his head. He pictured Rafferty and the photo of Sara standing on the edge of the subway platform. And then he pictured Kozlow. Oh, God, Jared thought, undoing his tie and gasping for air. What the hell have I gotten us into?
Chapter 6
“HELLO, I’M LOOKING FOR CLAIRE DONIGER,” SARA said, reading the name off her legal pad.
“This is she,” Doniger sang in a voice that was eager to please from years of cocktail parties and hoarse from years of cigarette smoking.
“Hi, Ms. Doniger, this is Sara Tate from the district attorney’s office. I spoke to you yesterday about your burglary.”
“Yes, of course,” Doniger said. “How are you?”
“Everything is fine here. We’re moving forward on your case, and I was just wondering if we could go through the story one more time.”
“Well, I just don’t know what there is to tell. I was dead asleep, and at about three-thirty in the morning, I heard my doorbell ring. So I got up to answer it. When I looked through the peephole, I saw a police officer. And when I opened the door, he was standing there with a young man who he said just robbed my house. I was naturally shaken, and I said there must be a mistake. Then he held out my watch and my sterling golf ball and asked me if they were mine.”
“And were they yours?” Sara asked, writing notes on a legal pad.
“Without question. I recognized them that instant. The watch was a 1956 Ebel that my father bought as a twenty-fifth-anniversary gift for my mother – they stopped making the platinum version that same year. And the golf ball was a thank-you gift from my breast cancer organization – I did some fund-raising work for their celebrity golf tournament. My name is etched into the bottom of it. Apparently, the young man had just stolen them, and the officer caught him as he was walking up our block.”