Desperate Measures

34

Herb got back into Ted Faber’s car and asked to be taken to the hotel on Lex. He walked into the lobby and found it deserted. “Hello?” he called, but got only an echo for a response.

He flipped up the part of the desktop that admitted him to the front desk, then found the door to the small office behind. He dragged the document shredder to one side, found the safe under the floorboards, and entered the combination. The journal was on top of some other items; Herb put the journal into his briefcase and looked through the safe. He found a.380-caliber semiautomatic pistol, some ammo, and a spare magazine. There was also a thick manuscript entitled “Night Job in Hell.” Pretty florid for a front desk, he thought. He closed the safe and left the hotel, checking his watch. It was a little past five. He wanted to see Cheray Gardner, and he knew where he was likely to find her. He told the driver to take him back to the courthouse. On the way, he googled the murders and noted the dates of each, then he compared the dates to the notations in Mike Adams’s diary. They all matched, even the one in L.A. He marked the entries with his business cards and put the diary back into his briefcase.

Once at the courthouse, he directed the driver to a bar a couple of blocks away. “Wait for me,” he said, taking his briefcase inside with him.

The place was going full blast, filled with lawyers, detectives, and court employees. Herb checked his watch and took a seat at one end of the bar. He didn’t have long to wait. Cheray Gardner entered the bar and immediately spotted him in her usual corner. She came over and permitted herself to be air-kissed.

“Well, Herb, you’re out of your neighborhood, aren’t you? Or are you actually trying a case?”

“Certainly not. When all your clients are innocent, why bother with trying cases?”

She laughed heartily. “Yes,” she said, “you can buy me a drink.”

“Bartender,” he said, “a very dry Belvedere martini with four olives, straight up.”

“You remembered,” she said. “How sweet of you.”

“What are you working on these days?” he asked.

“Oh, the usual,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Just making conversation.”

“How about you?” she asked. “What’re you working on?”

“Oh, a very nice divorce case and some real estate work attendant to that.”

“Funny,” Cheray said, looking at him questioningly. “I thought you might be working on one of my cases.”

“What case is that?”

“Oh, just a team of serial rapists and killers who’ve been terrorizing the Upper East Side.”

“I’ve read about that one, of course, and this afternoon I was asked to represent one of them.”

“Which one?”

“The innocent one,” Herb replied.

“Oh, ho, ho! Am I supposed to ask which one?”

“You already know which one,” Herb answered. “So do the cops.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really, Cheray. You’re just waiting for one of the three to break and rat out the other two, and you don’t really care which one.”

“That’s not a bad guess,” she said.

“Maybe I can help you out,” Herb said. “Suppose I can get the innocent one to flip and give you enough to convict the others?”

“Then I’ll buy you a very good dinner,” she said.

“Tell you what, I’ll settle for a steak here. Shall I find us a booth?”

“Sure. We can figure out who’s buying over dessert.”

“I’m just accepting your offer.” Herb went to find the headwaiter and slipped him a fifty. He beckoned to Cheray, and she came over.

“Oh, and the nicest, quietest booth, too.”

“Nothing but the best for us.” They sat down, and Herb ordered them another drink. Cheray always drank her first martini quickly. They ordered steaks.

“Why don’t we get business out of the way?” Cheray proposed. “I don’t want it to get in the way of... my steak.”

“Sure. All Mike Adams needs is immunity on every count of the case and protection from the other two until the trial.”

“I’ve already offered him five years,” she said. “Why should I improve on that?”

“Why would an innocent man plead guilty to something he didn’t do and serve five years for it?”

“So, he gets himself a smart lawyer, and...”

“He didn’t hire me, his grandfather did. Old Swifty must have heard about me somewhere.”

“‘Swifty’? His grandfather is Mikeford Whitehorn?”

“Oh, shit,” Herb said, slapping his forehead. “I did not say that, you hear me? The name never passed my lips.”

“Well, it passed my ears.”

“Cheray, promise me you won’t mention that name to anybody, and I mean anybody, in connection with this case.”

“Why, is he getting publicity shy?”

“Promise me, or you’ll be eating two steaks.”

“Oh, all right, I promise. Not that I couldn’t eat two steaks. Tell me, how did your relationship with this... anonymous person come about?”

Herb shrugged. “I’ve never met the man. Apparently, my reputation precedes me. So, you want to do this deal and make yourself famous overnight, without all the bother of a trial?”

“First, I want to know what your client has got on the other two that will get them to plead and take a life sentence.”

“He worked in that hotel as the night clerk with them for a year and a half. He noticed that one or the other would disappear for an hour or two — never together.”

“I’ll need more than that,” she replied.

“Suppose my client kept a journal of his evenings and noted the dates and times when one or the other was out of sight, and suppose one of them was in L.A. at the time of the copycat murder? Would that be enough to sway you to do the right thing?”

“I’d have to see the journal,” she said.

Herb unsnapped his briefcase. “What a coincidence!” he said. “I just happen to have it right here.” He handed it over. “Save time and go where the markers are.”

Cheray went through the diary, between sips of her martini. “Well, shit,” she said. “A chimpanzee could get a conviction with this.”

“Not just a conviction, a couple of confessions,” Herb said. “Save the DA the time and costs of a trial.” He extended his hand across the table. “And all that anxiety, waiting for the jury to come back with a verdict.”

Cheray thought about it for a moment, then took Herb’s hand. “Counselor, you’ve got your client a deal,” she said. “Subject to the old man’s approval, of course.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have any problem getting that,” Herb said. He tucked the journal back into his briefcase. “You’ll get this in exchange for the written offer.”

After dinner, they went back to her place, dismissed the driver, and sealed the deal with an enthusiastic roll in the hay. Herb got back to his own apartment in time to shower and change for the office.