Let Me Call You Sweetheart

17

At six-thirty that evening, Geoff Dorso glanced reluctantly at the stack of messages that had come in while he was in court. Then he turned away from them. From his office windows in Newark, he had a magnificent view of the New York City skyline, a sight that after a long day on a trial was still soothing.

Geoff was a city kid. Born in Manhattan and raised there till the age of eleven, at which point the family moved to New Jersey, he felt that he had one foot on either side of the Hudson, and he liked it that way.

Thirty-eight years old, Geoff was tall and lean, with a physique that did not reflect the fact that he had a sweet tooth. His jet black hair and olive skin were evidence of his Italian ancestry. His intensely blue eyes came from his Irish-English grandmother.

Still a bachelor, Geoff looked the part. His selection of ties was hit-and-miss, and his clothes usually had a slightly rumpled look. But the stack of messages was an indication of his excellent reputation as an attorney specializing in criminal defense and of the respect he had earned in the legal community.

As he leafed through them, he pulled out the important ones and discarded the others. Suddenly he raised his eyebrows. There was a request to call Kerry McGrath. She had left two numbers, her office and her home. What’s that about? he wondered. He didn’t have any cases pending in Bergen County, her area of jurisdiction.

Over the years he had met Kerry at bar association dinners, and he knew she was up for a judgeship, but he didn’t really know her. The call intrigued him. It was too late to get her at the office. He decided he would try her now, at home.

“I’ll get it,” Robin called, as the phone rang.

It’s probably for you, anyhow, Kerry thought as she tested the spaghetti. I thought telephonitis didn’t set in until the teen years, she mused. Then she heard Robin yelling for her to pick up.

She hurried across the kitchen to the wall phone. An unfamiliar voice said, “Kerry.”

“Yes.”

“Geoff Dorso here.”

It had been an impulse to leave the message for him. Afterwards, Kerry was uneasy about having done it. If Frank Green heard that she was contacting Skip Reardon’s attorney, she knew he would not be so gentle as he had been earlier. But the die was cast.

“Geoff, this is probably not relevant, but…” Her voice trailed off. Spit it out, she told herself. “Geoff, my daughter had an accident recently and was treated by Dr. Charles Smith-“

“Charles Smith,” Dorso interrupted, “Suzanne Reardon’s father!”

“Yes. That’s the point. There is something bizarre going on with him.” Now it was easier to open up. She told him about the two women who resembled Suzanne.

“You mean Smith is actually giving them his daughter’s face?”

Dorso exclaimed. “What the hell is that about?”

“That’s what troubles me. I’m taking Robin to another plastic surgeon on Saturday. I intend to ask him about the surgical implications of reproducing a face. I’m also going to try to talk to Dr. Smith, but it occurred to me that if I could read the entire trial transcript beforehand, I’d have a better handle on him. I know I can get one through the office, it’s in the warehouse somewhere, but that could take time and I don’t want it getting around that I’m looking for it.”

“I’ll have a copy in your hands tomorrow,” Dorso promised. “I’ll send it to your office.”

“No, better send it to me here. I’ll give you the address.”

“I’d like to bring it up myself and talk to you. Would tomorrow night about six or six-thirty be all right? I won’t stay more than half an hour, I promise.”

“I guess that would be okay.”

“See you then. And thanks, Kerry.” The phone clicked.

Kerry looked at the receiver. What have I gotten myself into? she wondered. She hadn’t missed the excitement in Dorso’s voice. I shouldn’t have used the word “bizarre,” she thought. I’ve started something I may not be able to finish.

A sound from the stove made her whirl around. Boiling water from the spaghetti pot had overflowed and was running down the sides onto the gas jets. Without looking, she knew that the al dente pasta had been transformed into a glutinous mess.