Night Watch

EIGHTEEN

“Alexandra Cooper,” Lem said, smoothing his pomaded hair as he watched me approach him down the long corridor. “I can always gauge your level of excitement about seeing me by the pacing of the click of your heels on the tiled floor. And I would say that you are either delighted by my unexpected appearance, or I have gotten your very easy-to-get goat by showing up here today.”

“It’s the goat thing, Lem. I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

“What did I teach you about keeping your cool, young lady?”

“If I ever had cool under your watch, I lost it to global warming. About face, sir.”

I didn’t break stride until I had passed Lem and made the right turn to the elevator bank. He followed after me, linking his arm in mine when he caught up to me. I brushed him off.

“On closer examination, Alexandra, I’d say you look jet-lagged, harried, and maybe even a wee bit heartbroken.”

“You usually do better than one for three. Yes, I am jet-lagged and extremely tired. I’ll even give you half-credit for harried. But who’s feeding you the heartbroken line, Lem? I thought you’d be delighted to know that I’m madly in love.”

“Well, you are keeping that factoid well hidden beneath those large circles under your sweet green eyes. My mama would be encouraging you to put some tea bags on them to reduce the swelling. The tannin in the tea calms it right down, soothes the skin, and-”

“Who’s spreading the heartbroken story?”

“I’m just saying you did that round-trip elopement to France in record time. Did they take the Concorde out of mothballs to get you back here? It can’t be you flew home for this loser of a case, so I’m thinking you and Luc had a spat.”

“Think harder next time,” I said, reaching out to press the down button. Of course-Baby Mo had been an occasional guest at Luc’s restaurant. Doubtless he knew people in Mougins, and Lem must have told him I spent time in that part of the world. I needed to tell Battaglia about that remote connection before the news reached him some other way.

“Let’s talk about Mr. Gil-Darsin,” Lem said.

“Call me.”

Lem didn’t budge. “Now’s the perfect time.”

“You know I’m busy. And I know the reason you wormed your way in here is to try to eyeball the accuser. Cheap trick, Lem.”

The elevator doors opened and three young assistants stepped off with their files, headed down the wide corridor to the Appeals Bureau offices.

“I hear she’s a sturdy girl, Alexandra. Not so easy to push around.”

The doors closed and my adversary still hadn’t moved, so I pressed the button again.

“Save it for the jury, Lem. What’s the bail situation you wanted to discuss?”

“Your office went overboard, asking for Gil-Darsin to be remanded without bail. This isn’t a homicide.”

“No, Lem, it’s a rape. Or as you said to the court, it’s ‘only’ a rape. He’s facing twenty-five years and he lives in a country that refuses to extradite rapists to America.” I paused to look at Lem. “You want to tell me what your client says about how his DNA wound up on the floor of the hotel room? Oh yeah, and on this woman’s uniform?”

“I don’t want to say anything right now.”

“This is a rare moment indeed. Lem Howell with nothing to say. I thought for sure you’d go with a love story, Lem. That is so your style. Housekeeper walks into the room. Ivorian diplomat is taken by her earthy good looks and, wait now-a triplicate-the sadness, the horror, the despair she carries everywhere with her in those deep pools of brown eyes. They bond instantly-or wait, maybe she was even the aggressor. Of course she’s the aggressor-she’s bigger than he is. And after all, he wasn’t even sated by the lover who left his room at two P.M.”

Now I had Lem’s full attention.

“The lover?”

“Yes, Lem. We know about her. The girlfriend. The hotel says she’s a regular whenever Gil-Darsin is in town. A Frenchwoman living in New York, working at an investment bank. She’s on all the surveillance tapes. We’ll have her name shortly.”

He took a step toward me, so that we were standing nose-to-nose, and took hold of my wrist with his right hand.

“One thing you’ve always had is perspective, Alexandra. Don’t lose it here.”

“Was it about money, Lem? You haven’t tried that one yet. Going for that hooker approach?” I said, with a laugh. “Maybe he ordered up a prostitute dressed as a French maid and got confused when the housekeeper came to the door.”

“You’ll never get past the grand jury, Alexandra. You don’t begin to know what problems Blanca Robles has.”

“I was working for you eight years ago when you assigned me the case of the nun who was raped in her convent uptown. But for that young woman, Lem, every witness who ever walked through those doors has problems.”

“Not like this.”

“Crazy women get raped, too, remember? The patient in the psych ward at Met Hospital? You were the first person to take her seriously. Liars and prostitutes and junkies and full-on whack jobs are victims, too. They cart all their baggage into this office with them and we sort through it till we find the truth.”

“Blanca lives on the margins. She’ll play you for a fool if she sucks you in. She’s been doing that all her life. Talk to her neighbors, talk to-”

“What happened to the high road, Lem? You always insisted to the young lawyers you trained that we take the high road, and there you go, ferreting around in the gutter for all the garbage you can find.”

I tried to wriggle my wrist free of Lem’s grasp, but he was holding me tight.

“Screw the high road, Alexandra. You’re going to look like a chump when the smoke clears. Be more reasonable. Come up with a price tag for bail and I’ll surrender my client’s passport until you sort this out.”

“And an ankle bracelet for good measure?”

“Shame on you. Think of that image, young lady. A black man out of Africa in shackles? It’s a vulgar image. It likens my client to a slave. I say the passport and a hunk of change.”

“You’re not giving me anything to work with, Lem. Are you just going to stand on the courthouse steps and throw enough dirt at Blanca until she backs off? Put a lock on Baby Mo’s zipper so he saves some for his wife?”

The elevator doors opened again and Pat McKinney practically walked into me. “Slow dancing in the hallway between calendar calls, Mr. Howell? I’d prefer my assistants take a more professional approach to plea negotiations.”

Lem dropped my arm. “I was giving Alexandra a hard time. You’re familiar with that tactic, Pat, aren’t you?” He glided onto the elevator as swiftly as though he’d been waiting for its arrival. “See you in court, Ms. Cooper. Don’t forget those tea bags.”