The Wrong Man

62

We watched it all from the front bedroom window on the third floor of Ross Vander Way’s townhouse.

“Can’t thank you enough,” I said to Ross.

“No prob, man. It was pretty freakin’ twisted.”

And I was pretty freakin’ sure that Ross was pretty freakin’ stoned.

Ross was a trust-fund baby. His parents owned a cruise line, and Ross had never worked a day in his life. He was partying his way through a master’s degree in business and living in this townhouse, which he’d converted into the best bachelor pad I’d ever seen.

Lightner was talking on the phone with one of his employees, the one who had been assigned to covertly watch my house after the first attempt on my life. It had been Joel’s idea, a pretty obvious security measure in hindsight, to have someone watch my house, and it had paid off for us. Joel’s associate had seen these two guys staking out the place earlier today, then head over to their Ford Explorer and leave for several hours, then return around seven tonight, setting up shop on the side of my garage, awaiting my return.

I’d considered just calling the cops, but these two would have gotten away. So Lightner and I came up with some thoughts at lunch, and he’d gone shopping for motor oil and a pound of sand. We wanted to make sure that a getaway would be tough for them, so in addition to the oil and sand, we did some work on the Explorer ahead of time, too, with a couple of screwdrivers.

Bradley had volunteered to drive the vehicle onto the driveway. That was nice of him. Normally I would have insisted on doing it myself-there was an element of risk at that point-but I couldn’t run to save my life right now with the bum knee.

“Shauna, you play a great nagging wife,” I said.

“And you the shitbag husband.”

I thanked Ross again and Joel, Shauna and I left the same way we came in-surreptitiously out the back door of Ross’s place. We found my car and picked up Bradley John on the corner.

“They won’t get before a judge until Monday,” I said. “I’ll bet they add resisting for driving away before they got cut off. And rifles and a body bag? That’s going to be an interesting bond hearing.”

Everyone was buzzing from what had just happened. It was great fun, no doubt, and a welcome release from the long hours we’d worked. But we all realized that for the second time in two days, somebody had been concerned enough about this case to attempt murder.

“Okay, screw this,” I said. “From here on out until this trial is over, we have to stay away from our homes. And we hire bodyguards. Shauna, Bradley-go home and pack. We’re not making ourselves an easy target. Joel, you got someone we could use for personal security?”

He did. His company had done some of it, too.

“We stay at different hotels and always with a security escort. Okay, you two? You can say no, but then you’re off the case. No fooling.”

Shauna asked, “Who might be funding this endeavor, Counselor? Last I checked, we had a client who didn’t pay.”

“I am,” I said. I still had a little money tied over from when I was a big-firm lawyer. My wife and I had been saving every penny for a single-family home that I now didn’t need.

“Then Ritz-Carlton, here I come,” Shauna announced.

“I’ll make some calls right away,” said Joel.

“Here’s a question,” Shauna informed us. “If we figured out that they might try to kill you a second time, why didn’t they figure out that we might be waiting for them?”

I nodded. The same question had been on my mind, too. And I thought I had an answer.

“They didn’t know about the first attempt,” I said. “The first group was the Capparellis. The people who killed Kathy Rubinkowski. These guys tonight? Ten to one says they’re with Manning. They don’t look like mobsters. They look like corn-fed white Aryan supremacists.”

“So now you got two different groups wanting to kill you,” Lightner said. “That’s a lot even for you, Kolarich.”