Our friendship takes occasional hits, most notably when we're on the opposite sides of a case, but we seem to get through it. The Garcia case presents no such danger, because Pete is not directly involved in the investigation.
We get the menus, and after a quick glance I assume the prices are not just for the food but also for a down payment on the property itself. Or maybe they charge so much because they have to pay for the twelve different forks that are provided for each of us.
The menu is in French, but that doesn't really concern Pete, since he's only interested in the numbers on the right. Pete points to what he wants, and when he gets to the chateaubriand, the waiter explains that it is for two. Pete shrugs and says, "That's no problem, I'll bring what I don't eat home for my dog."
Once the waiter has left, I waste my time by pointing out, "You don't have a dog."
He nods, acknowledging that truth. "It'll give me incentive to get one." He looks around. "I think we need another bottle of wine."
"I can get information cheaper from paid informants," I complain.
He looks up, surprised. "You're looking for information?"
"I agreed to come here, didn't I?" I ask. "What did you think I was going to do, propose marriage?"
"Information about what?"
"Alex Dorsey."
He laughs. "I'm not on the case, asshole. You could have found that out at Burger King."
"I'm not talking about the Garcia case. I'm talking about Alex Dorsey. I'm talking about whatever he was doing, and why he wasn't busted for it back when Laurie turned him in. And why he was going to be busted now."
"I don't know," he says.
"What do you mean you don't know? You're a hot shit lieutenant, plus you're a nosy son of a bitch. You know everything that goes on down there."
He shakes his head. "Not this. This is buried deep." Then he adds, "Besides, 'down there' may not be where you think it is, or want it to be."
"What the hell does that mean?"
He puts down one of his forks, I think the third-smallest one, and stares at me. It is the kind of stare that has made felons confess for the last twenty years. "I'm going to tell you something, but if anyone ever learns that it came from me, I'm going to beat you to death with your wallet."
"Trust me, if there's one thing I've learned this week, it's that I can keep a secret."
Pete nods. The truth is, he knows this without my having to say it. "The Bureau is involved."
This surprises me. "The FBI?"
"No, the bureau in my bedroom, bozo."
I ignore the insult; this is too significant a development. "What about Dorsey makes this federal?"
"I have no idea," he claims, and I'm sure he doesn't. "All I know is that there was talk that the feds got the department to lay off. I assume they were covering the same turf with an investigation of their own."
"Then why would that have changed? Why would Dorsey have had to run?"
Pete doesn't know the answer to that, so I ask him if he's ever heard of Geoffrey Stynes. He hasn't, but agrees to check him out. I haven't heard back from Vince yet, so it makes sense to put Pete on the case as well.
I'm ready to leave, but Pete makes me wait while he tries both the creme brulee and the cherries jubilee. Both meet with his approval, though he considers the creme brulee "a tad lumpy." I tell him that if he ever picks a restaurant like this again, I'm going to introduce him to a different kind of "lumpy."
I start planning some strategy on the way home. What I need to do is try the case as if I wasn't aware of Garcia's innocence, and that means learning everything I can about the victim, Dorsey. If Pete is right about the FBI's involvement, and he is rarely wrong about such things, then there's a great deal to learn, and most likely great benefit in learning it.
When I get home, I am treated to as nice a sight as I can remember in a very long time. Laurie is sitting on the porch with Tara, with Laurie in the role of petter and Tara in the role of pettee. I park and walk toward them, just as they come off the porch and walk toward me.
Laurie hugs me as Tara sits by, waiting her turn. The hug lasts a while, which is good. I'm in no rush. Finally, she breaks it off and looks in my eyes.
"I know you wouldn't take this case to hurt me," she says.
"I wouldn't."
"I know you have a good reason for taking it," she says.
"I do."
"I know you can't tell me what that reason is," she says.
"I can't."
"I know that you love me," she says.
"I do."
"I know you're thinking you want me to stay with you tonight, even though it's not Monday, Wednesday, or Friday," she says.
"I am."
"I know that if you give another two-word answer, I'm going home, and you will have missed out on a warm, loving, wildly exciting sexual experience," she says.
"I understand that completely and I guarantee you I have absolutely no intention of ever giving a two-word answer again. I know long answers are important to you, and since I adore and worship you, I will keep speaking until you tell me to shut up."
"Shut up," she says.
I ARRIVE AT COURT WELL BEFORE THE PRELIMINARY hearing is scheduled to begin. I'm simultaneously feeling dread at having to handle this case and excitement about being back handling any case at all. The excitement must be winning out, because I usually barely make it to court on time, and today I'm so early I could tailgate in the parking lot.
Oscar isn't here yet, so I call Kevin Randall at the office and apologize for not being able to meet him there. I quickly bring Kevin up to date on the situation, and he has the decency not to verbalize his surprise that I took this case at all. I give him the task of going to see the coroner who handled Dorsey's body and to find out whatever relevant details there are, including the estimated time of death.
Kevin has a whole bunch of positive qualities, but the one I appreciate most is his total reliability. When he takes on an assignment, I can check it off my list; he will get it done and done well.
Kevin is a topflight attorney with loads of experience on both the defense and prosecution sides. Unfortunately, both caused him conscience problems. As a prosecutor, he was afraid his considerable talents might cause an innocent person to go to prison. As a defense attorney, he feared he might be helping dangerous criminals return to the streets.
He finally resolved this by quitting the law and opening the "Lawdromat," where customers can wash their clothes and get free legal advice. Laurie knows Kevin well, and on her advice I took him on as second chair on the Willie Miller case. He's been coming in a couple of days a week ever since, with the understanding that he'll help me on future cases, providing there's no fabric softener crisis that demands his time.
I meet with Oscar in an anteroom for a few minutes to explain the procedures. He has some experience in this field, so he catches on pretty quickly. This appearance is basically a formality, strictly done to inform him of the charges, register his plea, and consider bail. Dylan has already impaneled a grand jury to formally charge Oscar, and as always, the grand jury will do the prosecutor's bidding. Oscar's sole responsibility for this appearance is to sit up straight, look respectable, and say firmly and clearly, "Not guilty," when called upon to give his plea.
When the guards come to escort Oscar into the courtroom, I walk with him. We are almost at the defense table when he says--to himself, I think--"What the hell is that bitch doing here?"