Chapter 5

"I don't know what Allen's lawyer was griping about. The guy admitted to raping four women. I thought your offer was way too generous. Jail time was not what I had in mind for him," Carmichael said to McCoy as the elevator doors opened onto their floor.

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Maybe the fact that you were glaring daggers across the table at him had something to do with why Mr. Allen took an offer his attorney advised him against. In any case, I'm glad he took the deal. With the Fairchild trial starting in a week and a half and the number of other cases I have piled on my desk, I was thinking of asking Adam to add a shower to this floor so I could sleep on the couch in my office and save time commuting."

They stopped at the receptionist's desk to pick up their messages. McCoy shuffled through his as they continued down the hallway to their offices. "Don't forget the arraignment at 2:30 for what's-his-name, the guy that killed the pawn shop owner."

"You mean Mr. Murphy? I haven't forgotten," Carmichael said, pausing at the door of her office.

"Sure you won't change your mind about having lunch with Adam and me?"

"Thanks, but I'd better not take the time. After I finish the paperwork on Mr. Allen, I have to start preparing for the Murphy case. I also have some more checking to do on the missing money in the Fairchild case, and then there's..."

McCoy held up his hand. "Okay. You're almost making me feel guilty for going myself."

"Enjoy your lunch," she smiled sweetly.

"I'm leaving from there to go see Judge Whitney, so I'll see you when you get back from the Murphy arraignment," he said, ignoring her tone.

As he continued to his office, he thought about how fortunate he was to have her, especially lately. It seemed they had been even busier than usual. He was beginning to give her more and more responsibility, as she had proven she could handle even the toughest assignments. And he appreciated her sometimes-dry sense of humor, despite her impertinence.

He barely had time to drop his briefcase and throw his messages on his desk when Schiff appeared at his door.

"Are you ready for lunch?" the older man asked.

"Ready," he replied, picking his briefcase back up and following the other man through the door.

***The intercom on Carmichael's desk sounded. "There's a lawyer named Calea Morgan here to see you or Mr. McCoy."

Carmichael looked up at the clock on the wall. 1:50. It had better be quick. "I'll see her, Susan," she answered.

A few seconds later, there was a soft knock on her opened door. "Ms. Carmichael?"

She looked up. "Ms. Morgan. Please come in and sit down." She indicated a chair. "And call me Abbie."

"Thank you. And please call me Calea," she said, as she sat down. "Your receptionist told me you have an appointment in a few minutes, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop off..." She stopped as something on the wall caught her eye. "Longhorns? You went to U.T.?" Her face registered pleasant surprise.

Carmichael nodded. "I moved here after I graduated. Why?"

The other woman smiled. "I didn't know you were from Texas. I attended University of Houston before I got a scholarship to University of Chicago Law School."

Carmichael looked at her in surprise. "You're from Texas?"

"Born and raised," Morgan replied in her best drawl.

With a smile, Carmichael said, "I had no idea. How long have you been away?"

"Over twenty years. But you know what they say about your leaving your heart in Texas. I still miss it."

"It hasn't been that long for me, but I know what you mean. Sometimes I'd kill to hear someone say, 'y’all'."

The other woman laughed. "Well if you spend much time around me, you're bound to hear it sooner or later. It's a habit I've never been able to break. That and, 'fixing to'. I used that expression the other day and my secretary is still giving me a hard time about it."

"So do you get back there much? Do you still have family there?"

Morgan's smile faded slightly as she shook her head. "I don't have family there anymore and I haven't been back since my last year of law school. And you?"

"I get back when I can, but with my job I don't get much time off. This year I will have been here long enough to earn one more week of vacation. I'm hoping to go down for a visit next spring."

"I think I miss Texas most around the end of February, when the snow is flying here and the traffic is crawling," Morgan said. "As a kid, I can remember it being warm enough that we went to the beach one year around that time. It was still too cold to get completely wet, but my brother and I walked in the surf anyway."

Carmichael nodded. "We used to go boating on Lake Travis in March. Where did you go to the beach?"

"Galveston, mostly, because it was closest. But sometimes we'd go to Padre Island, south of Corpus Christi, or take the ferry at Aransas Pass to Mustang Island."

"We used to go to Brownsville for spring break and hit Padre Island from that side. I do miss the beaches," Carmichael confessed wistfully.

"The beaches and the food are two of the things I miss the most. And the people," she added with a smile. "I haven't found much 'Southern hospitality' in New York."

"It would be a shock if you did," Carmichael agreed. "Jack mentioned something about you being from the South, but I can't believe he never told me you were from Texas."

"I don't recall that it ever came up in conversation. We mostly talked business. Which reminds me," she took a folded blue paper out of her briefcase, "this is for you." She stood up and handed it across the desk while Carmichael unfolded and scanned it quickly.

Looking up in surprise, Carmichael asked, "You want to explain this?"

Morgan shook her head. "I know you're busy and I have an appointment too, so I'll be going. But I've enjoyed our visit. Maybe we can have lunch sometime and reminisce about home. See you in chambers," she added, as Carmichael nodded absently.

When Morgan had left, she picked up the paper again and read it more carefully. When she had finished, she shook her head. She considered leaving it on McCoy's desk, as she slipped a file into her briefcase and prepared to leave for the arraignment. But she left it on her own instead. She wanted to be there when he read it. She couldn't wait to see his expression.

***"Thanks, Susan," Carmichael said as the receptionist handed her a couple of messages. "Is Jack in his office?"

"I'm not sure. But I know he's around here somewhere. He got back not long after you left."

Carmichael headed down the hallway, stopping at her office only long enough to drop her briefcase on a chair and grab the neatly folded papers with the familiar blue cover sheet. She found McCoy in his office. Schiff was sitting on the sofa and both men looked up as she entered.

"How did the arraignment go?" Schiff asked.

"Good. Mr. Murphy was remanded and his lawyer wants to set up a meeting with us to talk about a plea." She looked at McCoy. He was leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. "We had a visitor before I left."

"Oh? Who was it?" he asked.

"Calea Morgan," she answered.

He sat forward. "What did she want?"

"Well, after we had a nice chat about being homesick," Carmichael handed him the papers, "she dropped this off."

McCoy opened the packet and began to read. "What the...She has to be kidding!" He looked at her in disbelief. "What did she say?"

Carmichael shrugged. "About this, nothing, except that she would see us tomorrow in chambers."

"Would someone like to fill me in?" Schiff asked quietly, looking from one to the other.

"This is a motion to have the gun admitted back into evidence." McCoy pushed the papers toward him.

Carmichael took them and handed them to Schiff.

The older man pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and after putting them on, scanned the paper. After a few seconds, he lowered them and glared at McCoy. "What kind of attorney moves to get evidence she had previously excluded, admitted back in? I thought you said she was competent."

"She is," McCoy assured him. "This has to be a trick of some kind."

"Well trick or not, if she wants the gun back in, let her put it back in. Should make your job of convicting her client with it that much easier," Schiff said as he stood up and tossed the papers on McCoy's desk. "Of all the nonsense," he muttered as he walked out of the room.

Carmichael stood beside McCoy's desk with her arms folded, looking amused. "I've been thinking about this all afternoon and it doesn't make any sense. What possible reason could she have for wanting the gun back in?"

McCoy shook his head. "I don't know. But I'm sure going to find out," he answered, reaching for the phone.

Moments later, the voice he remembered from a few days previous answered, "Law office. Melissa speaking,"

"This is Jack McCoy. May I speak to Ms. Morgan?"

"She's not in. Would you like to leave a message, Mr. McCoy?"

"When do you expect her?"

"I doubt if she'll be back today. She's on her way to meet with a client and has another meeting across town later. She probably won't finish there until 10:00 or so."

"That kind of schedule must wreak havoc on her personal life," he commented.

The voice on the other end laughed a pleasant giggly sound. "What personal life? She hasn't had one in the four years I've worked for her. And I don't think she's ever noticed."

"I really need to speak to her before tomorrow. Could you get a message to her?"

"She should call in later. If she hasn't by the time I leave, I'll make sure the service gets it to her. Where can you be reached?"

"I'll be at my office for a while longer, then at home later," he answered. After giving his home number to the receptionist and thanking her, he hung up.

No personal life; at least the call hadn't been a total waste.