Chapter 7

He arrived at the restaurant precisely at 11:00. It was beginning to get crowded, so he decided to get a table rather than wait. He had been seated for about ten minutes when he saw Morgan come in. The hostess pointed out his table, and as Morgan made her way across the room, he noted with appreciation her well-fitted skirt and short jacket.

McCoy stood up when she reached the table. "I believe you're late, Counselor," he said with a smile, resuming his seat as she sat down and placed her briefcase on the floor.

She returned the smile. "I want you to know I gave up lunch at the Waldorf with three handsome men in business suits to meet with you, Mr. McCoy."

"You know, I don't feel a bit guilty," he replied.

"I guess you shouldn’t. Lunch at the Waldorf makes me uncomfortable, anyway. I'm more of a jeans and sweatshirt person."

"I can certainly relate to that. I keep a pair of jeans in my office at all times."

"Really? I keep an extra pair of running shoes and sweats. I never know when I just might need to run away from it all." Her hair was pulled back from her face as usual, but long curls had spilled forward over her shoulders as she sat down. The color went well with the olive green of her jacket. "Where's Abbie?" she asked.

"She had a meeting. She said to send her regrets."

The waitress appeared to bring them menus and recite the day's specials. After taking their drink orders, she left.

As he studied the menu, McCoy asked, "By the way, exactly how did you manage to 'weasel out of' this other lunch?"

"It wasn't easy," she assured him. "That's why I was late. They were determined to persuade me to join them. I finally had to tell them I was meeting with the Executive Assistant District Attorney of New York County." Her eyes were sparkling. "You'll be pleased to know they were properly impressed."

"I should hope so," he said with mock importance. He was getting used to her teasing eyes and cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. "Lunch at the Waldorf; must have been a good meeting."

She nodded, closing her menu. "It was. It was also a long time in coming. I had never negotiated a merger of this size before. The red tape involved was mind-boggling. Now that it's over, I think I may actually be able to sleep when I go to bed tonight."

Before he could reply, the waitress reappeared with their tea and took their orders, hers for a vegetarian calzone and his for one of the specials: veal.

After the waitress left, McCoy noticed Morgan's clearly disapproving look. "Counselor? Is something wrong?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"Veal?" she asked disbelievingly. "You have obviously never looked into the big brown eyes of a little calf before."

He groaned and rolled his eyes. "Great. An animal activist." He regarded her for a moment. "I seem to remember that you had chicken in your salad at our last lunch. How do you justify that?"

She shrugged. "That's different. Chickens are stupid."

He nearly choked on his tea, laughing.

"Hey, trust me," she said, her face and voice sincere. "I know about these things. I grew up on a farm."

Recovering, he said, "A farm in Texas, where there were cows and chickens, I presume?"

"Among other things. So when I tell you chickens are stupid and calves are sweet and cuddly, I know what I'm talking about."

"So, you're saying it's okay to eat stupid animals, just not cuddly ones?" he reasoned.

She shrugged again. "Works for me."

He shook his head, his eyes warm. "You are full of surprises, Counselor."

He had meant it as a compliment, but he clearly saw a look of alarm in her eyes just before she dropped her gaze to the table. When she looked back up, her expression was business-like. The teasing twinkle was gone.

Her voice was business-like as well. "You wanted to know what evidence I've uncovered regarding my case."

Although that was the last thing on his mind at the moment, he asked, "What have you found?"

She leaned forward, hands folded in front of her. "It seems that the doorman and the manager, Mr. Rigel, weren't the only ones to see the repairman who was in the Fairchild's apartment. Peter's neighbor across the hall, Mrs. Karinsky, saw him as well." She pulled a sheet of paper out of her briefcase. "By the way, this is a copy of my witness list. Mrs. Karinsky's name is on it, but I'm not sure she'll be available for the trial. She's out of state, visiting her daughter. But the description she gave over the phone matches the others. And there’s something that all three witnesses noticed about the man: he wore gloves. Mr. Rigel said he noticed because he thought it was unusual for a repairman to wear gloves before he was ready to start working. He also carried a tool box, where he could have easily concealed a gun that he intended to plant in my client's apartment."

When she paused to take a drink of her tea, McCoy said, "The fact that this repairman was in the Fairchild's apartment is irrelevant. Maybe he got the wrong Fairchild. All you have are coincidences. There could be any number of explanations, other than that he was there to set up your client."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But you have to admit there are a lot of coincidences. The forged signature on the workorder was actually very good. It took an expert to see the difference between it and the real thing. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it appear legitimate. That coincidence is hard to explain away. And the man arrived only 15-20 minutes after Leslie Fairchild left the apartment. Given that, the phone call to the police is just a little too convenient. People have been convicted on fewer coincidences."

Their food arrived and both were quiet for a few minutes.

McCoy spoke first, between bites. "Other than the money your client was in line to collect, I don't see that anyone else had anything to gain by killing Carpelli."

"How do you know?" Morgan asked. "The investigation into other possible motives or suspects came to a screeching halt when Peter was arrested."

"That's because the evidence against your client is so overwhelming, Counselor. It's pointless to keep looking for an object after you've already found it. Fairchild is the only one with a motive. And the motive is money."

She leaned forward. "I don't disagree that the motive is probably money. I only disagree that the money Peter will make off of the project he's working on is the money behind the motive." She sat back, studying him thoughtfully. "You asked me at our last meeting if I knew anything about the million dollars Evan said he had collected from investors."

When she didn't immediately continue, he prompted, "And do you?"

"Actually, no one seems to know anything about that money, not even Peter. Which in itself isn't unusual: once Peter took Evan on as a partner to handle the money, he let him do just that. As long as the money to fund a project was available, Peter took little interest in the particulars. He occasionally gave design presentations to groups of investors, but otherwise, he didn't have much to do with them. The unusual thing about the deal with Jacobson was that Evan got involved in what was usually Peter's job: choosing the project. He brought the deal to Peter and tried to convince him to do it. But Peter didn't feel they were far enough along with the mayor's renovation project to commit to another. They even argued about it. Peter said Evan was really pushing, to the point of being obsessive. He kept saying they owed it to their investors to get started on something else. Evan even hinted they might lose investors if they didn't. The renovation for the city was taking a lot longer than expected. The crew had been tied up with it for months. Evan was anxious, not only for the pay-off at the end, but to get them off of it and on to the next project. Peter said he got the feeling Evan was being pressured by some investors, but he didn't know who they were."

McCoy was listening carefully. She was giving him a lot of information.

"It seems to me that you have basically laid out your entire defense. Why are you telling me all of this now instead of saving it for the trial?"

Morgan pushed her plate to the side and leaned forward on her arms. "Because I know how this game is played, Jack. I have a strong case. And there is nothing I've told you here that will help you convict my client. But while you're wasting time trying to do just that, the trail to the real killer is getting cold. If I can convince you of my client's innocence, you have the resources to investigate and find out who is really responsible for Evan Carpelli's death."

She had spoken with a great deal of passion and conviction. But for some reason, he couldn't seem to focus on what she had said. At the moment, he could focus on only two things: the fact that she had finally called him "Jack", and that the eyes he was staring into were green. Not the unnatural green that comes from colored contact lenses, but the same green as her suit.

Without thinking, he said, "Tell me something. Why is it that every time we've met up until now, your eyes have been blue, but today they're green?"

Morgan sat back slowly, clearly surprised. She looked down at the table and McCoy saw the color rise in her cheeks.

He hadn't meant to embarrass her. But the fact that he had, pleased him a great deal.

She met his eyes hesitantly. At the obvious look of amusement on his face, though, her embarrassment turned to anger in a flash. "And what exactly does that have to do with our discussion?" she snapped.

"Nothing," he answered. "I just find it distracting."

She folded her arms, glaring at him. "Maybe if you would try to concentrate on the case at hand, you wouldn't be so distracted."

He was sure she was wrong, but he knew enough about women not to argue. He nodded and gave her what he hoped seemed like an apologetic smile. "Point taken, Counselor."

He saw a little of the anger in her eyes subside. He took a drink and quickly tried to think of a way out of the turn that he had allowed their conversation to take.

"I thought the goal of a defense attorney was to get an acquittal. If your case is as strong as you say, why are you so interested in further investigation?"

His tactic worked. She grew quiet for a moment, and when she answered, her voice was considerably calmer.

"Peter Fairchild is not just another client who got my name out of the yellow pages. If he was, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation. I would simply present my case to the jury, and be content with the acquittal that would surely follow," she answered confidently. "But Peter is my friend and I owe him more than a competent defense and acquittal. I owe him the truth about what really happened to Evan. After all he’s done for me, it's the least I can do for him."

He regarded her thoughtfully. "At the moment, all you have is a handful of coincidences. If you can come up with something more substantial, I'll give it due consideration. But for now, I think your client is guilty."

"If I get more evidence, you'll investigate. But I can't get more evidence unless you investigate. Looks like I'm on my own," she sighed. "But I didn't really expect you to do anything different."

"Oh? Am I that predictable?"

She shrugged and he finally saw a hint of teasing return to her eyes. "You're a D.A. Let's just say there's a familiar pattern here."

"So you've played this card before?" he suggested.

"Once or twice," she admitted.

"And did it ever work?"

"That depends on how you define 'work'. My goals aren't always the same."

"I think you lost me there," he said, puzzled.

"I didn't really expect you to agree to investigate. But now that we've had this conversation, when I finally do get the evidence to back up my theory and present it to you, it won't be a new idea. It will be a lot easier for you to accept," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Have you ever heard of being overconfident, Counselor?" he asked with a wry smile.

She took a moment before answering seriously, "You should know that this is not an ordinary case for me. Because of our history together, I know Peter very well. I know what he's capable of. Even if your evidence points to the contrary, when I tell you he's innocent, you can believe it's true. And you can believe I will convince a jury of that fact."

He shook his head. "If there's one thing I've learned in all my years of doing this, it's that no one can really know what another person is capable of doing in the heat of the moment, and that people lie, even to their lawyers."

"My relationship with Peter is a two-way street. He knows my policy on clients who lie to me. I make it clear from the start that if a client lies or withholds the truth regarding their case, they find themselves another lawyer. And I've been known to drop clients, midcase, for that very reason. Trust me; he's not willing to risk it."

"A defense attorney with scruples? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" he asked teasingly.

"Underestimating me again, Counselor?" she asked pointedly.

"Not on your life," he assured her with a smile.

When they had finished eating, she glanced at her watch and sighed as the waitress came to remove their plates. After asking for the check and handing her a credit card, Morgan looked apologetically at McCoy. "I hate to eat and run, but I have to be at a client's office in a little while."

"I understand. I have to meet with a suspect and his attorney to negotiate a plea this afternoon. I need to get back to my office as well."

When the waitress returned, Morgan signed the slip and took her copy.

"Thank you for lunch, Calea," McCoy offered. "I really like this rule of yours. Does this mean I pay next time?"

"After the trial starts, there may not be a next time. You may not even be on speaking terms with me."

"Don't worry, Counselor. I don't take what goes on in the courtroom personally," he said, standing and waiting while she retrieved her briefcase.

She rolled her eyes as she stood up. "That isn’t what I heard."

He huffed out a breath. "You know, you can't believe everything people tell you."

"Right," she said with a smile, walking ahead of him to the door.

He reached past her and pushed it open, holding it back. She thanked him as she stepped out. The air was crisp, but the sun was shining and there was no wind; perfect fall weather.

"Did your secretary give you the message about where to park?" McCoy asked.

"Yes, and I meant to thank you. It was really nice of you to mention it. It made things considerably less stressful."

"My pleasure," he acknowledged, as they both turned to walk in the same direction.

"So when do I get your witness list?" she asked as they walked.

"I should have it finished this afternoon. And we should have a date for jury selection as well."

"If you don't mind, could you have someone fax it to my office? I won't be in anymore today, but I would like to look it over first thing in the morning."

"No problem," he replied. After a brief pause he asked, "Do you have another long afternoon ahead, or will you be able to go home at a reasonable hour today?"

She sighed. "I wish I could. I'm glad this morning's meeting is behind me, but I have several smaller ones to take care of this week and another tough one the first of next week. After that, I hope to breathe a little easier and get back to a more normal schedule."

"Maybe after you do, we could get together for dinner one night," he suggested.

She glanced at him. "I don't believe in business dinners, Counselor. I find that little business ever gets accomplished in that setting."

He shook his head, amused. "That's okay. I wasn't asking you out for a business dinner."

Morgan stopped in her tracks, looking up at him in surprise. After a few seconds, she continued walking slowly beside him.

"I have a rule against dating people I work with," she finally said quietly.

"We work on opposite sides of the courtroom," he argued, still amused. But noting her seriousness, he added, "Then maybe we should wait until the trial is over. Then the winner," he said, putting a hand to his chest, "can celebrate, while consoling the loser."

She shook her head, smiling slightly. After a few seconds more, she stopped walking again, looking at the ground, and seemed to search for what she wanted to say. When she finally met his eyes, she seemed hesitant. "I hope I didn't give you the wrong impression. I didn't mean to..."

She stopped and looked away. Whatever she was trying to say wasn't coming easy. McCoy was curious at her reaction, given the fact that she had always been so straightforward in their previous conversations. She looked at him again. "It isn't that I don't enjoy your company. It's just that I'm not the kind of person who casually dates. And at this point in my life, I'm not looking for anything serious, either." She paused and then continued, "And to be perfectly honest with you, I don't know that I ever will be."

It wasn't so much her words that bothered him. He didn't really feel rejected, although he had experienced the feeling once or twice before. What did bother him was the look in her eyes and the sound of finality in her voice.

"Sounds like a lonely position to take, Calea," he said quietly.

She turned and started walking again, answering casually, "Being lonely is never a problem for me. I'm around people all day. I look forward to a little solitude in my time off."

"Being around people isn’t the same as being with someone."

She turned to him. "Look, I'm happy with my life exactly as it is. When I'm not working, I have friends to be with when I choose not to be alone. I'm very content. How many people can say that?"

Her tone was light and he could have believed her, had he not seen the regret in her eyes. He simply wasn't convinced.

"Not many, I guess." He paused for a moment before continuing. "So maybe we could get together sometime just as friends."

She stopped behind a small teal green car and smiled up at him. "A person can never have too many friends." Indicating the car, she added, "I'd better be on my way. I suppose the next time we see each other will be in court for jury selection."

"I guess it will be," he agreed. "Thanks again for lunch, Calea. I enjoyed it."

"So did I. Have a good afternoon, Jack."

"You too," he said, returning her smile and starting to his own car. But his smile faded quickly and he didn't even turn around as he heard her drive away. For the first time since he had met her, he left her company feeling unhappy.