Chapter 20

McCoy closed the door and tucked the newspaper under his arm, picking the phone up on the second ring.

"It's Calea. I'm ready to go to the hospital whenever you are."

He looked up at the clock. "It's early. As late as I left your place last night, I thought you'd still be asleep. Did Briscoe wake you up?"

"No, he hasn't called yet. I'm just anxious to see how Leslie is this morning."

"Okay," he agreed. "Give me about thirty minutes."

"I'll be waiting downstairs. If you pull in front of the building, I'll see you and come out."

"You can wait downstairs if you like but I want you to stay inside. I'll come in and get you."

She sounded irritated. "Jack..."

"No arguments, Calea. Wait by the security desk with the officers until I come in."

He heard an exasperated sigh. "Fine."

***Morgan came to meet him as soon as he was inside, pulling a jacket on as she walked. As she came to a stop in front of him, he realized that her grayish-green sweater matched her eye color perfectly.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, turning around to open the door for her.

McCoy glanced around as they walked to his car. He had checked the area in front of the building carefully when he had arrived and there was still no one in sight. But he felt more relaxed when they had pulled away and blended with traffic.

When Morgan had remained silent for several minutes, he tried to make casual conversation.

"It looks like it's going to stop raining but it's supposed to get colder next week."

"I guess so."

After another quiet pause he asked, "Did you sleep well?"

At her continued silence, he glanced over at her. "I'll take that as a 'no'," he said lightly. "Maybe after we get back from the hospital you can take a nap."

She sounded annoyed. "I don't take naps. And I have things to do this afternoon."

He opened his mouth to remind her not to leave without her escort but then thought better of it, considering the mood she seemed to be in.

After a few more minutes of silence she said, "I've been thinking about the way this case started. In the weeks before Evan was killed we know he was working on funding the project for Jacobson. He said he had the money, but no money was found. He said he had investors, but none came forward to claim the missing money. So it stands to reason that either the money was never in his possession or whoever supplied it got it back. If Evan was being pushed into starting another project, and we could identify the investors he was working with, maybe we would find the reason why he was killed."

McCoy nodded thoughtfully. "That's a possibility. If Carpelli's partner and office staff didn't know who the investors were, who would?"

"A lot of their investors were repeat customers. They invest, make money, then invest again. Maybe he was working with someone he had worked with before."

"The files we looked through from Fairchild's office were full of completed jobs funded by numerous investors. We can start looking at them."

"I'd like to pull some of the older files as well, from their Chicago days."

He looked over at her sharply. "Why? What do you know?"

"I told you everything I know last night. I just want to explore all the possibilities. If Frank does know who's involved, it could be because they're from Chicago."

"I agree. I think it's a pretty safe bet that Tyler knows at least something about what's going on. If he were here in New York, I would start taking a close look at his activities. Since he isn't, maybe we should give your friend Drew Compton a call and let him know what we suspect. He might be able to help."

Morgan shook her head. "We don't know enough about what's going on ourselves yet. We could be completely wrong about Frank's involvement. I think we should wait until we have more to go on. If we can't find out anything about the investors, then we might have to call Drew for help. I'll ask Peter today where the old records are kept."

"Have them sent to my office. I want you to work with Abbie and me from there for the next few days. I think you should avoid your office. If someone found you there once, they may return."

He half expected an argument, but instead she agreed. "I gave Melissa some vacation time and encouraged her to visit her mother. And I told Tony and Ann to take some time off as well. I don't want them or any clients near my office until I know that it's safe. My service can take any calls and relay them to me. I need to stop by there to pick up a file, but I can do that on my way to your office on Monday. And I know," she said, holding up her hand, "I'll make sure the officers are with me."

The fact that she was willing to take precautions for her staff and not for herself bothered McCoy more than a little, but he decided to keep that observation to himself.

She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a pager, examining the display. "It's my service. Maybe Briscoe called." Reaching into the opposite pocket, she pulled out a cell phone and dialed. "This is Calea Morgan, returning your page."

After listening for a few seconds she thanked the person and returned the phone to her pocket. "Briscoe and Green are at the hospital. Leslie is awake and able to talk to them."

"Good. Maybe she can tell us who to look for," McCoy said optimistically.

"Maybe," Morgan agreed.

When they arrived at the hospital, Briscoe and Green were talking with Fairchild in the hallway outside of Leslie's room. Another man was standing with them, holding a sketchpad.

Briscoe introduced the man as McCoy and Morgan joined the group. "This is Carlton. He's going to try to come up with a face to match Mrs. Fairchild's description."

Fairchild held the door open as everyone filed in. His wife was lying against the raised back of the bed with her shoulder heavily bandaged. He went to stand beside her once everyone was crowded into the small room.

"Mrs. Fairchild, we were hoping you could tell us what happened to you yesterday," Green prompted.

"It all happened so fast, it's hard to remember," she began. "I drove to pick up the children from swim class. I parked the car and got out. When I was about to cross between the rows of parked vehicles, I heard a car approaching from behind and I stopped to let it pass before I crossed. It had been driving slowly, but when I turned it sped up. It was sort of big and dark, maybe blue or black. When it got even with me, I saw that the back window was down and a man was in the back seat. I didn't see the driver's face, only the man in the back. I never saw or heard a gun. I was looking at his face and then I felt something hit my shoulder. It didn't hurt, and at first I thought it was a rock or something that the tire had thrown up. The car passed only a few inches from me and I was more shaken from thinking it had almost hit me than I was about my shoulder. I remember thinking I should've looked at the license plate when my shoulder started to hurt. I looked down and saw blood." She paused a minute as Fairchild took her hand. "Someone came from in front of the building to see if I was all right, and that's all I remember until I woke up here."

"Can you tell us what kind of car it was?" Briscoe asked.

She shook her head. "I'm not very good at telling cars apart. It wasn't very old, but I don't remember anything specific about it."

"Do you think you can describe the man you saw?" Green asked.

"Yes, I got a good look at him." She began to give a fairly detailed description of the man's face and shirt as the police artist began to work. He held up the drawing after a while but she wasn't satisfied that it matched the face she saw, so she told him of some changes to the eyes and shape of the head.

McCoy had been standing at the back of the room, with Morgan a few feet away. When Leslie described the changes, he saw Morgan move unobtrusively to stand behind the sketch artist's chair, looking over his shoulder as he worked. As the detectives continued questioning Leslie about the details of her afternoon, McCoy saw Morgan bend over and say something quietly to the man, pointing to his work. After a few more quick strokes of his pencil, he looked questioningly over his shoulder at her. She nodded and he turned to hold the drawing up for Leslie to see, while Morgan returned to lean against the wall.

Leslie nodded as she studied the drawing. "That looks like man I saw."

After asking her a few more questions, the detectives thanked her and made their way out of the room, followed by the other police officer and McCoy. Morgan walked to the bed and said a few words to Leslie before leaving the room with Fairchild.

Once they were in the hallway with the others, Morgan spoke to her client. "Peter, where are your business files from Chicago stored? We want to take a look at them as well as the ones the D.A.'s office has to see if we can figure out who the investors were for the Jacobson deal."

"They're in storage at my office building. What makes you think Evan was working with someone from Chicago?"

"I don't know that he was," Morgan answered. "I only want to make sure we have the names of all the investors he worked with over the years. I know a lot of them reinvested several times."

"My secretary can get them for you. I'll call her and give her your number. You can tell her what you're looking for and she can send the files over to you."

Morgan nodded. "Tell her to call me after 3:30. I have a meeting with a client this afternoon but maybe I can help her pull what I need afterwards."

Fairchild scrutinized her carefully. "You look beat. I thought you were going to get some rest when you left last night."

"I'm okay," she shrugged.

"You don't have to worry, Calea. The police haven't let any of us out of their sight. The doctor says Leslie can go home in a couple of days. When she's released, my parents are going to take her and the kids home with them until this is all over."

Morgan sighed. "Until we know what's going on, I can't help but be worried. Promise you'll call me if Leslie remembers anything else or if I can do anything for you or your parents."

He nodded. "I will. And I want you to be careful. I don't want to have to get my legal advice from someone in a hospital room next to my wife's." Fairchild gave her a slight smile as he squeezed her shoulder, then nodded to the detectives and McCoy before returning to his wife.

As soon as the door closed, Briscoe turned to McCoy. "It sounds to me like whoever shot her wasn't trying to kill her. I'd say they just wanted to scare her."

McCoy exchanged a look with Morgan. "You may be right." Then addressing her, he said, "You recognized the man Leslie described."

She nodded. "He was one of the men who came to my office, although he wasn't the one who did most of the talking."

"Can you give us a description of the other one?" Green asked.

"I think so."

"Why don't we go around the corner and sit down so Carlton can do his thing," Briscoe suggested.

Once seated in a waiting area, the artist's pencil flew as Morgan began to give a description. She sat beside him, watching and making suggestions. When his pencil was finally still, he handed the finished product to her. She studied it, then handed it back.

"Almost, but could you add a little more shading to the top of the nose? His eyes were deeper-set."

When he had complied she nodded. "That's good."

Briscoe reached for the sketch and looked it over. "Did the guy have any distinguishing marks anywhere? Scars, tattoos, anything?"

Morgan chewed her lip thoughtfully. "No, but he wore a ring. It was on his left hand, little finger. It looked like a class ring. It was all gold. It didn't have a stone in it. That's the only other thing I can remember."

Briscoe nodded and handed the pad back to the other officer.

"If you or Mrs. Fairchild think of anything else, let us know," Green told her.

"I will," she assured him.

Morgan and McCoy headed to the car while Briscoe and Green made sure the officer assigned to the Fairchilds was back at his post outside the hospital room.

When they were on their way back across town, McCoy said, "You didn't tell your client you thought your ex-husband might be involved in this case."

"No, and I don't intend to. He has enough on his mind right now. He doesn't need to worry about the details. That's my job."

"Speaking of your job," he said slowly, "I don't mean to pry, but how necessary is the meeting you have this afternoon? Is it something that could be postponed until we at least know who made the threats against you?"

She sounded annoyed again. "I can't put my entire life and especially my business on hold indefinitely. All I have to do is meet with a client and go over a couple of points in a contract with her. It won't take long, but it is something I have to take care of today."

"Where is the meeting?"

"At her club. It's across town from my office."

McCoy shook his head. "I don't like the thought of you driving across town under the circumstances."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Morgan look at him. "I'm sure the officers you assigned will be following me. I really don't see the problem."

"Why don't you let me drive you?" he suggested.

"I have no doubt that you have better things to do on a Saturday afternoon than chauffeur me around."

"Sad to say, but actually I don't," he offered with a smile. "If you send me home, you're sentencing me to an afternoon of paying bills and doing laundry. I'd much rather keep you company and not have to worry about your safety."

Morgan sounded a lot less annoyed. "You're offering to be my bodyguard?"

"Everyone needs a back-up career." He glanced over to find her looking at him with as close to a smile as he had seen from her in four days. Then it was gone.

"No offense, Jack, but I don't think having a D.A. looking over my shoulder is going to inspire confidence in my client as to my abilities as an attorney."

He shrugged. "I'll stay out of the way. I'm sure I can find something to do while you work."

She was quiet a moment before she finally said, "All right."

After asking and getting directions to the place she was to meet, he asked, "Do you want me to take you back to your place to change or anything?"

She shook her head. "It's Saturday. I wear jeans on Saturday. If one of my clients objects, I refer them to an attorney I know who sleeps in a business suit. I don't change for anyone."

He looked over and gave her a smile. "Good. I know a great place to eat lunch on the way."

***The meeting with Morgan's client was uneventful. After being introduced simply as a friend, McCoy found a spot at the bar and ordered a drink. He sipped it slowly as he kept a watchful eye on her from across the room. She didn't even look in his direction until she finished the meeting and stood up from the table to leave.

On the drive back, she was quiet and McCoy couldn't seem to find a subject that she would comment more than a few words on.

Once they were back at her building, he checked in with the officers on duty. In her presence he gave them strict instructions about allowing her to leave without them, then accompanied her up to her apartment.

When the elevator door to her apartment opened, they could hear the phone ringing. As Morgan hurried to answer, McCoy headed for the bathroom.

Afterwards he found her waiting in the kitchen, sitting at the bar.

"Peter's secretary called. She said it will take a while to pull the records we want but she'll start on it tomorrow and have them ready to send to your office first thing Monday morning. I offered to help her today but she had company. And I got the feeling she really didn't want my help."

McCoy sat opposite her. "Monday morning is soon enough. Your client is right; you do look tired. You should take tomorrow to rest up. We'll get a fresh start on Monday and sort everything out."

Morgan sighed and pressed her fingers to her temples as she leaned her elbows on the bar. "If I had the files from your office I could start on those." She looked up at him. "I don't suppose you would consider letting me spend tomorrow in your office?"

"No, I wouldn't. I told you, Monday is soon enough. If you don't get some rest, you're not going to be of much help to anyone."

Her voice was angry and frustrated. "I don't need to rest, Jack. I need this to be over."

He knew her anger wasn't directed at him. "I know."

At his sympathetic look, she said quietly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. Maybe I do need a day off."

He reached over and covered her hand with his. "You do. And I should probably go." He half-hoped she would ask him to stay.

"Thanks for driving me today," she said as she got up.

He stood and walked slowly to the door. "You're welcome. Call me at home if anything comes up."

"I will," she promised, reaching for the elevator button. But instead of pushing it, she lowered her hand and looked up at him hesitantly. "I want to thank you for everything you did for me yesterday evening, too. I appreciate you taking me to the hospital and waiting around to bring me home. And thanks for listening last night. I'm not very good at talking about my personal life but your patience made it a lot easier. I know I was tired and upset, so I hope you were able to make some sense of what I said."

"I was," he assured her. He wished she had brought it up earlier, instead of when he was about to leave. Then again, she had brought it up. "I would like to ask you something."

"Okay."

He leaned a shoulder against the wall next to the elevator door. "Tyler knows you, but you also know him. It's one thing to represent a client engaged in criminal activities, but do you think he's capable of crossing the line, of taking a part in any of those activities?"

Morgan grew thoughtful as she leaned back against the wall on the opposite side of the door. "I don't know. He never had the same respect for the law that the rest of the partners had. There were times when he did things I couldn't have to get clients off that he knew were guilty. Ironically, it's one of the ways he earned his reputation as an outstanding defense attorney. As far as I knew he never did anything technically illegal. But four years is a long time. People change."

"What kind of person is he?"

She shrugged. "Demanding, ambitious. Frank has an unusual ability to read people that I always found amazing. He wanted to enter the political arena but knew I wouldn't have made a very good politician's wife. I've never cared for public life, not to mention my lack of interest in politics. I was a little surprised he didn't pursue it once I left. His second wife is very outgoing and I think would have been much more supportive. Then again, he is the head of one of Chicago's most well-known law firms. Maybe that has satisfied his ambitions."

"You know his wife?"

Morgan shrugged again. "He married his secretary a few months after our divorce."

McCoy could read nothing in her eyes or tone of voice. "What about his personal life? What kind of man is he in that regard?"

Her expression became guarded. "I'm not sure I understand what you're asking."

"I saw the way he treated you the other day, Calea. The way a man treats his wife says a lot about the kind of person he is."

Shaking her head, she noted, "I'm not his wife anymore."

Recalling the night she had spent at his apartment, he wanted to ask her specifically how Tyler had treated her when she was his wife. But he didn't think she would answer such a blunt personal question so he reworded his thoughts slightly. "And when you were married? What was he like then?"

Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she answered, "That isn't something I'm willing to discuss."

He raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly. "Most divorced women are eager to tell of their ex's faults, real or imagined."

She looked McCoy straight in the eye. "Then I guess I'm not like most divorced women." Concentrating on the floor, she added, "When two people are married, they learn things about each other that they wouldn't ordinarily know. The personal relationship Frank and I shared is irrelevant. I won't answer any questions about it and I won't discuss anything about him that I know as a result thereof. I will tell you anything I know about his business practices or the kind of man he is within that context but I won't use any personal knowledge I have of Frank against him."

McCoy took a step toward her. "Isn't that what he's doing to you?"

"Thankfully, I'm not like my ex-husband either," she replied quietly.

"And if we find out he is involved in something illegal?"

Morgan seemed confused. "Then he'll have to answer for his actions like anyone else."

He looked into her eyes. "I guess I need to know that there are no personal feelings that might get in the way of finding out the truth about this case."

She looked even more confused. Then the realization of what he meant spread across her face. "You think I have some sort of loyalty to Frank that would jeopardize the investigation?" She huffed out a small breath as she looked at the floor. When she looked back up, McCoy was struck by the coldness in her eyes. "Believe me, that won't be a problem."

His voice was quiet. "Whatever happens, I meant it when I said I would help in any way I could, Calea. Even if you just need to talk, I'm only a phone call away."

"Thanks," she nodded as she finally pushed the button beside the elevator door. "I'll just be glad when this case is over and I'm sure you will be too."

As he walked into the elevator he advised, "Get some rest. I'll see you Monday morning."

"Okay," is all she said before the door closed.