Legally Wasted (20 page)

“Ever surf to a website you didn’t want your
wife to know about?”

“Yes,” said Trevor, “I see.”

“I do know the basics.”

“Mr. Monroe,” said Anthony as he dabbed his
forehead with the cuff of his right sleeve. “I do believe that if -
-”

“Zip it, junior,” said Trevor. “So they
busted you with an email that anyone in the world could have
written from any computer in the world?” Larkin nodded. “Now that’s
what I call solid police work. What the hell kind of evidence is
that?”

“The fabricated kind,” said Anthony.

Larkin crossed his arms. “Okay, Anthony. What
is it? What do you know?”

Anthony exhaled as his shoulders sagged a
bit. “Finally,” he said. “You know, before I begin, might I trouble
you for a sip of water?”

“What?” asked Trevor. “You kidding me,
junior?”

“I was just assaulted and battered on the
sidewalk. My sides hurt, my throat is dry, and I have frankly lost
much of my composure.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Trevor, but Larkin had
already returned from his office bathroom with a half glass of
water.

“Thank you,” said Anthony as he gripped the
glass and put it to his lips. As soon as he took one sip, his body
trembled and he nearly dropped the glass. “Goodness,” he said as he
stared at the glass. “What is that?”

“It’s water,” said Larkin. “The glass may
need to be cleaned a bit.”

Anthony cautiously sipped again. He
immediately coughed into his closed hand and handed it back to
Larkin. “Did you clean it with vodka?”

“It was gin. Now start talking.”

Anthony nodded. He moved away from the wall
and headed toward the secretary’s desk. The many pictures on the
wall gave him pause before he sank into Charisma’s chair. He
wrapped his fingers upon her desk before clasping them neatly in
front of him. “Mr. Monroe,” he said as if he had begun a well
rehearsed speech, “you are being framed for the murder of Alex
Jordan.”

“Jesus, he’s a sharp one,” said Trevor.
Anthony unclasped his hands and squinted with displeasure.

Larkin approached Charisma’s desk. “What do
you know?”

“Well the email is new,” said Anthony. He
nodded slowly. With his shabby tweed suit, re-clasped hands, and
ruddy cheeks, Anthony looked like a kid playing dress up. He was
the neighborhood nerd who wrote wills and codicils in crayon for
fun. “And to be honest, I’m unsure of why you were selected to be
the fall guy, but that analysis is really immaterial. The
conclusion is very clear.”

“What did that email say anyway?” asked
Trevor as he returned. He held a glass filled with several inches
of what was presumably Bowland’s gin.

“It doesn’t matter,” snapped Larkin. “Speak,
Anthony. Tell me everything you know. What’s the conclusion that
you’re talking about?”

Anthony cleared his throat. “I believe that
Justice Byrd, my boss, killed Alex. And I believe him to be working
in concert with both the police and other individuals to conceal
this fact.”

“Knew it,” said Trevor as he swallowed half
of the liquid in the glass. He winced. “Oh, God,” he said as he
held the glass far from his face and examined its contents. “This
is terrible.” His eyebrows raised and his hands shook as the liquid
seared his throat. “Like trying to swallow something that hates
you.”

“How do you know?” asked Larkin.

“It was evident from the start,” said
Anthony. “Justice Byrd is known - -”

Anthony was interrupted by a ringing cell
phone. “It’s Carol,” said Trevor. “Excuse me,” he said as he
answered his phone and stepped away. He slammed his empty glass
upon the counter as if to signal the barkeep that it was time to
leave the saloon.

“Justice Byrd is known,” continued Anthony,
“for consistently hiring one male and one female law clerk. During
the clerkship application process, I did my research. I spoke with
past Byrd law clerks to determine if this would be the right fit
for me. You know, to gauge my eligibility and also to weigh the
advantages and disadvantages of aligning myself professionally and
perhaps politically as it were with Justice Byrd. These are
important considerations lest you paint yourself in a corner of the
political spectrum.”

Larkin slowly shook his head. The kid was
lucky that Trevor had busied himself with a shouting contest on his
cell phone outside of the office. Anthony was pompous and arrogant,
but no more so than his peers. He seemed a perfect fit for a
penthouse in the ivory tower. “Right,” said Larkin, “you checked it
out.”

“Correct. I ultimately determined that I was
a perfect fit for the office. This conclusion was predicated upon a
number of facts, a full litany of which I shall omit at this
time.”

“Thank you,” said Larkin.

Anthony seemed unsure of why he was being
thanked, but he gave a slight nod. “Chief among these bases was my
experience working with the Federalist Society. I was president of
my law school’s chapter and I organized a symposium featuring a
lecture from George Will.”

Larkin ran his fingers over his scalp. He
wanted to tackle Anthony again. As Anthony paused to clear his
throat, the office door opened and Trevor stepped into the
lobby.

“Is he still talking?” asked Trevor.

“Yes,” said Larkin.

“So who did it?”

“Excuse me?” asked Anthony.

“Who killed the clerk, junior?” asked
Trevor.

“I believe it to be Justice Byrd,” said
Anthony. “I already said that. You replied that you knew this
already.”

“Right,” nodded Trevor. “And we can prove
this?”

“I was explaining to Mr. Monroe that I had
researched the position by meeting and discussing former Byrd
clerks. I also informed Mr. Monroe that my experience as a staunch
federalist also assisted - -”

“Jesus Christ,” shouted Trevor. “My ears are
bleeding. What the hell is he saying?” Larkin opened his mouth to
answer, but Trevor waved his hand. “You know what? It doesn’t
matter. He can talk in the damn car.”

“Car? Where are we going?”

“Carol can’t pick up Ryan at soccer. We’ve
got to go right now.”

“Soccer?” Larkin balked. “You know I’m being
framed for murder.”

“I know, I know,” said Trevor. “It’s
something to do with her damned acupuncturist or aroma therapist or
something like that. Essentially, my spousal support check has
funded someone to keep her ass pain-free or moisturized or waxed or
whatever for the next ninety minutes and Ryan’s practice ends in
five. Just bring junior along and he can tell us all about his
participation in the renaissance fair in the car.”

Larkin nodded. Trevor was a bit of a mess,
but so was he, and he surely needed backup. “Alright. Anthony,
you’re coming with us.”

“But, I - -”

“Look,” yelled Larkin, “it’s my ass on the
line here, not yours. I’m the one staring at life in prison. Can
you tell me in the car? After we talk, Trevor can drop you off
wherever you need to go.”

Anthony looked at Trevor. The single line in
his forehead formed as he studied the man whom moments ago had
threatened to extract his teeth with pliers. He bit his lip.
“Okay.”

“You’re sitting shotgun,” said Trevor to
Larkin as he unlocked his white SUV. “I’m not driving next to
junior.”

Larkin nodded and opened his door. Anthony
stood several feet away from the car. “Come on, Anthony,” said
Larkin, “no one’s getting kidnapped.”

Anthony opened the door and skeptically
viewed the backseat. Trevor gripped the steering wheel as tightly
as one could as he watched Anthony dust off the leather seats with
his hand before carefully selecting the perfect spot for his
briefcase. As soon as he stepped inside the vehicle, and before he
could shut the door behind him, Trevor gunned the accelerator and
the SUV launched into the mid-morning traffic.

“Goodness,” cried Anthony as he fell back
onto his seat. His left hand worked at straightening his tie and
next his hair, although neither had moved. His right hand groped
for a seatbelt.

“All right,” said Larkin. He swiveled in his
seat and eyed Anthony. “What do you have to tell me?”

“And give us the Wikipedia version,” said
Trevor, “not the Oxford English Dictionary.”

After he was situated, Anthony quickly
lowered his window several inches. The interior did have a bit of
an odor. The earthy smell of the dark leather upholstery was
accented by lingering whiffs of smoke that had snuck down into the
seat cracks. But there was something else in the air, something
acrid that floated here and there. Larkin could not place the odor
in his mind, but it just smelled
naughty
.

“Like I was saying,” began Anthony, “I was
highly involved in the Federalist Society in law school.”

“What’s he talking about?” asked Trevor.

“The Federalist Society is a very right wing,
very conservative group,” said Larkin. “They get together in law
school to sip drinks, compare trust funds, and extinguish personal
freedoms. Think Antonin Scalia and the second amendment and so
forth,” said Larkin.

“Abortions are evil,” said Trevor.

“You got it,” said Larkin.

“That’s really not the ethos of the Society
at all, I - -”

“Whatever,” said Larkin. “I just nailed it.
Move on.”

Anthony sighed. A breeze from the window
moved a narrow lock of hair near his right temple and his hand
instantly swatted it back into place. It seemed a subconscious
move, like a cow whipping its tail about to ward off flies while
its face was buried in clover. “Essentially, I did my homework. You
could pair up my resume along with the vast majority of Byrd’s
prior clerks and scant differences emerged. And then there was
Alex.”

“Finally,” said Trevor.

“She was completely unlike the prior
clerks,”

“That’s an understatement,” said Trevor.

Larkin punched Trevor in the thigh. “I swear
to God, if you don’t let him finish,” said Larkin.

“She was from Berkley of all places. Berkley.
And not to mention, she had been president of the American
Constitution Society.”

Larkin raised his hand before Trevor could
ask. “Think the opposite of the Federalists. An evolving
constitution, gun control and the ACLU.”

“Gotcha.”

Larkin swiveled back to meet Anthony’s gaze.
“So Alex didn’t fit the Byrd profile.”

“Exactly,” said Anthony. He slapped the meat
of his thighs as if he had just revealed the winning hand. Larkin
stared at him with such a focused glare it could have started a
brushfire.

“And?”

Anthony raised his hands palms upward. He
raised his eyebrows and motioned with his hand as if to coax a
response. “Don’t be so goddamned Socratic,” Larkin snapped. “Just
tell me.”

Anthony dropped his hand. “He was attracted
to her,” he said.

“And you know this how?”

“The way he was around her. He joked with
her. Justice Byrd didn’t, Justice Byrd
doesn’t
joke with
anyone. She made him laugh. Donna, that is, Justice Byrd’s
secretary told me that her interview lasted well over an hour and
he took her to lunch shortly thereafter.”

“How long did your interview last?” Larkin
asked.

“Eleven minutes.”

“And no happy for meal for Tony,” said
Trevor.

Trevor clucked his tongue. “Someone limited
this kid to eleven minutes of talk time? Amazing. I can see how
Byrd made it all the way to the top.” He glared at Anthony in the
rearview mirror for a moment before realizing that he was cruising
past the soccer fields.

“Oh, you don’t interrupt Justice Byrd,” said
Anthony.

“Hmm,” said Larkin as he recalled his
interrogation. Maybe he had pissed off the old blue blood more than
he knew.

Trevor stomped on the brakes and swerved
neatly into place behind a blue hatchback. The soccer fields were
on the passenger side of the car so Trevor unrolled Larkin’s
window.

“Did she ever confide in you, Anthony?” asked
Larkin. “You know, about their relationship?”

“Ryyyy—aaaan!” bellowed Trevor. Larkin and
Anthony covered their ears. Trevor sounded three long blasts with
his horn before shouting again. “Ryyyy-aaan!”

“She didn’t confide in me, per se,” said
Anthony. “Well, not until just before she died.”

“Just before she died?” asked Larkin. “What
did she tell you?”

“She was concerned,” said Anthony.

An object hit the side of the car with a
great
thump
. Larkin and Anthony jumped in their seats. In
the side view mirror, Larkin glimpsed a bouncing fluorescent yellow
soccer ball. The back passenger door was jerked open. Anthony
raised his hands as if the sight of the park rendered him weak.

“Nice shot, Ry,” said Trevor.

“Hey, dad,” replied a sweet voice. Ryan,
Trevor’s blond and doll-faced eight year-old poked her head into
the car. Her golden hair, which normally fell perfectly straight
around her toothpaste commercial good looks, was neatly arranged in
pigtails. Her yellow and black soccer uniform was complimented by a
large embroidered patch of a bee on the back. Trevor had sponsored
the entire team and that included uniforms with “Da’ Honey Beez,”
stitched above their names.

“Who is that?” Ryan asked, shrugging toward
Anthony but not deigning to really look at him. She picked up her
ball and flipped it between her dirty little fingers.

Trevor turned and smiled at his precious
little spawn.

“That’s a lawyer who’s helping Mr. Monroe
with a problem,” said Trevor.

“Okay,” said Ryan. “Hey, Mr. Monroe.”

“Hi, Ryan. How was soccer?”

“I got yellow carded. How are you?”

“So polite,” said Trevor.

“I’ve been framed for murder.”

“Really?” asked Ryan.

“Yeah,” said Trevor, “like Law and Order.”
Trevor nodded to Larkin. “She loves that show.”