Legally Wasted (33 page)

“Admiring the view?” asked Madeline. Larkin
watched her silhouette reflected in the broad windows that lined
his new office.

“Never had one like this before,” he said.
Nearly all of Big Lick lay before him. “I can see all of the city.
You can really move some properties, babe.”

“Phone call is for you, Madeline,” called the
secretary from the next room.

Madeline turned. Larkin smiled.

“Just take a message, Donna,” said Madeline.
“I have to run along to the Jensen property.”

“I thought you weren’t showing properties
anymore,” said Larkin. “Any day. Any moment. Boom. Family.”

“I’m restricting myself to properties within
six miles of the hospital.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

She laughed and stepped out of view. “This is
the last one for a while,” she said as she walked down the hall.
“I’ll be by the house before seven.” Larkin heard the door open.
“Looks like your last appointment is here,” she called before
leaving their office.

Larkin reached for his phone and scrolled
through his electronic calendar. “I don’t have any other
appointments today,” he said to himself.

“Knock knock,” said a familiar voice. Larkin
turned. Detective Kincaid stood in his office doorway. He clutched
a plastic bag in his left hand and a coiled edition of the Big Lick
Times in his right.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” said Larkin.
“Have a seat.”

Kincaid crossed the room and tossed the paper
on Larkin’s desk. “Nice view,” he said as he took a seat.
“Sentencing was today.” Larkin could clearly see part of Anthony’s
round, pink face on the top half of the newspaper. “I expected you
to show and give a victim impact statement.”

Larkin nodded. “You know, I expected that
too.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Larkin shrugged. “Other things on my mind I
suppose.”

“So I heard.”

Larkin smiled. “It’s going to be a girl.”

Kincaid smiled. “How did you find the
mother?”

“Wendy McAdams of all people found her in the
juvenile courts. A young gal, still in high school. Local. And
you’re not going to believe it, but she’s actually a grand-niece to
my old secretary. Small town, right?”

“Is that going to make it difficult? Having
the mother so close?”

Larkin shook his head. “She’s welcome in our
home any time after the adoption. The more people who can love this
child the better.” Larkin had to look away, lest he reveal his
watering eyes to the tough Detective. He glanced down at the
newspaper. “Trevor showed at the sentencing hearing, didn’t
he?”

“Boy did he ever. He was on the stand longer
than anyone. The Judge was laughing one minute and then threatening
to throw his butt in jail for a few hours the next.”

“He should take the show on the road,” said
Larkin.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Kincaid. “If he
stays around these parts, that smug grin of his is one drunken
drive away from a month in jail.” Kincaid leaned forward. “But I
guess if I did pinch him for a DUI, then you’d be defending him,
wouldn’t you?”

Larkin nodded.

“Pointless.” He smiled. “What in the hell
does a Vice Mayor do anyway?”

“I think you’ve seen it.”

Kincaid nodded.

Larkin pointed to the paper. “How much time
did the law clerk get?”

“Forty years.” Kincaid shook his head.
“Should have got life. Or death. The whole thing was just
crazy.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Kincaid stared out the window. “And it all
started with his jealousy. That and he found your business card
while rifling through Alex Jordan’s purse.” He turned back to
Larkin. “Do you know what he said in one of his statements?”

“Do I want to know?”

Kincaid shrugged.

“Tell me.”

“He said that when he looked you up and found
out that you had never been to law school that he knew you’d be
perfect. Boy did he get that one wrong.”

“He nearly got it right,” said Larkin.

Kincaid placed the plastic bag on Larkin’s
desk. “I wanted to give this to you in court today.”

“A gift? For me?”

“A little something the wife made. Didn’t
really have time to wrap it.”

Larkin opened the bag. Inside he found a tiny
infant one-piece. It had been knit of bright orange, the same color
of Larkin’s prison jumpsuit. An inmate number was printed on the
right breast and ‘MONROE’ was emblazoned in big bold black letters
on the left. He had to laugh.

“Congratulations,” he said.

Larkin laughed. “I don’t know if Madeline’s
going to love this or hate this.”

“A good woman will always keep you
guessing.”

“Larkin!” shouted Donna from the other room.
“Madeline’s on line two.”

Larkin picked up the phone. His wife spoke
breathlessly. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ll meet you over there.” He
placed the phone back on the receiver. He looked to Kincaid. “She
said . . . she said it’s time. They called. I’m going to be a
dad.”

Kincaid smiled. “Come on. I’ll give you a
ride.”

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tommy Strelka is a lawyer in Roanoke Virginia
who focuses his practice on civil rights cases in the
workplace.