He said goodbye to Dutch Hendrix at the front gate and drove home. Abby was not expecting him at such an early hour. He quietly unlocked the door from the carport and eased into the kitchen. He flipped on a light switch. She was in the bedroom. Between the kitchen and the den was a small foyer with a rolltop desk where Abby left each day's mail. He laid his briefcase softly on the desk, then saw it. A large brown envelope addressed with a black felt marker to Abby McDeere. No return address. Scrawled in heavy black letters were the words:
Photographs - Do Not Bend
His heart stopped first, then his breathing. He grabbed the envelope. It had been opened.
A heavy layer of sweat broke across his forehead. His mouth was dry and he could not swallow. His heart returned with the fury of a jackhammer. The breathing was heavy and painful. He was nauseous. Slowly, he backed away from the desk, holding the envelope. She's in the bed, he thought. Hurt, sick, devastated and mad as hell. He wiped his forehead and tried to collect himself. Face it like a man, he said.
She was in the bed, reading a book with the television on. The dog was in the backyard. Mitch opened the bedroom door, and Abby bolted upright in horror. She almost screamed at the intruder, until she recognized him.
"You scared me, Mitch!"
Her eyes glowed with fear, then fun. They had not been crying. They looked fine, normal. No pain. No anger. He could not speak.
"Why are you home?" she demanded, sitting up in bed, smiling now.
Smiling? "I live here," he said weakly.
"Why didn't you call?"
"Do I have to call before I can come home?" His breathing was now almost normal. She was fine!
"It would be nice. Come here and kiss me."
He leaned across the bed and kissed her. He handed her the envelope. "What's this?" he asked nonchalantly.
"You tell me. It's addressed to me, but there was nothing inside. Not a thing." She closed her book and laid it on the night table.
Not a thing! He smiled at her and kissed her again. "Are you expecting photographs from anyone?" he asked in complete ignorance.
"Not that I know of. Must be a mistake."
He could almost hear DeVasher laughing at this very moment on the fifth floor. The fat bastard was standing up there somewhere in some dark room full of wires and machines with a headset stretched around his massive bowling ball of a head, laughing uncontrollably.
"That's strange," Mitch said. Abby pulled on a pair of jeans and pointed to the backyard. Mitch nodded. The signal was simple, just a quick point or a nod of the head in the direction of the patio.
Mitch laid the envelope on the rolltop desk and for a second touched the scrawled markings on it. Probably DeVasher's handwriting. He could almost hear him laughing. He could see his fat face and nasty smile. The photographs had probably been passed around during lunch in the partners' dining room. He could see Lambert and McKnight and even Avery gawking admiringly over coffee and dessert.
They'd better enjoy the pictures, dammit. They'd better enjoy the remaining few months of their bright and rich and happy legal careers.
Abby walked by and he grabbed her hand. "What's for dinner?" he asked for the benefit of those listening.
"Why don't we go out. We should celebrate since you're home at a decent hour."
They walked through the den. "Good idea," said Mitch. They eased through the rear door, across the patio and into the darkness.
"What is it?" Mitch asked.
"You got a letter today from Doris. She said she's in Nashville, but will return to Memphis on the twenty-seventh of February. She says she needs to see you. It's important. It was a very short letter."
"The twenty-seventh! That was yesterday."
"I know. I presume she's already in town. I wonder what she wants."
"Yeah, and I wonder where she is."
"She said her husband had an engagement here in town."
"Good. She'll find us," Mitch said.
* * *
Nathan Locke closed his office door and pointed DeVasher in the direction of the small conference table near the window. The two men hated each other and made no attempt to be cordial. But business was business, and they took orders from the same man.
"Lazarov wanted me to talk to you, alone," DeVasher said. "I've spent the past two days with him in Vegas, and he's very anxious. They're all anxious, Locke, and he trusts you more than anyone else around here. He likes you more than he likes me."
"That's understandable," Locke said with no smile. The ripples of black around his eyes narrowed and focused intently on DeVasher.
"Anyway, there are a few things he wants us to discuss."
"I'm listening."
"McDeere's lying. You know how Lazarov's always bragged about having a mole inside the FBI. Well, I've never believed him, and still don't, for the most part. But according to Lazarov, his little source is telling him that there was some kind of secret meeting involving McDeere and some FBI heavyweights when your boy was in Washington back in January. We were there, and our men saw nothing, but it's impossible to track anyone twenty-four hours a day without getting caught. It's possible he could've slipped away for a little while without our knowledge."
"Do you believe it?"
"It's not important whether I believe it. Lazarov believes it, and that's all that matters. At any rate, he told me to make preliminary plans to, uh, take care of him."
"Damn DeVasher! We can't keep eliminating people."
"Just preliminary plans, nothing serious. I told Lazarov I thought it was much too early and that it would be a mistake. But they are very worried, Locke."
"This can't continue, DeVasher. I mean, damn! We have reputations to consider. We have a higher casualty rate than oil rigs. People will start talking. We're gonna reach a point where no law student in his right mind would take a job here."
"I don't think you need to worry about that. Lazarov has put a freeze on hiring. He told me to tell you that. He also wants to know how many associates are still in the dark."
"Five, I think. Let's see, Lynch, Sorrell, Buntin, Myers and McDeere."
"Forget McDeere. Lazarov is convinced he knows much more than we think. Are you certain the other four know nothing?"
Locke thought for a moment and mumbled under his breath. "Well, we haven't told them. You guys are listening and watching. What do you hear?"
"Nothing, from those four. They sound ignorant and act as if they suspect nothing. Can you fire them?"
"Fire them! They're lawyers, DeVasher. You don't fire lawyers. They're loyal members of The Firm."
"The Firm is changing, Locke. Lazarov wants to fire the ones who don't know and stop hiring new ones. It's obvious the Fibbies have changed their strategy, and it's time for us to change as well. Lazarov wants to circle the wagons and plug the leaks. We can't sit back and wait for them to pick off our boys."
"Fire them," Locke repeated in disbelief. "This firm has never fired a lawyer."
"Very touching, Locke. We've disposed of five, but never fired one. That's real good. You've got a month to do it, so start thinking of a reason. I suggest you fire all four at one time. Tell them you lost a big account and you're cutting back."
"We have clients, not accounts."
"Okay, fine. Your biggest client is telling you to fire Lynch, Sorrell, Buntin and Myers. Now start making plans."
"How do we fire those four without firing McDeere?"