"And I'm not a law student."
"Sam Cayhall has effectively terminated our services, Mr. Hall. You don't seem to realize this."
"I want the chance to meet with him."
"For what?"
"I think I can convince him to allow me to represent him."
"Oh really."
Adam took a deep breath, then stood and walked deftly around the stacks of files to the window. Another deep breath. Goodman watched, and waited.
"I have a secret for you, Mr. Goodman. No one else knows but Emmitt Wycoff, and I was sort of forced to tell him. You must keep it confidential, okay?"
"I'm listening."
"Do I have your word?"
"Yes, you have my word," Goodman said slowly, biting a stem.
Adam peeked through a slit in the blinds and watched a sailboat on Lake Michigan. He spoke quietly. "I'm related to Sam Cayhall."
Goodman did not flinch. "I see. Related how?"
"He had a son, Eddie Cayhall. And Eddie Cayhall left Mississippi in disgrace after his father was arrested for the bombing. He fled to California, changed his name, and tried to forget his past. But he was tormented by his family's legacy. He committed suicide shortly after his father was convicted in 1981."
Goodman now sat with his rear on the edge of his chair.
"Eddie Cayhall was my father."
Goodman hesitated slightly. "Sam Cayhall is your grandfather?"
"Yes. I didn't know it until I was almost seventeen. My aunt told me after we buried my father."
"Wow."
"You promised not to tell."
"Of course." Goodman moved his butt to the edge of his desk, and placed his feet in the chair. He stared at the blinds. "Does Sam know - "
"No. I was born in Ford County, Mississippi, a town called Clanton, not Memphis. I was always told I was born in Memphis. My name then was Alan Cayhall, but I didn't know this until much later. I was three years old when we left Mississippi, and my parents never talked about the place. My mother believes that there was no contact between Eddie and Sam from the day we left until she wrote him in prison and told him his son was dead. He did not write back."
"Damn, damn, damn," Goodman mumbled to himself.
"There's a lot to it, Mr. Goodman. It's a pretty sick family."
"Not your fault."
"According to my mother, Sam's father was an active Klansman, took part in lynchings and all that. So I come from pretty weak stock."
"Your father was different."
"My father killed himself. I'll spare you the details, but I found his body, and I cleaned up the mess before my mother and sister returned home."
"And you were seventeen?"
"Almost seventeen. It was 1981. Nine years ago. After my aunt, Eddie's sister, told me the truth, I became fascinated with the sordid history of Sam Cayhall. I've spent hours in libraries digging up old newspaper and magazine stories; there are quite a lot of materials. I've read the transcripts of all three trials. I've studied the appellate decisions. In law school I began studying this firm's representation of Sam Cayhall. You and Wallace Tyner have done exemplary work."
"I'm glad you approve."
"I've read hundreds of books and thousands of articles on the Eighth Amendment and death penalty litigation. You've written four books, I believe. And a number of articles. I know I'm just a rookie, but my research is impeccable."
"And you think Sam will trust you as his lawyer?"
"I don't know. But he's my grandfather, like it or not, and I have to go see him."
"There's been no contact - "
"None. I was three when we left, and I certainly don't remember him. I've started a thousand times to write him, but it never happened. I can't tell you why."
"It's understandable."
"Nothing's understandable, Mr. Goodman. I do not understand how or why I'm standing here in this office at this moment. I always wanted to be a pilot, but I went to law school because I felt a vague calling to help society. Someone needed me, and I suppose I felt that someone was my demented grandfather. I had four job offers, and I picked this firm because it had the guts to represent him for free."
"You should've told someone up front about this, before we hired you."
"I know. But nobody asked if my grandfather was a client of this firm."
"You should've said something."
"They won't fire me, will they?"
"I doubt it. Where have you been for the past nine months?"
"Here, working ninety hours a week, sleeping on my desk, eating in the library, cramming for the bar exam, you know, the usual rookie boot camp you guys designed for us."
"Silly, isn't it?"
"I'm tough." Adam opened a slit in the blinds for a better view of the lake. Goodman watched him.
"Why don't you open these blinds?" Adam asked. "It's a great view."
"I've seen it before."
"I'd kill for a view like this. My little cubbyhole is a mile from any window."
"Work hard, bill even harder, and one day this will all be yours."
"Not me."
"Leaving us, Mr. Hall?"
"Probably, eventually. But that's another secret, okay? I plan to hit it hard for a couple of years, then move on. Maybe open my own office, one where life does not revolve around a clock. I want to do public interest work, you know, sort of like you."
"So after nine months you're already disillusioned with Kravitz & Bane."
"No. But I can see it coming. I don't want to spend my career representing wealthy crooks and wayward corporations."
"Then you're certainly in the wrong place."
Adam left the window and walked to the edge of the desk. He looked down at Goodman. "I am in the wrong place, and I want a transfer. Wycoff will agree to send me to our little office in Memphis for the next few months so I can work on the Cayhall case. Sort of a leave of absence, with full pay of course."
"Anything else?"
"That's about it. It'll work. I'm just a lowly rookie, expendable around here. No one will miss me. Hell, there are plenty of young cutthroats just eager to work eighteen hours a day and bill twenty."
Goodman's face relaxed, and a warm smile appeared. He shook his head as if this impressed him. "You planned this, didn't you? I mean, you picked this firm because it represented Sam Cayhall, and because it has an office in Memphis."
Adam nodded without a smile. "Things have worked out. I didn't know how or when this moment would arrive, but, yes, I sort of planned it. Don't ask me what happens next."
"He'll be dead in three months, if not sooner."
"But I have to do something, Mr. Goodman. If the firm won't allow me to handle the case, then I'll probably resign and try it on my own."
Goodman shook his head and jumped to his feet. "Don't do that, Mr. Hall. We'll work something out. I'll need to present this to Daniel Rosen, the managing partner. I think he'll approve."
"He has a horrible reputation."
"Well deserved. But I can talk to him."
"He'll do it if you and Wycoff recommend it, won't he?"
"Of course. Are you hungry?" Goodman was reaching for his jacket.
"A little."
"Let's go out for a sandwich."
* * *
The lunch crowd at the corner deli had not arrived. The partner and the rookie took a small table in the front window overlooking the sidewalk. Traffic was slow and hundreds of pedestrians scurried along, just a few feet away. The waiter delivered a greasy Reuben for Goodman and a bowl of chicken soup for Adam.