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Mulrooney looked at our client—my friend. Jamila didn’t answer.
*****
Before we finished, Mulrooney said he’d arrange to hire a local investigator. He said he knew just the man: Ellis Conroy. If anyone could find evidence to poke holes in the prosecution’s case, it would be Conroy. Before we left, I made sure to get Conroy’s number. I couldn’t help but feel panicked. I had to do something. I couldn’t simply sit back and wait for Conroy to work his magic. On top of that, Jamila had never answered my question. What could she be withholding?
“Let’s keep in touch.” Mulrooney tossed the suggestion out as he strolled to his car, a blue Caddy with all the trimmings. He threw his briefcase onto the passenger seat and walked around to the driver’s side. “I’m heading to a meeting, but I’ll get on the phone with her father right now and arrange for her bail. I’m sure he can cover it.”
“I’ll call Conroy,” I said. “Perhaps I can help.” Meanwhile, could you please tell me what the hell just happened?
“Fine,” Mulrooney stated as he pulled a cell phone from its holster and slid into the car. “Not to discourage you, but Conroy is a fine investigator. I’m sure he’s capable of handling this on his own.”
I wracked my brain for a response. It felt like fishing in barren waters.
“I … just hate sitting back and doing nothing,” I said, for lack of a better thought.
“Hmm.” Mulrooney hummed like a pipe organ. “I understand. Just be sure to coordinate whatever you do with Ellis.”
“Um, it might help if I knew what motivation you were talking about in there. Or, actually, not talking about.”
Mulrooney got that thoughtful look again. “
I’d … like the client to make the call on revealing that.”
Oh, great. “Are you sure that won’t make my job harder?”
“It won’t,” he assured me. “In a sense, it should make it easier.” With that, he shut the door.
I nodded and turned toward Jamila’s car, thinking I hope to hell you’re right.
*****
I drove toward Ocean City with thoughts of the Maryland State Bar Association’s convention worming their way into my consciousness. I assumed Jamila’s parents wouldn’t have a problem with the bail bond. Even so, the bond on $5 million bail wasn’t chump change. On top of that, she was supposed to give a presentation on ethics in four days.
How ironic was that? How would it look if news of her arrest came out? For that matter, had it already?
I pulled into the lot of a convenience store and bought a local paper. As I walked, I flipped through the pages, nearly tripping over a toddler. His mother glared at me.
“I … I’m sorry,” I sputtered.
She shook her head. “People should pay more attention. They read when they drive, they talk on phones and text. What could be so all-fired important in that paper?”
“My best friend’s been accused of murder. Excuse me, ma’am.”
I beat a hasty retreat, feeling her stare boring into my back.
*****
Once I’d gotten to the car, I riffled through the paper. Nothing in the first few pages. Good. I flipped to an inside section and my heart sank. A headline screamed across the top of the page: “Visiting Attorney Arrested for Murder of Local Magnate’s Stepson.”
While the lead described her only as “an attorney in town for the annual Maryland State Bar Association convention,” her name and age were revealed farther down. Along with the fact that she’d filed a report with the police about the decedent, who as it turned out was the stepson of Marshall Bower, a local entrepreneur with a finger in every pie in town.
CHAPTER SIX
Okay, I thought. It’s Tuesday. The convention doesn’t officially start until tomorrow. Even then, most people don’t show up on the very first day. A lot of people will miss this.
Then, I realized the local broadcast media would be on this like hounds on a fox. Like vultures on road kill, to be more precise.
“Shit!” I threw the paper aside. “Why did you have to be some rich guy’s stepson?” Frustration and rage rose in my throat. I smacked the heel of my hand on the wheel several times. People walking past my car slowed and stared at me.
