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“You know what that’s about, don’t you? Just shut down your phone until tomorrow morning.”
“Good idea.”
“Lawyers don’t get calls in the middle of the night like cops and doctors.”
“Actually...” Stone switched his phone back on. “We do sometimes. And those calls can be lucrative when they come in the middle of the night.”
—
Stone got home after midnight, only slightly the worse for wear, and the office line was ringing. “Hello?”
“Is this the Barrington law firm?”
“It is.”
“This is Sergeant Nolan at the precinct. I got an Edwin Charles Jr., says he’s your client.”
“Hmmm, let’s see,” Stone said. “Nope, he’s not ours. Give him to a public defender.”
“He won’t take a PD.”
“Then give him a cell. Put him in the tank with all the thieves and junkies.”
“Whatever you say.” He hung up, and Stone went to bed. Then, in the wee hours, his phone rang again. This one would be from night court, he knew. He picked up the phone. “Wrong number,” he said, and hung up.
He remained at peace until Joan got in and rang him at his desk the following morning.
“Morning,” she said cheerfully. “How many calls did you get last night either from or about Eddie?”
“Including this one? Eighteen—no, nineteen.”
“It makes me sorry his parents showed him how to use a phone,” she said.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Oh, the reason I called is that there was a call from Bridget on the machine.” She gave him the number.
“Thank you.” He called Bridget. “I’m sorry, I just got your message,” he said. “When did you get in?”
“Around two,” she said. “The phone was ringing, and I thought it was you, so I answered.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“No, it was the bailiff at night court. Eddie Jr. told them I was his lawyer, so I had to go down there and make bail for him.”
“Oh God, how much?”
“Only five hundred. I had that in my ready bag.”
“Where is the schmuck?”
“Out wandering the streets, I guess.”
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry about that. Tell you what, I’ll buy you a great dinner this evening.”
“Deal.”
“My house at six-thirty?”
