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The rest of the world, the world of cancer and the trial winding down and dead bodies and Jimmy Cunniff still not fully recovered from his gunshot wounds—andme speculating all over again about whether my client is lying out his ass—is all still out there, somewhere beyond the perimeter.
But for tonight, it’s just Ben and Rip and me.
I’ve got Diana Krall on the sound system. And am feeling almost normal tonight and almost happy. Like I’m falling for this sweet, gentle man that I know I’m going to lose eventually.
Maybe sooner than later.
Whatever “later” even means to me anymore.
I finished writing out my closing argument about an hour ago, got to where I was completely happy with that, knowing I’ll change things when I’m actually in front of the jury, because I always do. But pretty much ready to go to the floor with it.
On the spur of the moment, I called Ben and asked him to come over for a civilized glass of wine and was delighted when he accepted.
“Only if you promise not to try anything,” he said on the phone.
“I think you’ll be safe.”
“Damn. I was afraid of that.”
When he arrived and we cracked open a new bottle of Train Wreck, still the perfect name for my favorite red even on a pleasant night like this, he wanted to know about everything that had happened at the trial.
“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather talk about something else?”
“No. I would not. And neither would you.”
“Like you know me so well.”
“Better thanyouknow.”
“Well, the bad news is that I got my hat handed to me by a great lawyer,” I say.
“Better than you?”
I lean forward, and lower my voice to a whisper and say, “This has to stay between us. But yes. And if he’s not better, we’re both hitting the tape at the same time.”
We both laugh. It has gotten easier and easier for me to laugh when I’m around Ben Kalinsky. Easier and easier tobewith him. Easier to think when I’m around him. And just talk to him. But laugh most of all.
“You don’t really believe he’s better than you,” Ben says.
“We’re about to find out, one way or the other.”
I drink some wine.
Then it just comes out of me, startling even Dr. Ben.
“I hate to lose!”
“But you never have. Lost, I mean.”
“I’m pretty good at visualization, from having played hockey,” I say. “And today I visualized being in that room in a few days and hearing the jury come back with three guilty verdicts.”
Ben says, “If he did pay off the Gates family to keep them quiet, why go ahead and kill them?”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
“But maybe he did.”
“Hey, whose side are you on?”
