Page 22 of The Devil's Advocate

Deputy Leonard didn’t seem to like this development. Without a word, he walked away toward a room in back, eyeing me suspiciously as he left, like I was about to steal the bell on the counter.

A minute later he returned, and said, ‘Andy Dubois doesn’t have any visits scheduled. And anyhow, it ain’t visiting hours yet.’

My shirt was already sticking to me with sweat. I hadn’t had a cup of coffee yet, no breakfast, little sleep, and I wondered how his moustache would look after I broke the nose sitting above it.

‘Look, Andy’s lawyer is missing. I’m here to represent him. I just need to see him first. Don’t make me go see the judge to get a court order. Just let me in.’

‘From what I can see, his lawyer is Cody Warren. You can’t get a court order to see a man who ain’t your client.’

A large man appeared behind Leonard. He was fifty pounds overweight, red-faced and didn’t look happy about any of it. He wore a badge on a dark blue shirt, and I guessed he was the sheriff around here. A closer look at his name badge confirmed it. This was Sheriff Colt Lomax, the man who had witnessed Andy’s signature on the confession, and probably the same guy who wrote it.

For a few seconds, I took the moment in. The smiles on their faces. They folded their arms. I turned and looked to my left. A double, swing, half-door that came up to my thigh was all that separated me from the office beyond. There were another half-dozen deputies milling around in the open-plan office. At the corner on the left was the sheriff’s private office, and in the center of the back wall, a steel door stood open, revealing a dark hallway that I took to be the entrance to the cellblock. I took a step closer to the swing door to get a better look at the holding cells.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ said Leonard.

I ignored him, narrowed my eyes. There were maybe half a dozen cells in that block, some had cage doors open. It was a relatively small holding area. Most occupants wouldn’t be there for more than a few hours until they were brought to court.

‘Take one more step, sir, and you’ll be under arrest,’ said Leonard.

I took a step back, turned and left the building without a word.

The five hundred feet between the Sheriff’s Department and the office of Cody Warren burned the back of my neck and my arms. I needed sunblock and a shower. Instead, I opened the door to Warren’s legal practice. The air conditioning was just about the best thing that had happened to me that morning.

The middle-aged lady got up from behind her desk and approached me.

‘I’m sorry, we can’t take on any new clients at the moment,’ she said.

‘I’m not a client. My name is Eddie Flynn. Alexander Berlin sent me.’

Her polite, upturned mouth and bright customer eyes collapsed into concern.

‘Has he found him?’

‘Not that I know of. He sent me here to take over Andy Dubois’ defense. I need to talk to someone about the case, and I want to try and find out what happened to Mr. Warren.’

Without warning, the lady grabbed me in a bear hug and tightened her arms like she was about to fall off a cliff. At that moment I was glad I hadn’t eaten breakfast – it might have been squeezed clean out of me, along with all the air in my body.

‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, and let go.

I took a breath to refill my lungs.

‘I’m Betty Maguire, Cody’s office manager. And secretary. Well, there’s just me and Cody really, but he likes to call me the manager. Oh God, I’m just so glad someone is here that I can talk to. The sheriff is – well, I think he’s secretly glad Cody’s missing. They never did see eye to eye, and in recent years it’s gotten worse. But here I am rambling, please sit down, would you like something? Tea? Lemonade?’

‘Some water and coffee would be great,’ I said.

She showed me toward a chair, and disappeared into the back, her floral dress and candy-curl hair bouncing along with her step.

I looked around the law office. Two desks. A line of filing cabinets along the other side. Framed certificates and practicing licenses, photographs of Cody and Betty standing with clients holding what I assumed to be large damages checks. Cody was a small man, much smaller than Betty. I assumed as Betty appeared to be wearing the same dress, that this was a recent photograph. Cody had gray hair, large keen eyes and a nice smile. Some say all a small-town lawyer needs is a good smile to go on a highway billboard and a memorable phone number.

Betty came back with a glass of water, and a glass of tea balanced on a tray.

‘Sorry, Cody is the only one who drinks coffee. We ran out a week ago.’

‘This is fine, thank you.’

I drained the glass of water, took a sip of the iced tea but it was far too sweet for me.

‘When did you last see Mr. Warren?’