a call around eleven that gave him a number and a name: Attorney Dewing. He dialed and told the male voice that answered who he was and what he wanted. A moment later Dewing came on to introduce herself. “When can we get together, Detective Wager? We better get started as soon as possible.”
Wager had a few other things to do that seemed a little more important than a half-assed civil suit. Unsolved homicides, for example. “Do you know something about this that I don’t?”
The line was silent for a moment. “I know these charges should be taken seriously. Unless you don’t take your career seriously.”
Beneath his disgust and aggravation over the issue, he felt a tiny stir of wariness at the flat, factual sound of her voice. But he said, “There’s nothing in this, Counselor. It’s a hot-air case by a hot-air lawyer.”
“If that’s the way it turns out, we’ll both be happy. Now, can we meet immediately if not sooner?”
They settled for lunch, and Wager found the woman at a restaurant just off the 16th Street Mall. It was a favorite with lawyers because the high-backed cubicles lining one wall muffled conversation and provided privacy. And, it turned out, the manager ran a tab for regular customers.
“Try the halibut Provençal. It’s a house specialty.” The woman giving him orders was somewhere in her forties, plain looking, stocky with square shoulders, hair bobbed just as squarely across her forehead and below her ears. The haircut reminded Wager of some character in the Sunday comics that he’d followed as a kid because he liked the adventure stories and the detail in the drawings—a warrior … a Viking, but the guy had black hair like Wager’s own … prince somebody … Prince Valiant! That was it. Went around chopping up dragons and bad guys. But it took more than a haircut to be a hero.
“I’ll have the chef’s salad,” he said.
She looked up from the menu. “Don’t like a woman telling you what to do, eh?”
“I don’t like anybody telling me what to do.”
“A lot of cops prefer a man to be their lawyer because they don’t think a woman can cut it. If that’s the way you feel, say it now.”
Wager studied Dewing’s gray eyes, trying to decide whether they showed anger or amusement. He decided it was a mixture of both. “As far as I’m concerned, lawyers don’t have a sex. Just a won-loss record. How’s yours?”
“Ha! I’ve won a hell of a lot more than I’ve lost, and I intend to keep it that way. Which is why I need your cooperation—your full cooperation—if I’m going to maintain my impressive record and continue to strike terror in the hearts of my enemies.” A waitress appeared with a pad and pencil; Dewing greeted her by name and said, “The usual. And a chef’s salad for my date, here.” She waited until the waitress had completed the order, then focused on her client.
“I did some quick research, Detective Wager. I hear you like to skate pretty close to the line between legal and illegal procedure.”
“And whoever you telephoned probably said I made homicide detective because I’m Hispanic.”
“Yes, I did hear that. However, I’ll grant that you earned your rank. But suppose we get away from your ethnic defensiveness to the point I’m making: your reputation in the department for being a workaholic and for doing whatever you can to get a conviction.”
“First let me make my point clear, Counselor.” Wager heard in his own voice the Spanish lilt that came when he was getting angry. “The things you heard may or may not be true. I’m a cop and a damned good one, and I’m in Homicide because I do good work. As to my being the token Hispanic, it is damn well not true. As to my working hard, it is true. I like my work, Counselor, I like stepping on scum. And some of the people I work with I don’t like because I don’t think they earn their pay!”
She carefully buttered a piece of roll and waited until she was sure he had
Wager had a few other things to do that seemed a little more important than a half-assed civil suit. Unsolved homicides, for example. “Do you know something about this that I don’t?”
The line was silent for a moment. “I know these charges should be taken seriously. Unless you don’t take your career seriously.”
Beneath his disgust and aggravation over the issue, he felt a tiny stir of wariness at the flat, factual sound of her voice. But he said, “There’s nothing in this, Counselor. It’s a hot-air case by a hot-air lawyer.”
“If that’s the way it turns out, we’ll both be happy. Now, can we meet immediately if not sooner?”
They settled for lunch, and Wager found the woman at a restaurant just off the 16th Street Mall. It was a favorite with lawyers because the high-backed cubicles lining one wall muffled conversation and provided privacy. And, it turned out, the manager ran a tab for regular customers.
“Try the halibut Provençal. It’s a house specialty.” The woman giving him orders was somewhere in her forties, plain looking, stocky with square shoulders, hair bobbed just as squarely across her forehead and below her ears. The haircut reminded Wager of some character in the Sunday comics that he’d followed as a kid because he liked the adventure stories and the detail in the drawings—a warrior … a Viking, but the guy had black hair like Wager’s own … prince somebody … Prince Valiant! That was it. Went around chopping up dragons and bad guys. But it took more than a haircut to be a hero.
“I’ll have the chef’s salad,” he said.
She looked up from the menu. “Don’t like a woman telling you what to do, eh?”
“I don’t like anybody telling me what to do.”
“A lot of cops prefer a man to be their lawyer because they don’t think a woman can cut it. If that’s the way you feel, say it now.”
Wager studied Dewing’s gray eyes, trying to decide whether they showed anger or amusement. He decided it was a mixture of both. “As far as I’m concerned, lawyers don’t have a sex. Just a won-loss record. How’s yours?”
“Ha! I’ve won a hell of a lot more than I’ve lost, and I intend to keep it that way. Which is why I need your cooperation—your full cooperation—if I’m going to maintain my impressive record and continue to strike terror in the hearts of my enemies.” A waitress appeared with a pad and pencil; Dewing greeted her by name and said, “The usual. And a chef’s salad for my date, here.” She waited until the waitress had completed the order, then focused on her client.
“I did some quick research, Detective Wager. I hear you like to skate pretty close to the line between legal and illegal procedure.”
“And whoever you telephoned probably said I made homicide detective because I’m Hispanic.”
“Yes, I did hear that. However, I’ll grant that you earned your rank. But suppose we get away from your ethnic defensiveness to the point I’m making: your reputation in the department for being a workaholic and for doing whatever you can to get a conviction.”
“First let me make my point clear, Counselor.” Wager heard in his own voice the Spanish lilt that came when he was getting angry. “The things you heard may or may not be true. I’m a cop and a damned good one, and I’m in Homicide because I do good work. As to my being the token Hispanic, it is damn well not true. As to my working hard, it is true. I like my work, Counselor, I like stepping on scum. And some of the people I work with I don’t like because I don’t think they earn their pay!”
She carefully buttered a piece of roll and waited until she was sure he had
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