The Partner by John Grisham

year.
    There was no more conversation until they landed. They hurried through the terminal to catch his flight to San Juan. She shook his hand firmly and said, “Tell Patrick I’m fine.”
    “He’ll ask where you are.”
    “Europe.”
    He watched her disappear into the mass of hustling travelers, and as he did he envied his old friend. All that money. A gorgeous lady with exotic charm and class.
    A boarding call woke him up. He shook his head and asked himself how he could envy a man who now faced the possibility of spending the next ten years on death row waiting to be executed. And a hundred hungry lawyers anxious to peel away his skin in search of the money.
    Envy! He took his seat, first class again, and began to feel the magnitude of representing Patrick.
    Eva took a cab back to the trendy hotel on South Beach where she had spent the night. She would be there for a few days, depending on what happened in Biloxi. Patrick had told her to move around, and not to stay in one place more than four days. She was registered under the name of Leah Pires, and now had a gold credit card issued to her in that name. Her address was in São Paulo.
    She quickly changed and went to the beach. It was mid-afternoon, the beach was crowded, and that suited her fine. Her beaches in Rio were crowded, but there were always friends around. Now she was a stranger, another nameless beauty in a small bikini baking in the sun. She wanted to go home.

Eleven
    It took Sandy an hour to bully his way through the outer walls of the Navy base. His new client had not made things easy. No one seemed to know he was expected. He was forced to rely upon the attorney’s usual repertoire: threats of instantaneous lawsuits, threats of ominous phone calls to senators and others in high places, and loud and angry complaints of all sorts of rights violations. He made it to the hospital office at dark, and hit another line of defense. But this time a nurse simply called Patrick.
    His room was dark, lit only by the bluish light of the muted television hanging high in a corner—a soccer game from Brazil. The two old pals shook hands gently. They had not seen each other in six years. Patrick kept a sheet pulled to his chin, hiding his wounds. For the moment, the soccer game seemed more important than serious conversation.
    If Sandy was hoping for a warm reunion, he quicklyadjusted to a subdued one. While trying not to stare, he studied Patrick’s face. It was thin, almost gaunt, with a newly squared chin and a sharper nose. He could pass for someone else, but for the eyes. And the voice was unmistakable.
    “Thanks for coming,” Patrick said. All of his words were very soft, as if the act of speaking required great effort and thought.
    “Sure. Didn’t have much of a choice, you know. Your friend is very persuasive.”
    Patrick closed his eyes and bit his tongue. He said a quick prayer of thanks. She was out there and she was fine.
    “How much did she pay you?” he asked.
    “A hundred thousand.”
    “Good,” Patrick said, and then said no more. A long pause, and Sandy slowly realized that their conversations would be built around long silent intervals.
    “She’s fine,” he said. “She’s a beautiful woman. She’s smart as hell and fully in control of whatever she’s supposed to be in control of. In case you’re wondering.”
    “That’s nice.”
    “When was the last time you saw her?”
    “Couple of weeks. I’ve lost track of time.”
    “Is she the wife, girlfriend, mistress, hooker—”
    “Lawyer.”
    “Lawyer?”
    “Yes, lawyer.” Sandy was amused by this. Patrick shut down again, no words, no movement anywhere under the sheet. Minutes passed. Sandy took a seat in the only chair, content to wait for his friend. Patrick was reentering an ugly world where the wolves werewaiting, and if he wanted to lie there and stare at the ceiling then that was fine with Sandy. They would have lots of time to talk. And no shortage of topics.
    He was