The Undertaker's Widow by Phillip Margolin Page A

he?”
    â€œI know Lou,” Crease answered thoughtfully. She blew a plume of smoke toward Orchard. “You’re right. Lou wouldn’t phony up evidence.”
    Crease was quiet for a moment. Orchard watched her.
    â€œWhat do you suggest I do, Henry?” she asked after a while.
    â€œThe same person who warned me about the grand jury is going to call me the minute he hears that Riker has an indictment. Riker probably has your campaign schedule. I know the way he thinks. He’s going to get the local sheriff to arrest you, preferably at some campaign function for maximum embarrassment. He’ll work out the timing so you have to spend a night in the local jail, then he’ll have you flown back to Portland in handcuffs and parade you through the airport the way the Romans used to display conquered enemy chieftains.”
    Crease shook her head in disgust. “Riker is such a creep.”
    Orchard smiled. “Of course, we won’t let him do any of this. As soon as I hear that Riker’s got his indictment, you’ll disappear. When the sheriff arrives with his warrant, you won’t be here. I’ve arranged for a private plane to fly us back to Portland. It’s on standby. And I have Mary Garrett on retainer. She tells me that she’ll set up a time to surrender you when it’s convenient for us and she’ll schedule an immediate bail hearing.”
    â€œGarrett, huh.”
    â€œWe can’t fuck around with this, Ellen. I’ve seen Garrett in court. She’s a great white shark. More important, the press loves her and you need the press as much as you need a good lawyer.”

11

[1]
    The decor of Mary Garrett’s office was ultramodern and disorienting, as if the decorator had artistic dyslexia. Ellen Crease could not find a straight line anywhere. She did see many gleaming aluminum tubes, myriad sheets of odd-shaped glass and numerous objects whose function was not easily identifiable. The lawyer Henry Orchard had chosen for her fit into this setting quite nicely. Her wardrobe and jewelry were expensive, but the clothes and accessories did not look quite right on the birdlike, five-foot woman. It was as if Garrett were under a court-ordered punishment to wear them as a means of emphasizing her dense glasses and overbite. Had this been true, the joke would have been on the court, because Garrett knew she wasn’t a beauty queen and didn’t care. What she did care about was winning and that was something she did very well.
    As soon as the introductions were made, Garrett asked Henry Orchard to leave the room so she and Ellen Crease would have privacy. Crease sat in a director’s chair. Its arms and legs were polished metal tubing and the back and seat were black leather that sagged a little, so that the height of the chair’s occupant decreased. Garrett sat behind a wide glass desk on a high-backed chair of black leather. The chair could be elevated by pushing a button so that the diminutive attorney was always taller than her clients.
    â€œI think your politics suck,” was the first thing Garrett said to Ellen Crease when the door closed on Henry Orchard. “In fact, I can’t think of a single thing you stand for that I agree with. I thought I should put that on the table right off.”
    Garrett had caught Crease completely off guard. There was a smirk on Garrett’s lips and arrogance in the way she held her body. She was clearly communicating her opinion that she did not need Ellen Crease as a client but that Crease could not do without her as her attorney. If anyone else had treated her this way, Crease would have been out the door, but Garrett’s combativeness endeared her to Crease. Perhaps it was the fact that her arrogance was wrapped in such a small and unattractive package. Instead of flushing with anger, Crease felt herself breaking into a wide grin.
    â€œThen let’s not talk politics,” Crease