Ties That Bind by Phillip Margolin Page B

if someone found out what had happened in the park just before the Rose Bowl? He was almost certain that his secret was buried so deep that no one would ever uncover it, but he’d never been up against the resources of a national political party.
    Tim turned on his side. He didn’t know what to do. He was afraid. But then he was always afraid.

thirteen
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    The Justice Center was a sixteen-story, concrete-and-glass edifice located a block from the courthouse. The Multnomah County jail occupied the fourth through tenth floors of the building, which also housed the central precinct of the Portland Police, a branch of the district attorney’s office, and several courtrooms. A pack of reporters was waiting for Wendell Hayes in the Justice Center’s glass-vaulted lobby. The defense attorney was easy to spot because he was as wide as he was tall.
    “Can you tell us why Judge Grant appointed you to represent Jon Dupre?” one reporter asked.
    “Isn’t it unusual for you to accept a court appointment?” another shouted.
    Hayes greeted several reporters as he huffed past the curving stairs that led up to the courtrooms on the third floor and walked into the jail reception area. He was a large man gone soft, and the short walk from the courthouse to the jail had winded him. Even expert handtailoring could not disguise his girth. Hayes pulled out a handkerchief and mopped the sweat from his flushed face. His broad back was to the two sheriff’s deputies who watched the show from the protection of the reception desk. The television cameramen turned on their lights and the deputies blinked as Hayes was washed in a white glow. The reporters crowded around him and repeated their questions.
    Hayes flashed the brethren of the Fourth Estate a warm smile. He loved them. It was their reports of his colorful courtroom exploits that had made the attorney a household name. In return, Hayes was always good for a quote and had no compunction about leaking information when it was to his advantage.
    Hayes held up a hand and the questions stopped. “As you know, I rarely accept a court appointment, but I did in this case because Judge Grant asked me. He’s an old friend and a hard man to turn down.”
    “Why didn’t Judge Grant use one of the lawyers on the court-appointment list?” shouted a reporter from one of the network affiliates.
    “Jack Stamm is going to seek the death penalty, which limits the list to death-qualified lawyers. Judge Grant wanted to avoid any suggestion that Mr. Dupre was not going to be treated fairly because of Senator Travis’s prominence.”
    “What’s your defense going to be?” a reporter from the Oregonian asked.
    Hayes smiled. “Grace, I haven’t talked to Mr. Dupre yet, so I can’t possibly answer that question. But I’m going to do that now. So, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
    Hayes turned to one of the deputies manning the reception desk, a huge man with red hair who was almost as tall as the lawyer.
    “Hey, Mac, help me make my escape from this rabble, will you?” he said loudly enough so the reporters could hear him. A few laughed.
    “Sure thing, Mr. Hayes.”
    The lawyer started to hand the deputy his bar card, but he waved him off.
    “I’ll need to check your briefcase, though.”
    A metal detector stood between Hayes and the jail elevator. He handed over his briefcase and took his keys, coins, and a small Swiss Army knife out of his pocket. Then he stripped off his coat and handed it and the metal objects to the guard.
    “How’d you think the Blazers made out in that trade?” Hayes asked as the guard laid down the jacket and gave the papers in his briefcase a cursory going-over.
    “I don’t know about that forward from Croatia. I’d have gone for Drake.”
    “The guy from Dallas?” Hayes said as he walked through the metal detector. “He’s big but he can’t shoot.”
    “Yeah, but he can block shots, and the Blazers are definitely hurting on defense.” Mac handed back