Foltrigg had been burned by leaks before. He'd fired people he suspected of talking too much. He'd rcquircu poiygrapm 101 ail lawycib, paiaicgais, tors, and secretaries who worked for him. He kept sensitive information under lock and key for fear of leakage by his own people. He lectured and threatened.
But Roy Foltrigg was not the sort of person to inspire intense loyalty. He was not appreciated by many of the assistants. He played the political game. He used cases for his own raw ambition. He hogged the spotlight and took credit for all the good -work, and blamed his subordinates for all the bad. He sought marginal indictments against elected officials for a few cheap headlines. He investigated his enemies and dragged their names through the press. He was a political whore whose only talent with the law was in the courtroom, where he preached to juries and quoted scripture. He was a Reagan appointee with one year left, and most of the assistant attorneys were counting the days. They encouraged him to run for office. Any office.
The reporters in New Orleans began calling at 8 A. M. They wanted an official comment about Clifford from Foltrigg's office. They did not get one. Then Willis Upchurch performed at two o'clock, with Mul-danno glowering at his side, and more reporters came snooping around the office. There were hundreds of phone calls to Memphis and back.
People talked.
THEY STOOD BEFORE THE DIRTY WINDOW AT THE END OF the hall on the ninth floor, and watched the rush-hour traffic of downtown. Dianne nervously lit a Virginia Slim, and blew a heavy cloud of smoke. "Who is this lawyer?" "Her name is Reggie Love." "How'd you find her?" He pointed to the Sterick Building four blocks away. "I went to her office in that building right there, and I talked to her." "Why, Mark?" "These cops scare me, Mom. The police and FBI are crawling all over this place. And reporters. I had one catch me in the elevator this afternoon. I think we need some legal advice." "Lawyers don't work for free, Mark. You know we can't afford a lawyer." "I've already paid her," he said like a tycoon.
"What? How can you pay a lawyer?" "She wanted a small retainer, and she got one. I gave her a dollar from that five that went for doughnuts this morning." "She's working for a dollar? She must be a great lawyer." "She's pretty good. I've been impressed so far." Dianne shook her head in amazement. During her nasty divorce, Mark, then age nine, had constantly criticized her lawyer. He watched hours of reruns of "Perry Mason" and never missed "L. A. Law." It had been years since she'd won an argument with him.
"What has she done so far?" Dianne asked, as if she were emerging from a dark cave and seeing sunlight for the first time in a month.
"At rioon, she met with some FBI agents, and ripped them up pretty good. And later, she met with them again in her office. I haven't talked with her since then." "What time is she coming here?" "Around six. She wants to meet you and talk to Dr. Greenway. You'll really like her, Mom." "But why do we need her, Mark? I don't understand why she's entered the picture. You've done nothing wrong. You and Ricky saw the car, you tried to help the man, but he shot himself anyway. And you guys saw it. Why do you need a lawyer?" "Well, I did lie to the cops at first, and that scares me. And I was afraid we might get in trouble because we didn't stop the man from shooting himself. It's all pretty scary, Mom." She watched him intently as he explained this, and he avoided her eyes. There was a long pause. "Have you told me everything?" She asked this very slowly, as if she knew.
At first he'd lied to her at the trailer while they waited for the ambulance, with Hardy lingering nearby, all ears. Then last night, in Ricky's room, under cross-examination by Greenway, he had told the first version of the truth. He remembered how sad she had been when she heard this revised story, and later how she'd said, "You never lie to me, Mark." They'd been through so much together, and here he was dancing around the truth, dodging questions, telling Reggie more than he'd told his mother. It made him sick.
"Mom, it all happened so fast yesterday. It was all a blur in my mind last night, but I've been thinking about it today. Thinking hard. I've gone through each step, minute by minute, and I'm remembering things now." "Such as?" "Well, you know how this has affected Ricky. I think it shocked me sort of like that. Not as bad, but I'm remembering things now that I should have remembered last night when I talked to L]r. Lrreenway. Does this make sense?" Actually, it did make sense. Dianne was suddenly concerned. Two boys see the same event. One goes into shock. It's reasonable to believe the other would be, affected. She hadn't thought of this. She leaned down next to him. "Mark, are you all right?" He knew he had her. "I think so," he said with a frown, as if a migraine were upon him.
"What have you remembered?" she asked cautiously.
He took a deep breath. "Well, I remember-" Greenway cleared his throat and appeared from nowhere. Mark whirled around. "I need to be going," Greenway said, almost as an apology. "I'll check back in a couple of hours." Dianne nodded but said nothing.
Mark decided to get it over with. "Look, Doctor, I was just telling Mom that I'm remembering things now for the first time." "About the suicide?" "Yes sir. All day long I've been seeing flashes and recalling details. I think some of it might be important." Greenway looked at Dianne. "Let's go back to the room and talk," he said.
They walked to the room, closed the door behind them, and listened as Mark tried to fill in the gaps. It was a relief to unload this baggage, though he did most of the talking in the direction of the floor. It was an act, this painful pulling of scenes from a shocked and badly scarred mind, and he carried it off with finesse. He paused quite often, long pauses in which he searched for words to describe -what was already firmly etched in the doctor's expression never changed. He glanced at his mother from time to time, and she didn't appear to be disappointed. She maintained a look of motherly concern.
But when he got to the part about Clifford grabbing him, he could see them fidget. He kept his troubled eyes on the floor. Dianne sighed -when he talked about the gun. Greenway shook his head when he told of the gunshot through the window. At times, he thought they were about to yell at him for lying last night, but he plowed ahead, obviously disturbed and deep in thought.
He carefully replayed every single event that Ricky could have seen and heard. The only details he kept to himself were Clifford's confessions. He vividly recalled the crazy stuff: la-la land and floating off to see the wizard.
When he finished, Dianne was sitting on the foldaway bed rubbing her head, talking about Valium. Greenway sat in a chair, hanging on every word. "Is this all of it, Mark?" "I don't know. It's all I can remember right now," he mumbled, as if he had a toothache.
"You were actually in the car?" Dianne said without opening her eyes.
He pointed to his slightly swollen left eye. "You see this. This is where he slapped me when I tried to get out of the car. I was dizzy for a long time. Maybe I was unconscious, I don't know." "You told me you were in a fight at school." "I don't remember telling you that, Mom, and if I did, well, maybe I was in shock or something." Dammit. Trapped by another lie.
Greenway stroked his beard. "Ricky saw you get grabbed, thrown in the car, the gunshot. Wow." "Yeah. It's coming back to me, real clear. I'm sorry I didn't remember it sooner, but my mind just went blank. Sort of like Ricky here." Another long pause.