Due Justice

Chapter 18

Tampa, Florida

Monday 9:45 a.m.

January 18, 1999

The morning delivered one of those gloriously convenient federal holidays providing us government workers a Monday off:  Martin Luther King Day. I spent the morning puttering around the house trying to put the whole Morgan mess out of my mind to give my subconscious a chance to sort it through. But no matter what I tried to concentrate on instead, I couldn’t get it off my mind. Of course, this line of thinking brought me right back to the Carly problem.

Not knowing what else to do, I felt I had no choice but to follow what George and I had decided was the only available Plan B, particularly now that Morgan’s disappearance was being treated as homicide. It was what I should have done when she first told me about finding the body--I called the chief of police.

Chief Hathaway’s secretary put me right through to him.

“Ben, Willa Carson here.”

“Right.”

“Any chance I can see you today?”

“I can come over to Minaret. You can buy me a coffee. Or you can come to the station and I’ll buy you one.”

“See you soon,” I said. Lucky for me Tampa PD operates twenty-four-seven.

Called downstairs looking for George. Not so lucky this time. For a panicky moment I thought he might have gone looking for Carly. But George was much too level-headed to do that. Hopefully.

Should I call Kate before I caused bigger problems for Carly? Or leave Kate out of the loop? Plausible deniability was a good thing. I couldn’t decide what was best.

My internal monologue on the issue resembled a child’s seesaw. Procrastination is a wonderful thing. Chief Hathaway arrived before I’d made the decision.

I invited him into the living room. If I hadn’t wanted to be seen talking with a breast implant plaintiff’s attorney, I certainly didn’t want it getting around that I was having quiet conversation with the Chief of Police.

Hathaway was a big man, not just tall but heavy. Yet, he had the agility of a ballerina, Jackie Gleason like. He looked around for a seat sturdy enough to accommodate his heavy frame. He finally chose the straight back Louis XVI chair directly across from the couch.

Offered him coffee, he accepted, and we exchanged pleasantries. I just couldn’t seem to get started.

He must have had a lot of experience with reluctant informants because finally he said, “You know, I think this is the first time you’ve ever called on me professionally. I’m assuming there must be some very urgent reason for that.”

For a moment, I worried I might be making a mistake.

Then I remembered Carly’s description of Dr. Morgan’s house and realized the police had already been there, after she was. They had her fingerprints already. Like all practicing lawyers, her prints were on file. If we came clean now, she might seem less guilty somehow.

Besides, in Carly’s account there might be something the police had overlooked. The evidence might already be too old to be useful. Although some coroner could probably have figured it out, I wasn’t too sure about our local talent. I told Ben everything Carly had told me. When I finished, he looked at me thoughtfully. After a time, he asked me a question I cursed myself for not expecting before I called him.

“How well do you know this woman?”

I said, “I’ve known her all her life. Why?”

“Well, let’s be professional about this, shall we? She seems to have a lot of information about a murder. How reliable is she? Should we consider her a suspect?”