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“Look man, just tell us what you know,” Skip said.

“Chelsea told me something when I was walking her out yesterday. It’s about that

guy, the defense attorney for that little animal. Quincy Beckham.”

Isaac moved closer. “What about Quincy Beckham?”

“Chelsea saw him speaking with this other attorney, a big shot criminal defense

dude. He was sitting in the back of the courtroom. I never thought about it until she mentioned seeing the two of them…I think exchanging glances. I’m almost sure he’s been sitting in the back of that courtroom every day of this trial. She thinks he’s the one representing Curtis Hamilton, and Beckham is just a front guy.”

“I don’t understand.” Dee had joined them in the middle of David’s explanation. “I know Beckham has been coming on to Chelsea, but why would he pretend to represent that boy?”

“Attorneys strategize,” David said. “Cases aren’t always won with fact alone, but how it’s used. Sometimes is a simple matter of one attorney being better than another, or opening a window of doubt. When this boy was arrested, even before he was formally charged, I’m sure his defense was being plotted. The DA usually put their strongest attorneys on the big cases, because they’re usually up against a big name. Chelsea thinks Beckham stepped up to lure the DA’s office into feeling safe enough to assign the case to one of their lesser experienced attorneys.”

“Is that it?” Isaac asked.

“She also said Beckham had been…I don’t know…sort of harassing her.” He

looked at Isaac. “Especially when he saw you at the courthouse the other day and tried to make it look like the two of them were having some kind of personal conversation. She said he was leaning all over her. He saw you, but she didn’t. You could see his face, but not hers. She said he was disrespectful to both of you. She threatened to report him.”

“If this experienced man is feeding moves to Beckham, then Beckham should feel he’s got the case in the bag. Why was he coming on Chelsea?” Skip asked.

“She thinks maybe they’re figuring out she’s stronger than they first thought. She believes Beckham and this other attorney were trying to rile her. Trying to get her off track with her case. I’d hate to think Beckham could be involved in her disappearance.” David shook his head. “I trust Chelsea’s instinct, and she didn’t trust Beckham at all.”

Detective Barrett took David’s arm. “Come with me.”

Skip held onto Dee and looked at Isaac. “Don’t be upset over Detective Barrett’s

questions. He asked me and I told him there was nothing, but I guess they’re checking everything.”

“From me to you, I only know of one person who wants to hurt me right now, and

that’s my brother, Zack. He’s strung out on something, but I’m sure he knows I’d kill him if he hurt Chelsea.”

“It’s not Zack,” Dee told him. “Barrett already knows he was in Central Lockup

when this happened. I don’t think this had anything to do with Mama Rose or with you. None of this bad shit was happening until she took that case. It has something to do with that Hamilton boy, and maybe Quincy Beckham.”

David hurried towards them. “I just found out something.” He looked from Dee to

Skip. “Do you remember someone from the old neighborhood named James Pugh?”

“Yeah!” Dee’s face filled with frowns. “He was in our class. You remember him,

Skip. He invited Chelsea to the eighth grade dance. She broke out in that rash she gets when’s she nervous, and couldn’t go. The boy started crying, and his mama came over to your house raising hell that Chelsea stood her son up.”

“Yeah. I remember. What’s he got to do with this?” Skip asked David.

“That boys name was James Quincy Pugh. His mother remarried a man named Bob

Beckham, who adopted the boy. That slick defense attorney who’s been messing with Chelsea is James Quincy Pugh.”

“I knew he looked familiar.” Dee grabbed Skip’s arm. “Ask your mother. I’m sure she remembers. James even told classmates that Chelsea’s folk thought she was too good to go to the dance with him. I also remember he came from a broken home. I think your father said the mother was overprotective because there was no man in the house.”

Isaac frowned. “So you think he would want to hurt Chelsea because of

something that happened in eighth grade?”

“Shit, I do remember.” Skip said. “He had long, curly hair. I remember his mother

carrying on like a crazy person. She married and moved away right after that happened.”

“That’s right,” Dee added. “I remember him standing on the street outside of your

folks’ house before they left. We wanted to go out there and your father wouldn’t let us. He kept saying the boy was just insecure. David, do you really think—”

“I think I should question him. Let’s keep this quiet. I know he was making a pest of himself with Chelsea, but I’d hate to falsely accuse him. I have the name of his firm. I’m going over there.”

“This one’s on me.” Isaac snatched the paper from David’s hand. “I should have kicked his ass when I saw him make his move, but she kept saying he just trying to rile her.”

David stepped between Skip and David. “Since I’m keeping this unofficial, let’s all go, but I don’t want no rough stuff. I know how you both feel. I’d like to pound on the bastard just for upsetting her, but that’s not wise. When this is over, she’ll still have to face that man in a courtroom.”

* * * *

Chelsea drove to Claiborne Avenue with the pistol barrel still poking her side. She watched the streets and Ray’s face in the rear view mirror. He was sweating profusely. He had not told her where to go, so she drove slowly, praying someone, hopefully a policeman, would notice.

Her nerves were also reacting. Her skin itched. She saw the red welts on her arms

growing larger. She grated her lower teeth on her top lip to soothe the itch. Even without looking in the mirror, she knew her face was swelling.

“Are you okay, Ray?” She spoke softly, wanting to ease his tremors.

“Quit trying to play me! You don’t give a damn about me.”

“Look at me, Ray. I don’t know why you chose to do what you’ve done, but I was taught to love all of God’s children. Right now I’m suffering in ways you could never understand. Look at my face. My arms. If I don’t get medication for this soon, my throat will close. If that happens, I’ll die and you’ll be charged with murder.”

He grabbed his head with both hands, leaving the gun dangling perilously from his thumb and forefinger.

“I see people everyday who make mistakes. You’re making one now, Ray. I don’t know why you’re angry with me, or what happened to make you do what you’re doing, but you’re wrong. I’m part of the system that—”

“Shut up!” He nudged her with the pistol barrel. “Where you goin’? I didn’t tell you go this way! Stop! Stop!”

“Okay! Calm down. I’ll pull over as soon as I can. I know you didn’t tell me where to go, so I’m just driving. I’m sure you don’t want me to go back there where the cops are.” She took the first exit after the overpass. “You’re in control. Tell me where—”

His throaty sobs

escalated to a heartbreaking wail. She pulled into a gas station parking lot and parked close to the building.

“Ray, I know you don’t believe me, but I do care what happens to you. I know you’re frightened. I am, too. I’ve been in some sticky situations, but I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before. I’ve never spent the night tied to a bedpost. I want to help you Ray, but you have to cut me some slack. I need to go home. I need my medication and you need something for your headache. I don’t think you’ll make it without something to help you calm down. What would you do if a policeman came over here right now?”

He jumped quickly and looked around. A cruiser pulled into the gas station. Two officers went inside.

“I’ll take us out of here so they won’t bother you. I’m sure someone put out an APB on my car. Do you know what that means?”

“I told you I ain’t stupid! I watch television!” He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Drive out of here. Now!”

* * * *

The sign on the front door of the law firm of Birch and Petrie listed their hours as 9 to 4:30. It was 9:10 and the door was still locked. David pounded on the glass and held out his badge. A stout woman dressed in bright green ran over and unlocked the door.

“Yes? Can I help you gentlemen?”

They saw Quincy standing by the coffeemaker. Isaac hurried past the woman in green, moving with the same agility he displayed on the football field. Skip and David ran after him.

“All right you son-of-a-bitch!” He grabbed the lapels of Quincy’s jacket and pushed him against the counter. Coffee spilled on Isaac’s pants and Quincy’s shoes. “Where is she?”

The woman who had opened the door and two other female employees stood back. David and Skip flanked Isaac, all staring at Quincy.

“Oh, ah…Isaac is it?”

“You know damn well who I am. Tell me where Chelsea is, and don’t look back at your friends. I’ve got a policeman right here, so don’t bother calling one, but this is between the two of us. Now, start talking or when I finish with you, you’ll be nothing but a small grease spot on this nice carpet.”

Quincy tried to stand. Isaac braced and held him in place.

“I would like to answer you, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. How would I know where Chelsea is?”

Isaac balled his right hand into a fist. “I’ll count to three. I want to know where she’s being held and none of your bullshit. One—”

“Wait a minute! You can’t come busting in here making threats just because you can’t keep up with your woman. My guess is she got wise and moved on.”

“Moved on where?” Skip asked. “She’s not home. She had no purse and no phone.”

Isaac held his forearm over Quincy’s neck. “Now you listen to me, you weak ass punk!

Chelsea was kidnapped, but I’m sure you know that. You also know who broke into her place and left threatening messages on her machine. I’m already up to two—”

“Excuse me.” An older man walked rapidly toward them. “I’m Dallas Petrie, the law

firm’s managing partner. Maybe Mr. Beckham knows what you’re talking about, but I certainly don’t. You have no right coming in here this way, and for the record, I’ve already alerted the authorities of your uninvited arrival.”

“I am the authority.” David moved closer to Isaac, holding out his badge. “I’m

investigating a kidnapping, and every finger we have keeps pointing to your man Quincy.”

“If this is some lover’s triangle, I invite you take your problems with Mr. Beckham out of my office before—”

“I’m Isaac Charbonnette, and since you interrupted me, I think it’s only fair that I let you in on a few things.” He loosened his grip and Quincy broke free. “Your boy here is a weasel who tries to intimidate women. When that fails, he cries and calls his momma, or he kidnaps them.

Isn’t that right, James Pugh?”

Quincy gasped. “I don’t know anything about Chelsea being kidnapped. I saw her

yesterday in the courtroom and that was it.”

Petrie hedged closer. “Obviously I know who you are, Mr. Charbonnette, but I have no idea who you’re dating, or why you feel this person was kidnapped by a member of my staff. If you’re speaking of Chelsea Constantine, from the DA’s office, I am certainly aware of the case.

Everyone in the city who reads, watches television, or listens to the radio knows she is prosecuting a case where this firm, or Mr. Beckham directly, is providing defense.”

“Since you’re familiar with the case, the only thing you need to know beyond that is Chelsea Constantine is my woman. My woman—yes, creep,” he leered at Quincy. “The

prosecutor in your big case is my woman. Someone has been trying to scare her off the case, and since your boy, your firm, is fronting for the real attorney on this case, you were probably in on it, Mr. Petrie. If you’re any kind of managing partner, surely you know what’s going on around you.”

“Are you saying that someone affiliated with this firm has been harassing Ms.

Constantine?” He looked back at Quincy. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Quincy stared at the floor. “Let’s talk about this in private, Mr. Petrie. This man is out of line.”

“I’ll ask again, do you know anything about this?” The mustache beneath Mr. Petrie’s nose twitched in annoyance. “Are his accusations true?”

“Go ahead, my man. Tell him how you’ve been doggin’ her to go out with you, how you sent somebody to break into her place. It was you, wasn’t it? You broke into her place. You probably left the note on her car. The cops didn’t notice any strangers in that parking lot because it was you.”

Quincy looked puzzled. “You’re crazy, man! Why would I do those things to Chelsea?”

“Keep saying I’m crazy. I’m not an attorney, but I think insanity is a good defense to use after I break your damn neck.” He grabbed Quincy’s neck with both hands.

“Hold on, now.” Petrie held up his hand. “Let’s sort this all out before anyone gets hurt.

Quincy Beckham just joined this firm, and I give you word, if he’s done any of these things, I’ll kick his ass myself, and I’m an old man.”

David stepped in front of Isaac. “I can’t let you do this, man. This is a matter for the police. We came here to question Mr. Beckham, so if you don’t mind, allow me to conduct an official inquiry.” His voice dropped to a low and threatening level. “In private.”

“We’ll give you whatever privacy you need.” Mr. Petrie waved the others away.

“As you know, Mr. Beckham deserves counsel, and I’m that counsel. Ask your questions. Mr.

Beckham will respond under my direction.”

“I’m a police officer, Mr. Beckham. You’ve been named as a possible suspect in

the disappearance of Chelsea Constantine. If you choose not to answer questions here, we can take a ride to the station. Your attorney can follow.” He gave Quincy a look that Mr. Petrie could not see.

“I’ll answer your questions. I have nothing to hide.”

David spoke close to Quincy’s ear. “You’re an attorney, but there are a few rules I’m not sure you understand. I’ve been a cop all my life. My daddy was a cop. My uncles. Four brothers and three brothers-in-law are cops. I have about twenty-six cousins on the force.” He waved his arms. “We’re all over the city. The damn state. We protect our own, and Chelsea Constantine belongs to us. Both of those men over there will kill you, Mr. Beckham, but that’s nothing compared to what will happen when I put out the word down at the station. You can stay here or you can leave town. Practice law wherever you choose. But unless you tell us every damn thing you know about this, and make it seem like it was your idea, you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. Our arms are widespread, Mr. Beckham. Just when you relax, become successful, and think your life is good, we’ll crash your whole damn world apart. We’ll make you wish Isaac or Skip had killed you.”