Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [125]
Cynthia was at the office when he walked in.
“You look like hell,” she said.
“Thank you, madam. Come on in and I’ll tell you about my adventures.”
She hung on every word as he recounted what had happened in Washington.
“So this Cardell character admitted that the first lady stabbed the guy, and that Cardell’s father paid off Louise Watkins?”
“Maybe not in so many words but it was obvious that that’s how it went down. Anything new here while I was getting sliced up?”
She handed him a sheaf of telephone messages. On top was a call from the Reverend Lucas Watkins.
“He say what he wants?”
“No, just said that it’s important that he speak with you.”
The second message slip concerned Will Sayers. “He called as I walked in this morning,” she said. “He’ll be here in Savannah by one and wants to see you.”
Brixton had intended to call Sayers and suggest that he come to Savannah to speak with Eunice Watkins and her son, Lucas. Whether the word of the mother and son would be sufficient for Sayers to pursue the story was conjecture—and not Brixton’s problem. He’d meant it when he said he was not out to create a media circus. But there was another side of him that cried out for some form of justice to be dispensed. Would it be enough for Louise’s mother simply to know that her daughter hadn’t committed the act to which she had confessed, and not have the need to share it with the wider world? If so, she was a better person than he was. If it had been his daughter, he’d want everyone to know that she hadn’t killed anyone, and that there were people who’d cruelly used their money to thwart the truth.
“When are you and Jim leaving?” he asked.
“Next week. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
“Thanks. This place will go to the dogs without me.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He spent the rest of the morning returning phone calls and going through the pile of mail, and e-mails on his computer. He promised the restaurant owner that he’d get started on his case within a day or two, and picked up another client, a divorce lawyer who wanted him to document the movements of a husband who the wife claimed was cheating. He hesitated before accepting the assignment, but a pile of recent bills culled from the larger group of envelopes made the decision for him.
He held off returning Lucas Watkins’s call until last. He’d decided to invite Sayers to join him on a visit to Eunice Watkins. Might as well have him hear what he had to report to her, and be there to gauge her reaction in person.
“Reverend Watkins,” Brixton said, “it’s Robert Brixton returning your call.”
“Yes, Mr. Brixton. You’re back from Washington.”
“That’s right. I’d like to get together with you and your mother sometime today.”
“I’m afraid that will be impossible,” he said in his deep, officious voice.
“Tomorrow then? I’ve learned things in Washington that I know you and your mother will want to know.”
“Mr. Brixton,” he said, “I’m afraid that we’ve misled you.”
“‘Misled me?’ What does that mean?”
“You see, Mother misunderstood what Louise had told her. Let me be direct. I believe you deserve directness. We’ve come to learn that it was Louise who fended off an attempted rape that night in the parking lot, and accidentally stabbed her attacker. All I can say is that we are deeply sorry to have put you to all this trouble. Naturally, we will pay any further fees you require, as well as expenses that you’ve incurred.”
Brixton was speechless.
“There’s really nothing more to say, Mr. Brixton. If you’ll send me a written breakdown of what we owe you, we’ll take care of it immediately.”
“Wait a minute, Reverend,” Brixton said. “I want to hear this from your mother.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr. Brixton, She hasn’t been feeling well and has gone out of state to be with another family member. She won’t be back for some time. She’s not to be disturbed.”
“I’ll be damned,” Brixton muttered.
“I look forward to receiving your final bill,” Watkins said, “and thank you for understanding.”
“Yeah, I understand,” Brixton said. “I understand