Omens
Page 64
Interesting.
Gabriel opened his door and walked into the reception area.
“Mr. Morgan?”
Morgan turned. Relief flickered across his face, as if he hadn’t expected Gabriel to see him.
“Gabriel Walsh,” Gabriel said, extending his hand.
As Morgan shook it, he gave Gabriel his own sizing up. He doubtless hadn’t been thrilled to hear that his beautiful ex-fiancée was being spotted around town with an unattached, successful young lawyer. But James’s satisfied nod said that once-over was all he needed to reassure himself that the relationship with Olivia was simply business.
Asshole.
“You wanted to speak to me?” Gabriel said.
“I did. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Certainly.” Gabriel waved him toward his office and motioned for Lydia to hold his calls.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
When I walked away from my family home, I left a lot of things behind. There were times when I did miss those advantages. Like when it was dinner hour and my stomach was grumbling, and I hadn’t thought of what to make, much less started cooking. Tonight that was covered. Gabriel had texted me to say he was coming to discuss the case and would be bringing takeout for both of us. Very nice, even if I suspected he’d add it to my bill.
So I was working at home, drinking cold coffee from the diner, and munching on slightly burned cookie rejects. The cat was on his towel. I’d broken down and bought him some food. Also, a flea collar. I’d seriously contemplated a real collar—a sparkly green one—if only because I was sure it would offend his dignity.
At 5:50 my phone rang.
“It’s Gabriel,” he said, as he always did, as if I might not recognize his number. Or his voice. “I just had a very interesting visitor.”
He paused. I played along, asking, “Who?”
“William Evans.”
“Who?” I barely got the question out before the name clicked. “The father of Peter Evans. Jan Gunderson’s boyfriend.”
“Correct.”
“He stopped in to speak to you?”
“Not quite. He came right after I left for an appointment. I suspect that was not a coincidence. When I represented Pamela, Mr. Evans made it very clear he wanted nothing to do with me. Refused all my requests for interviews. Now it seems he wants to speak to you.”
“Me? Why? To threaten me like . . .” I trailed off as I thought of Niles Gunderson.
“Mr. Gunderson was mentally unstable. William Evans is not. While he is nearing seventy, he still works as a clinical psychologist.”
“He’s a shrink? That’s not much better.” I sighed. “Are you saying I should call him?”
“Yes. We can do that tonight if you’d like me to coach you through it.”
“I can handle it.”
“All right, then. I’ll give you his number.”
I Googled William Evans before I called. I had to add “Chicago” and “psychologist” to narrow it down, but once I did, he popped up. A well-known guy it seemed. Lots of awards and accolades for his work. Several charity affiliations, particularly Peter’s Angels, an organization he’d founded to offer free grief counseling for the victims of violent crime.
I dialed his number.
• • •
“Oh God, do I smell miso soup?” I said as I let Gabriel in.
“Small-town life has its limitations, doesn’t it? Not much hope for Japanese in Cainsville, which lacks even the requisite Chinese takeout.”
“Having eaten from small-town Chinese takeouts, I’m not missing anything. Though if those old urban legends about them are true, it might solve my cat problem.”
The cat glanced up from his spot by the stove and fixed me with a baleful stare.
“Don’t give me that look,” I told the cat. “You’ve caught one mouse since you’ve been here. And what do you get in return? Food, shelter, and a human servant to clean up your shit. You didn’t even warn me when someone was at the door.”
“Because his sixth sense tells him I can be trusted.”
“Then his sixth sense is broken.”
I took the soup to warm in the microwave.
“Did you call Evans?” Gabriel asked as he emptied the take-out bag.
“Yes. He’d like to see to me. Seems that friend of Jan’s called to warn him I was investigating Peter’s murder. He wants to help.”
“Help?”
I shrugged as I brought the soup to the table. “He says he has information that the police weren’t interested in at the time. About Christian.”
I had to smile at how fast Gabriel whipped around, nearly dropping a box of sushi.
“And he didn’t see fit to give it to me when I was representing Pamela?”
“He doesn’t like you,” I said. “You’re . . . how did he put it? Pathologically ambitious. Me? In my own way, I’m as much a victim as the families who lost loved ones in this tragedy.”
Gabriel snorted as he took his soup and sat.
“I seem to recall you saying almost the exact same thing once,” I said.
“That was before I knew you.”
I sat down and took a salmon roll. “Anyway, Evans obviously likes taking care of victims, so I’ll play one for him tomorrow.”
Gabriel frowned. “You’ve arranged an appointment? I’m waiting for a verdict on the Rivers case, Olivia. I cannot—”
“You’re busy, I know. I’m not. It’s my day off. So I’ll handle this. He doesn’t want you there anyway.”
“I would prefer to be there.”
“And I’d prefer to have you there. But it ain’t happening. Either I go in alone or we don’t get this interview.”
“I’ll drive you. We’ll reschedule if necessary.”
“I’m perfectly capable of—”
“You were already attacked by the father of one victim. You’re my client. I can’t have you getting yourself killed.”
“Getting myself killed?” I shook my head. “No wonder you’re a defense lawyer. We’ll discuss transportation later. Let’s eat.”
• • •
After Gabriel left, I couldn’t relax, much less consider winding down for the night. I kept thinking about William Evans and what he might have to say to me.
Gabriel opened his door and walked into the reception area.
“Mr. Morgan?”
Morgan turned. Relief flickered across his face, as if he hadn’t expected Gabriel to see him.
“Gabriel Walsh,” Gabriel said, extending his hand.
As Morgan shook it, he gave Gabriel his own sizing up. He doubtless hadn’t been thrilled to hear that his beautiful ex-fiancée was being spotted around town with an unattached, successful young lawyer. But James’s satisfied nod said that once-over was all he needed to reassure himself that the relationship with Olivia was simply business.
Asshole.
“You wanted to speak to me?” Gabriel said.
“I did. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Certainly.” Gabriel waved him toward his office and motioned for Lydia to hold his calls.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
When I walked away from my family home, I left a lot of things behind. There were times when I did miss those advantages. Like when it was dinner hour and my stomach was grumbling, and I hadn’t thought of what to make, much less started cooking. Tonight that was covered. Gabriel had texted me to say he was coming to discuss the case and would be bringing takeout for both of us. Very nice, even if I suspected he’d add it to my bill.
So I was working at home, drinking cold coffee from the diner, and munching on slightly burned cookie rejects. The cat was on his towel. I’d broken down and bought him some food. Also, a flea collar. I’d seriously contemplated a real collar—a sparkly green one—if only because I was sure it would offend his dignity.
At 5:50 my phone rang.
“It’s Gabriel,” he said, as he always did, as if I might not recognize his number. Or his voice. “I just had a very interesting visitor.”
He paused. I played along, asking, “Who?”
“William Evans.”
“Who?” I barely got the question out before the name clicked. “The father of Peter Evans. Jan Gunderson’s boyfriend.”
“Correct.”
“He stopped in to speak to you?”
“Not quite. He came right after I left for an appointment. I suspect that was not a coincidence. When I represented Pamela, Mr. Evans made it very clear he wanted nothing to do with me. Refused all my requests for interviews. Now it seems he wants to speak to you.”
“Me? Why? To threaten me like . . .” I trailed off as I thought of Niles Gunderson.
“Mr. Gunderson was mentally unstable. William Evans is not. While he is nearing seventy, he still works as a clinical psychologist.”
“He’s a shrink? That’s not much better.” I sighed. “Are you saying I should call him?”
“Yes. We can do that tonight if you’d like me to coach you through it.”
“I can handle it.”
“All right, then. I’ll give you his number.”
I Googled William Evans before I called. I had to add “Chicago” and “psychologist” to narrow it down, but once I did, he popped up. A well-known guy it seemed. Lots of awards and accolades for his work. Several charity affiliations, particularly Peter’s Angels, an organization he’d founded to offer free grief counseling for the victims of violent crime.
I dialed his number.
• • •
“Oh God, do I smell miso soup?” I said as I let Gabriel in.
“Small-town life has its limitations, doesn’t it? Not much hope for Japanese in Cainsville, which lacks even the requisite Chinese takeout.”
“Having eaten from small-town Chinese takeouts, I’m not missing anything. Though if those old urban legends about them are true, it might solve my cat problem.”
The cat glanced up from his spot by the stove and fixed me with a baleful stare.
“Don’t give me that look,” I told the cat. “You’ve caught one mouse since you’ve been here. And what do you get in return? Food, shelter, and a human servant to clean up your shit. You didn’t even warn me when someone was at the door.”
“Because his sixth sense tells him I can be trusted.”
“Then his sixth sense is broken.”
I took the soup to warm in the microwave.
“Did you call Evans?” Gabriel asked as he emptied the take-out bag.
“Yes. He’d like to see to me. Seems that friend of Jan’s called to warn him I was investigating Peter’s murder. He wants to help.”
“Help?”
I shrugged as I brought the soup to the table. “He says he has information that the police weren’t interested in at the time. About Christian.”
I had to smile at how fast Gabriel whipped around, nearly dropping a box of sushi.
“And he didn’t see fit to give it to me when I was representing Pamela?”
“He doesn’t like you,” I said. “You’re . . . how did he put it? Pathologically ambitious. Me? In my own way, I’m as much a victim as the families who lost loved ones in this tragedy.”
Gabriel snorted as he took his soup and sat.
“I seem to recall you saying almost the exact same thing once,” I said.
“That was before I knew you.”
I sat down and took a salmon roll. “Anyway, Evans obviously likes taking care of victims, so I’ll play one for him tomorrow.”
Gabriel frowned. “You’ve arranged an appointment? I’m waiting for a verdict on the Rivers case, Olivia. I cannot—”
“You’re busy, I know. I’m not. It’s my day off. So I’ll handle this. He doesn’t want you there anyway.”
“I would prefer to be there.”
“And I’d prefer to have you there. But it ain’t happening. Either I go in alone or we don’t get this interview.”
“I’ll drive you. We’ll reschedule if necessary.”
“I’m perfectly capable of—”
“You were already attacked by the father of one victim. You’re my client. I can’t have you getting yourself killed.”
“Getting myself killed?” I shook my head. “No wonder you’re a defense lawyer. We’ll discuss transportation later. Let’s eat.”
• • •
After Gabriel left, I couldn’t relax, much less consider winding down for the night. I kept thinking about William Evans and what he might have to say to me.
