Amnesia by G. H. Ephron Read Free Book Online Page B

me. Why was I getting involved in another murder case? Was my ego so big and my common sense so puny that I couldn’t see where this could lead? I dusted off the answer I would have given anyone who asked me that question two years ago. “I guess because it’s a mitzvah. Someone has to defend people who haven’t got the wherewithal to defend themselves. And I’m pretty good at it.”
    â€œPssh,” my mother exhaled. She wasn’t buying.
    Now I had to defend myself. “You can say that all you like, but that’s the truth. This guy, the defendant? He reminds me of Uncle Louie. You know, wiry and smart. But a sucker for a pretty face.”
    â€œIf he’s so smart …” she started, before amending it to, “so it’s another murder case.”
    â€œHe’s innocent. I’m sure of it.” I felt suddenly deflated. “Pretty sure of it.”
    She didn’t say anything. I knew she’d be sitting there stone-faced. Silence had always been her greatest weapon. “Anyway — anyway, I wanted you to hear it from me. There’s a little article
about it in the morning paper.” My mother groaned. “Page fourteen if you want to read about it.”
    â€œPlease, please, please” — my mother sounded exhausted — “please, be careful.”
    I put down the phone feeling spent. I sat there breathing in and out, counting the breaths, and trying to collect enough energy to return the beep. I punched in the number. After one ring, an answering machine picked up. “You’ve reached Annie Squires … .”
    â€œAnnie? Peter Zak, returning your call … .”
    There was a click, “Hey, Peter.”
    â€œHey, yourself.”
    â€œI’m sitting here looking at a pile of Sylvia Jackson’s medical records and police interviews with your name on them.” I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t so sure that I was ready to start reading about bullet fragments lodged in the cerebral cortex. “I can drop them off later today.”
    I didn’t say anything. Bubkes, I heard my mother’s voice.
    â€œOr do you want me to drop them off at your house? I’ll be heading out that way late this afternoon. Either way —”
    â€œRight. You know where I am,” I muttered. Of course she did. The three of us had powwowed over cases in my living room many times. “Right. Sure, fine,” I added, to no one in particular.
    Annie ignored the awkwardness. “I don’t know about you, but I was stunned when the judge agreed to let us evaluate Sylvia Jackson. I think the D.A. was completely blindsided when Chip made the request. He blinked and the judge ruled in our favor. Of course, the downside is that Sherman’s been wounded where he hurts most — in his ego. This is not a guy who likes to be beaten.”
    I wasn’t looking forward to meeting Monty Sherman. Generally speaking, D.A.’s are a prickly breed to begin with, and this one was already aggravated.

    â€œOur office is setting up the dates and times for you to see her. Can you call in and tell them your schedule?”
    â€œWill do,” I said automatically.
    â€œSo I’ll drop off the reports at your house?”
    It was a good thing I’d called my mother. With her built-in sonar for detecting movement around the house, she wasn’t likely to miss Annie Squires dropping off trial-related documents.
    â€œYou okay with this, Peter?” Annie asked. “You don’t sound like yourself.”
    Of course I didn’t sound like myself. Should I suddenly start to sound like my old self, now that I was doing something that I’d done regularly before everything fell apart? If I’d been my own patient, I’d have observed that it was a first step.
    I hung up the phone and headed to the other end of the unit to visit Mr. O’Flanagan. I found myself wondering whether those reports