Glitsky 02 - Guilt by John Lescroart Read Free Book Online

you're right. It could go that way,' Dooher had finally said, thinking, 'and I'm the King of Ethiopia.'

    And now Trang was threatening to name Flaherty in a lawsuit contending that he tolerated fraud and licentiousness among his priests. Before all of these problems had begun, there was a rumor that Flaherty had been on the short list to be named a Cardinal. He had confided to Dooher that he had dreams of being the first American Pope. Now all of that, perhaps even his immediate survival as Archbishop, was at stake.
    He was at his desk now, moving items randomly, nerves showing. 'But Trang hasn't yet amended the complaint?'
    Pacing, Dooher stopped. 'That's why we're talking here, Jim. I need to head this off. The guy's obviously looking for press, make his name in the community, bring in some clients. I've got to talk sense to him.'
    'What are you going to say?'
    'I'll just tell him we'd be grateful for his cooperation. He knows –
you
know there wasn't any policy here. We've got to get him off this, Jim, or at the very least you can forget about your red hat.'
    Flaherty pulled himself up in his chair. 'How grateful?'
    Dooher clasped his hands in front of him. 'Settle for six hundred thousand, if it goes that high.'
    'Lord…'
    'And a
gag order. No press conferences. No "conscience of the community" nonsense. Trang pockets two hundred thousand dollars. Mrs Diep gets a nice return on her fifty grand and her broken heart. Everybody's happy.'
    The Archbishop shook his head. Tm not. We start at six hundred?' Dooher tried to keep his tone light. 'Jim, this is Mark Dooher you're talking to. We start by offering to break Trang's legs. Hopefully we stop a long way before six.'
    Flaherty nodded. 'A long way if you can.'
    Dooher bowed slightly from the waist. 'I understand,' he said. 'I'll take care of it.'

    'You're not actually
seeing
her.'
    'Wes, I ran into her at church. That's all.'
    'At church. That's very good.' Wes Farrell lowered his voice a notch. 'The night after your party, which she happened to attend because her boyfriend got himself invited? Markus, we're running into a critical coincidence factor here.'
    Wes Farrell had his feet up on the desk in his small office. Behind him, through wooden slats, rain beat against the window. Dooher was continuing with the fairy-tale version of his story about Christina, and Farrell finally stopped him.
    'This is all good stuff, Mark. I mean it. And because I am your longstanding friend, I believe every word of it. However, I will offer one word of advice, lawyer to lawyer.'
    'What?'
    'Don't try it on anybody else. It sounds suspiciously like a rationalizing crock, although I know in my heart of hearts – because you would never lie to me – that it couldn't possibly be. How did she look?'
    Dooher crossed his hands behind his head, considering. 'Who, in your opinion, is the all-around best-looking woman in the world? Face, body…' an expansive gesture '… the whole schmeer. Everything.'
    Farrell thought a moment. 'Demi Moore.'
    Dooher nodded. 'Well, Demi Moore is a
dog
next to Christina Carrera. Even with wet hair and ashes on her forehead.'
    'I've never seen Demi like that,' Farrell said. 'Usually, when we go out, after she ditches Bruce, she dresses up, puts on some makeup, stuff like that. Come to think of it, I wonder if she's why Lydia's divorcing me. If she found out about Demi and me?'
    'That could be it,' Dooher said. 'Those damn paparazzi.'
    Dooher cracked a grin. 'Your fantasy life is much too rich for you to be a good lawyer.'
    Farrell pointed across the room. 'Says the man who meets his associate's fiancee at church. What do you plan to do with her, if I might ask?'
    A shrug, as though he'd never considered the question. 'I don't know. I'm thinking of hiring her.' At Farrell's expression, he added, 'Just as a clerk. She's law review. Pretty sharp kid, actually.'
    Farrell pointed again, 'I must tell you, this is fire.'
    'It's all innocent, Wes. I swear. Nothing's going