Winner Take All by T. Davis Bunn Read Free Book Online Page B

Jones.”
    “He threatened me.”
    “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Netty’s face bore the pinched quality of someone looking for a place to spit. “Folks around here refer to him as Skunk. Whenever he’s disappeared off for a spell, there’s no question but Sephus has been sent up. Again.” She pointed to where the envelope’s corner poked from her shorts. “What’s that he planted in your pocket?”
    “A check.” She used two fingers to pull the envelope free. “My guess is it’s a retainer from New Horizons for Dale Steadman’s legal fees.”
    “You want me to burn it?”
    Kirsten entered the front hall and set the envelope upon the side table. She then headed upstairs for the guestroom shower. Sephus Jones’ imprint was on her skin like a rising bruise. “I think Marcus should see it.”
    “Why spoil the man’s Friday? I could dig a hole and bury it out there by your plants, he knows where it is if he’s interested.”

CHAPTER
———
5
    T HE W AKE C OUNTY C OURTHOUSE was just another Raleigh downtown high-rise, banded across its center by three stories of windowless concrete. These middle floors housed prisoners awaiting trial and those sentenced to anything less than ninety days. A second jail had recently been erected across the street and was connected by a fourth-floor walkover. The courthouse foyer was a tidal wash of everything wrong with the legal system. The currents moved in predictable fashion, rushing in at half-past eight, out at noon, in at two, out at five. When Marcus arrived, the lines at the metal detectors were ninety strong. Marcus waited while a rat-haired mother with a squalling baby explained to a bored deputy why her common-law man really didn’t mean to kick the kid. Staffing the courthouse information desk was one of the most hated duties a deputy could pull. The accused and their families loved to use the deputies as a captive audience, practicing their spiel before moving upstairs to the judges’ chambers. The deputy waited for the mother to draw breath, then directed her to the crèche, as no children were permitted in family court unless called there by the judge.
    Marcus asked, “Any idea where I could find Anita Harshaw today?”
    The deputy gave him a Teflon scan, swiftly classing Marcus as one of the legal opposition. “She usually hangs out on the third floor.”
    “Thanks.” He slid around the crush waiting for the elevators and took the stairs. On the third floor he entered a linoleum and fluorescent realm. Two windowless lobbies were filled with grim tension andconfusion. Lawyers stood in clusters, smirking effigies in slick suits, telling jokes and shaping last-minute deals.
    Anita Harshaw was an alpaca-draped blonde who lived and breathed divorce work. She outweighed Marcus by a hundred pounds and accented her size with bulky knits. The attorney spotted his approach and greeted him with “If it isn’t the roller-coaster kid. What is it today, Marcus, you on the rise or the fall?”
    “I want to talk with you about a case you handled.”
    “Is it privileged?”
    “Probably not.”
    “Then I’m happy to dish out the dirt.” She stepped out of earshot from the other lawyers. “Who’s the target?”
    “The former Erin Steadman.”
    “Couldn’t possibly be privileged. Seeing as how I never even met the lady.”
    “And now she’s taken other counsel.”
    “For what?”
    “Custody dispute.”
    Up close the woman had a rich floral scent, an unexpected hint of femininity. “You’re kidding me.”
    “Tell me what you know.”
    “That’ll take about five seconds. The lady calls from somewhere foreign. Germany, wasn’t it?”
    “Düsseldorf.”
    “See, you know more than I do. She gave me three sentences. Handle the case. No visitation rights, no argument, no alimony, no publicity. Fast and quiet.”
    “She didn’t show up for the hearing?”
    “I just said I’ve never met the woman. So who’s handling her now?”
    “Hamper