receipt out to?”
I waved my hand, showing him I didn’t want one. That killed any interest he had in knowing my name.
“You’re retained now?”
“Certainly. I’ll notify the court and—”
“I don’t care about that. I just wanted to make sure I understood how things work.”
“Work?”
“I read somewhere that you don’t need a private investigator’s license so long as you’re working for a lawyer. Is that true?”
“I … That’s something I’d have to check for myself, frankly. Using private investigators is kind of rare around here.”
“The state won’t pay for them?”
“Well, in some cases, maybe. In fact, one like this, they might very well do so.”
“Can you look it up?”
“Look what up?”
“Whether I could be your private investigator even though I don’t have a license.”
“Oh. Yes, I can do that. Just give me a minute.”
I couldn’t see what he called up on his computer screen, but I figured it wouldn’t matter.
“Yes,” he said, swinging back to face me. “I’ll need your name, of course. In case you have to testify or—”
“I won’t be testifying. But I will be with you when you go back and visit MaryLou this afternoon.” I put an Oregon driver’s license on his desk. “My name is Jackson. Adelbert B. Jackson. Okay?”
He looked at his watch, like he had a lot of pressing business to attend to.
“How about two o’clock? Would that work for you?”
“Yes. And after that visit, I could go back anytime and see MaryLou on my own, right? Working as your investigator, I mean.”
“Certainly, if that’s what you want.”
“What I want is to know if they’ve got a special place for lawyers to meet with their clients. And if it’s wired.”
“There
are
attorney-client rooms. But this isn’t some television show. No looking through one-way glass walls, no hidden cameras, nothing like that. Still, there
is
one thing you should know: if an inmate makes a call on one of the jail phones, those calls
are
recorded. That’s no secret—there’s a big sign right above the phones.”
“You’re sure? Bet-your-life sure?”
His complexion went white as he nodded agreement. I could see my question had spooked him, so I knew he’d have the correct-and-checked answers to my questions by two that afternoon.
“No comment,” I said.
“What?”
“That’s all you have to say about this case. To reporters, to anyone writing a book, to someone in a bar … to anyone at all.”
“Of course,” he assured me.
“And by the time we meet this afternoon, can you have your secretary type up something on your letterhead that says I’m working for you?”
“Absolutely,” he said. If I was dumb enough to think he had a secretary, that was fine with him.
A s I drove away from where I’d parked, I could see TV buses disgorging all kinds of equipment. One even had a big satellite dish assembled. The on-camera people were inside, gettingtheir makeup straight. My guess was that their timing had been off—they thought that MaryLou’s appearance wasn’t going to happen until later, and that it would take a lot longer than it already had.
Dolly was there when I got home. I told her what I’d done.
“That’s perfect, Dell. What did you think of her lawyer?”
“The only thing I couldn’t understand about him was his haircut. What do you call it when women wear their hair down over their forehead? Like bangs, but there’s a name for it.”
“I think you mean a pageboy. It was a popular hairstyle years ago, but you don’t see them much on girls anymore.”
“On a man?”
“Well, actually, you’d see more of that style on men than women … at least in this part of the country.”
“Huh.”
“Well, what else? About the lawyer, I mean.”
“There’s nothing else. He’s only got to be able to let me move around. Any problems, I’ll be able to pull out a letter on his office stationery. If it turns out there’s actually going to be
I waved my hand, showing him I didn’t want one. That killed any interest he had in knowing my name.
“You’re retained now?”
“Certainly. I’ll notify the court and—”
“I don’t care about that. I just wanted to make sure I understood how things work.”
“Work?”
“I read somewhere that you don’t need a private investigator’s license so long as you’re working for a lawyer. Is that true?”
“I … That’s something I’d have to check for myself, frankly. Using private investigators is kind of rare around here.”
“The state won’t pay for them?”
“Well, in some cases, maybe. In fact, one like this, they might very well do so.”
“Can you look it up?”
“Look what up?”
“Whether I could be your private investigator even though I don’t have a license.”
“Oh. Yes, I can do that. Just give me a minute.”
I couldn’t see what he called up on his computer screen, but I figured it wouldn’t matter.
“Yes,” he said, swinging back to face me. “I’ll need your name, of course. In case you have to testify or—”
“I won’t be testifying. But I will be with you when you go back and visit MaryLou this afternoon.” I put an Oregon driver’s license on his desk. “My name is Jackson. Adelbert B. Jackson. Okay?”
He looked at his watch, like he had a lot of pressing business to attend to.
“How about two o’clock? Would that work for you?”
“Yes. And after that visit, I could go back anytime and see MaryLou on my own, right? Working as your investigator, I mean.”
“Certainly, if that’s what you want.”
“What I want is to know if they’ve got a special place for lawyers to meet with their clients. And if it’s wired.”
“There
are
attorney-client rooms. But this isn’t some television show. No looking through one-way glass walls, no hidden cameras, nothing like that. Still, there
is
one thing you should know: if an inmate makes a call on one of the jail phones, those calls
are
recorded. That’s no secret—there’s a big sign right above the phones.”
“You’re sure? Bet-your-life sure?”
His complexion went white as he nodded agreement. I could see my question had spooked him, so I knew he’d have the correct-and-checked answers to my questions by two that afternoon.
“No comment,” I said.
“What?”
“That’s all you have to say about this case. To reporters, to anyone writing a book, to someone in a bar … to anyone at all.”
“Of course,” he assured me.
“And by the time we meet this afternoon, can you have your secretary type up something on your letterhead that says I’m working for you?”
“Absolutely,” he said. If I was dumb enough to think he had a secretary, that was fine with him.
A s I drove away from where I’d parked, I could see TV buses disgorging all kinds of equipment. One even had a big satellite dish assembled. The on-camera people were inside, gettingtheir makeup straight. My guess was that their timing had been off—they thought that MaryLou’s appearance wasn’t going to happen until later, and that it would take a lot longer than it already had.
Dolly was there when I got home. I told her what I’d done.
“That’s perfect, Dell. What did you think of her lawyer?”
“The only thing I couldn’t understand about him was his haircut. What do you call it when women wear their hair down over their forehead? Like bangs, but there’s a name for it.”
“I think you mean a pageboy. It was a popular hairstyle years ago, but you don’t see them much on girls anymore.”
“On a man?”
“Well, actually, you’d see more of that style on men than women … at least in this part of the country.”
“Huh.”
“Well, what else? About the lawyer, I mean.”
“There’s nothing else. He’s only got to be able to let me move around. Any problems, I’ll be able to pull out a letter on his office stationery. If it turns out there’s actually going to be
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