Read Online Guilt by G. H. Ephron - Free Book Online Page A

of green foliage and red brick not a hundred feet from the chaos of the courthouse. They continued up to Cambridge Street and around the corner to a coffee shop. There, the owner was using duct tape to attach clear plastic sheeting where there had been a window. Broken glass had already been swept away and the place was doing a brisk business. They got the last empty table.
    Chip and Peter and Annie had often met at this greasy spoon with its too many coats of dark green paint on the walls. Over breakfast or lunch, they plotted strategy during a trial. Now it seemed like everyone in the place was talking on a cell phone.
    â€œI was walking over from the T. She was supposed to meet me…” said one hollow-eyed, middle-aged man in a rumpled suit, probably an attorney.
    â€œLooks like Armageddon,” said another.
    â€œYeah, I’ll be home early. Sure. A half gallon of milk,” said a bearded fellow in uniform, probably a court officer. “Anything else?”
    Chip cleared his throat. He was eying Peter’s coffee. “You sure you’re all right?”
    Peter looked down at the two sugar packets he’d emptied into the cup. He was adding a third one. He didn’t even like sugar in his coffee.
    Chip sat there musing, his eyes troubled. “I hope the prisoners got evacuated safely.” His client would have been up in the twelfth-floor courtroom, awaiting the trial. Chip would also be wondering about the people he knew who worked at the courthouse—who’d made it out in one piece and who hadn’t.
    â€œFirst the law school. Then the district court,” Peter said. “Maybe someone’s ticked at lawyers.”
    â€œWouldn’t be the first time,” Chip said. “Odd coincidence, don’t you think? The first bomb takes out the law school intern I happen to have been working with. This one just misses me and you, and could have gotten Annie if she’d been here.”
    Peter shrugged. There was no point in speculating.
    â€œYou think I’m paranoid?” Chip asked.
    â€œYou ever read about that man in Pennsylvania who got struck by lightning three times? Sometimes it’s really just coincidence.”
    Peter opened his briefcase and began sorting through and straightening the papers he’d stuffed inside. The pages had gotten out of order, but everything seemed to be there.
    â€œI wonder when they’ll reschedule the trial,” Chip said. “And where.”
    Peter flattened out the notes he’d planned to review while he was waiting to testify. His crib sheet with a table summarizing the main research findings about the effects of alcohol on judgment had been torn nearly in half. Under that was a rumpled piece of paper that looked as if someone had stepped on it. The top corners were torn. Peter’s stomach rolled as he read the words printed in big black letters. He rotated the page to show Chip.
    Chip’s lips moved as he read.
    There is no god. No right or wrong.
    The law prevents Us from pursuing Our destiny.
    Nothing but violent resistance can ever overcome the selfishness which is the basis of the present organization of society, which the few willingly perpetuate to exploit the many.
    A pudgy man in a suit at the neighboring table peered around his newspaper through horn-rimmed glasses. Peter had an instant of eye contact with him before the man adjusted his paper in front of his face.
    â€œI wonder if this is what MacRae was pulling down,” Peter said, keeping his voice low.
    Chip ran his finger under the words and held on the final sentence “This sounds familiar. Some kind of quote, maybe. And did you notice this?” He pointed to a handwritten symbol near the bottom of the page. It was a circle with the capital letter A inside it. Peter didn’t recognize it. “Stands for anarchy.”
    â€œHey, you!” the waiter, an older man in dark trousers and a white shirt, shouted after the