Keeping Council Part 8

After I oudine the terms, it will be up to you to choose whether or not you want to continue our professional relationship. Should you decide not to, I am still bound by my oath of confidentiality.

No one, not even Donna, need know of this conversation. You will be free to seek other counsel without fear of recrimination."

"I won't be changin' my mind, Tara. No siree.

I need your help. I need you, Tara, and I need you bad. I been waitin' a good long while to find a woman just like you."

She looked at him sharply and he looked back mildly, perhaps even playfully. His lips were turned up at the corners. She felt not triumph from him, but mischievousness, as if the fun part was yet to come.

"All right, Bill. I must advise you, I have never handled anything quite like this. If you're charged, it would most likely be for first-degree murder. I can refer you to someone in Santa Fe who specializes in high-profile cases such as this if you so desire."

"No thank you, ma'am," he said.

Tara caught his rhythm and didn't miss a beat.

"My fee is two hundred and fifty dollars an hour.

You'll be charged for any out-of-pocket costs for trial exhibits or investigative services as necessary.

I will require a retainer of five thousand dollars."

She paused. He didn't flinch. Neither did she and the last memory of the playful talk of the night before vanished.

"I'll require that now."

"Yes, ma'am." The checkbook was out of his pocket. He laid it on the desk like a gunslinger. I'll see you and raise you one.

"Do I have your permission to call your bank to verify your balance?"

The request diminished Tara because it was made spitefully and that realization unnerved her.

This was not simply business. She wanted to bring him down a peg or two, she wanted him to falter, to question, to do something other than look at her with a c.o.c.ksure grin or furrow his brow as if frustrated, concerned, or any number of expressions that seemed to change with the light. Bill Hamilton was not just a client arriving by referral.

He was Donna's lover, firmly implanted in Tara's own backyard. This weed that she was trying to uproot threatened her, and that dispa.s.sionate person she had spoken of only moments ago was no where to be found. The emotional Tara hung on for dear life.

"Absolutely. Sure thing. Business is business," Bill said.

Tara gave him a pen and buzzed Caroline. The check was handed over.

The door closed. They were alone again.

"I'd like you to move out of the guest house and not see Donna while we take care of this."

"I don't think so. I think you can take me at my word that Donna'll be cared for. We gotta trust one another, Tara," he reminded her.

"How old are you, Bill?"

Down to business.

"Twenty-nine." He clicked his tongue and stuck the tips of his fingers in the coin pocket of his jeans.

"You have family. Where are they?"

"Arizona." He rattled off a phone number. Tara jotted it down. He was getting antsy again. This man didn't like to sit for long.

"Now, I gotta be truthful with you on that one.

I haven't seen them for a while. We had a falling out and I am not real sure if I can swear to that number. I just want that on the table between us, okay?"

"That's a start." She jotted a note without looking up.

"Where do you live?"

"With Donna."

"Before that?" Tara shot back, happy to have found that part of her that couldn't be touched, that dealt only in strategy and laws and loopholes.

She would have wept with relief if she'd been able to.

"All over the place. I get rooms. Sometimes I stay with other people. Depends on what comes up. But I think I'll be stayin' on with Donna now, if you know what I mean."

"Does your father know about this? About this woman you claim to have killed? Have you told any friends? How about your mother?" Tara watched him carefully from under her lashes, looking for any sign that he was disoriented by the illogical course of her questions.

"No." He hesitated. His eyes lowered quickly, his fingers winding around themselves now. Interesting how the mention of his mother bothered him.

"I don't think my mama would be very proud of that, do you? She'd be shamed for sure. She can't do nothin' for me, so I don't want her to know."

And what, Tara wondered, did he think would happen when he was on trial for this? Tara would want the woman front row center in a courtroom.

The point, though, was moot. If Bill Hamilton was charged with this crime, he'd be lynched before his mother could cry. The intercom buzzed. Tara picked up the receiver instead of putting the call on speaker. It was Caroline. Bill Hamilton was good for the retainer.

"Do you work?" Tara asked, replacing the receiver.

"T>.

I've worked just about anywhere they'd hire me. Doin' anything. I'm not lazy, that's for sure. I like my money too much. Do what I gotta do to get it." Again the grin.

"Did you rob the Circle K?"

Bill shook his head, "Didn't need any money.

Just a pack of smokes. Late night. Lonely road.

Just a pack of smokes was all."

"Are you employed now?" Tara continued, unimpressed with his glibness. As far as she was concerned, he was a liar. Whether it turned out that he had actually pulled the trigger or made up a story, he was a liar. He had lied with the first smile and the last compliment and he could still be doing it.

Bill Hamilton gave his answer and the answers to every question after that. He worked when he had to, got money where he could, and it seemed plentiful. Women liked to care for him.

"And I always give them back just what they need. Exactly what they need," he whispered, and they were off again, holding his life up for scrutiny.

Not a care in the world, a lady to love him, money in the bank, a gun in hand. What more could a young man ask? Just that one little blemish on his record.

No criminal history, he insisted, and she knew she would have it checked before he made it down the elevator. Married? Naw, not a cowboy like him.

Lived with a gal. Yup, a gal.

"Hard to believe, Tara, but that woman decided she just didn't like me anymore. And I'll tell you one thing, yes siree, I gave that woman all I had to give." He raised a finger as if lecturing her.

"She put me out like a dog, Tara." Bill grinned. He laughed. This was obviously a private joke.

And they were off for another run, talking about Bill's philosophy of life. Just gotta take what comes, then pay the piper. Bill's hatred of his psychiatrist and disdain for his own illness and terrible weakness.

Donna's precious clothes. A dead woman.

Until Tara touched the middle of her forehead, a fortuneteller still connected to the other world.

"What do you want from me. Bill?" she asked evenly.

"Help," he answered, astonished she should have to ask.

"What kind of help? Are the police on to you?"

"Naw." He shook his head and his hair caught the light. There was a golden tone in it.

"Do you want me to go with you to turn yourself in?" she suggested.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n, no." He laughed and slapped his leg lightly.

"I couldn't go to jail. I'd never make it in there. I'll tell you, Tara, I swear I'd never make it. I know that what I did was wrong, but I wasn't in my right mind. h.e.l.l, I just had a blackout and boom. Don't even know what I did with the gun.

Don't know how I walked out of there." He pursed his lips and blew out the bad air, took in some good.

Both hands were in his hair and he pulled the pretty waves up into wings. He pulled so hard his eyes changed shape.

"I need help to just straighten out. A place where I could find a doctor who understood me." He thumped his chest once, and smiled sweetly, "Maybe straighten me out. I want a bunch of *em to take a whack at me, just to be sure this time I'm getting' what I need, you see?

Not just one guy pullin' a fast one. Not just one b.a.s.t.a.r.d who thinks he knows everything. He'd be the kind to hold all this over my head. Like I failed him, personally. There's only so much of that a man can take, you know?" He lowered his hands and leaned heavily on the desk. All the smiles were gone.

"So just do that. Whatever I need to do so I can get me into a hospital and I won't go to jail. Just get me some help."

Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky had vanished. This man was tired, and if she had to guess, he was afraid like everyone else who came to her. Tara knew where she stood now. She was ready to act. As his advocate, not his friend, she would work miracles for him. Tenting her fingers, Tara tapped them against her lips.

"I need proof that you're telling the truth. Bill.

Convince me. Give me permission to check your information with the proper authorities. The police released no details of this murder. If they have matching information, that will help me to make some decisions."

"What decisions do you have to make?" Bill asked.

"You're my attorney, ain't you? Just sign me in someplace. Get me to a hospital. Let me lie low.

I don't want to black out again. I don't want to hurt anyone again."

Donna's face flashed in Tara's mind. She'd like nothing better than to lock him in a loony bin and throw away the key. Her throat tightened and she said nothing. But Bill tired of the silence, so he filled it.

"You better do this, Tara, or it won't be good for you." His voice was gentle. Tara was lulled by it.

"You couldn't live with yourself, never really knowing what had happened to me. I mean if you decided not to be my lawyer, you still couldn't tell anyone the stuff I told you. You'd have to sit here by your lonesome, and just think and think about it. Then Donna and I would go away, and you'd think some more. I'd bet my saddle you'd rather be in the thick of it all, instead of on the outside wondering what's what. I think you like being what you are. Two people, one who has the power. Am I right? Did I hit the jackpot?"

The silence that ensued was strangely thin, one that wasn't stuffed with his apprehension and regret the way Tara would have expected. Instead it was like a fog further clouding her now darkened sky. Tara looked at this man who had appeared at her door to celebrate a birthday and had, instead, aged her light-years.

"You're right about one thing, Bill. I have the power. But it's not limited. It's my conscience and my ethics, not my power, that will make me work for you. But I will only work for you if you're straight with me. You could be a nut who simply likes to confess to other people's exotic crimes.

You may be covering for someone. I won't know until I confirm what you've told me with details.

Now, give me the information, give me your permission to use it then leave me alone to do my work because you need me more than you know."

"You're a good one, Tara." Bill laughed, his head back, dark hair grazing the collar of his shirt.

"I need you, yes I do. You help me and keep me laughing.

I feel so much better when I'm laughing."

"We'll see." Tara picked up her pen. Bill winked, a knowing little gesture that sealed their bargain. Then he told her a thing or two about that night at the Circle K. When he was done, Tara spoke again.

"My obligation is to help you receive the medical treatment you need and desire. I'll represent you as a mentally disturbed person until the truth of that is determined by the law. I will do my best not to jeopardize your well-being in any manner that might result in your incarceration without the opportunity for medical evaluation."

"Fine and dandy, Tara. Just fine."

"You can go now, Bill. I'll think about this. I'll see what I can do," Tara said wearily.

Bill stood up, tugged on his jacket, and put out his hand.

Mechanically, Tara took it while he chatted.

"Now I'll sleep just fine. A real load off my mind, Tara. Hey, mind if I use your phone? Gotta call Donna, see if she's ready for me to come on home."

Tara waved him to the reception room, unable to bear him as close as the phone. He picked up the receiver on Caroline's desk and punched out the number to the guest house from memory, turning his back on her when he began to speak.

Caroline buzzed on the other line.

"Yes?"

"George Amos, returning your call."

"Tell him I'll call him back," she said, her eyes still on Bill.

"You got it."