Part 24 (1/2)
He's so ... so personal about it.”
”What about your friend? What does she see?
Maybe I could talk to her.”
”No.” Tara pushed herself off the wall. This was defeat.
”She wouldn't be able to help you. She is involved and love is blind.”
Woodrow put his hand on Tara's shoulder.
”And you're the only one that sees this clearly, Tara?”
Startled, Tara paused, thinking hard for an instant.
”Yes. There's no black and white here, Woodrow. I don't know what he really wants. I have to take him at his word. I have to a.s.sume that he knows he needs a doctor's care. The roadblocks he throws up may be his madness. Like a child throwing a tantrum so the parents will prove their love. I don't know what the real story is, but I will protect him until I find out.”
They stood silently together, each thinking. Finally, Tara spoke.
”Woodrow?”
”Yes?” he murmured.
”You didn't push the b.u.t.ton.”
”You could have pushed it,” he noted. They stared at the panel a little longer, Tara thinking it wouldn't be bad to hide here a bit longer. She was the one who finally poked it and the one who finally laughed once.
”We're going to be late.”
*”Yeah, but I didn't mind the breather. Did you?”
”No, I didn't.”
The elevator jerked gently. They were on their way. Friends again for a minute. The other side of her, Tara thought. The side that didn't keep secrets and needed a friend. Oh, how she needed someone to count on. They reached their destination and Tara split herself. The attorney Limey walked out and waited for DA Weber, who went ahead to announce their arrival.
”Mr. Weber. It's nice to see you again.”
A mild-looking middle-aged man stood as Tara and Woodrow entered his well-turned-out office.
Wood desk, leather chairs, real paintings on the wall. The bar obviously thought more of its employees than did the state. Woodrow said his h.e.l.los then pa.s.sed the man's hand on to Tara.
”Nice of you to see us. This is Tara Limey.”
Woodrow stepped back, his arm out as if to usher her into the inner circle. She didn't give him a glance as she pa.s.sed.
”Nice to meet you,” Tara said and she meant it.
”Lovely to meet you. I was privileged to hear you speak to the Bar a.s.sociation last year. Lovely speech. Well delivered. Please, sit down.” He smiled gently, and Tara did as he suggested, noting that he had gracefully managed not to refer to the content of her speech, the t.i.tle of which even she couldn't remember.
Frank Sepada laughed.
”I'm delighted you called. I'm afraid I don't see many people as the Bar's ethics liaison. I field phone calls, write letters, answer complaints. To see living, breathing human beings is truly nice. However, I'm aware that your presence here can mean only that your situation is serious. Compromised, if I might make that a.s.sumption.”
They both nodded.
”Mr. Sepada,” Tara said, anxious to be heard first, ”I've been retained by a person who confessed to me that he committed a horrible crime.”
Tara told the story again. Personal involvement, heinous cold-blooded murder, odd behavior, psychiatric history. When she was done, Frank Sepada turned to Woodrow.
”Mr. Weber?”
”I'd like to at least talk to the man before I take a step regarding state commitment.” Woodrow leaned forward in his chair, his posture that of a concerned public servant.
”I have already agreed to make a decision based on the evaluation of her client by a qualified psychiatrist. I simply can't take her word for a psychological diagnosis. She is a lawyer, and, with all due respect, this might be a rather unique ploy by her in preparation for a defense.
She hasn't given me the evaluation I've requested.
I'll have to refuse any action, unless you can provide us with another solution. We have agreed to abide by your decision.”
”This is refres.h.i.+ng. Seldom do I have adversaries willing to work even this closely together.” He cleared his throat and tapped the side of his cheek.
”Ms. Limey, has your client threatened anyone or exhibited such odd behavior as to put himself in danger?”
”No,” Tara said, a flush coloring her neck as she remembered the night before, his head on her thigh, crucifying himself to s.h.i.+nin'. She shook off the tremors that caught hold where the two men would never see.
”No, but the potential is there.
I'm sure of that. He's unpredictable. Smart. Frightening.
But there have been no overt threats.”
”You've corroborated his medical history?”
”Yes, with his psychiatrist.”
”And what did he tell you?”
”Nothing specific. He confirmed the man's violent tendencies, but he wouldn't do so on record, citing privilege.”
”I see. Well, Ms. Limey, I suggest you get more than that. It seems you have only two choices. Immediately seek Mr. Weber's help should your client become violent, and barring that, determine if your client is competent to waive his rights and release you from the attorney-client privilege. If he is, then you must explain the situation to him and offer him the option of working with the DA. If not, then I'm afraid the law can do nothing for, or with, this man.” Mr. Sepada fluttered his eyes toward Woodrow, an oddly nervous gesture for a man who was so very calm.
”I'm sorry, Mr. Weber, but I can't deliver her client into your hands because you wish it so. You'll have to work for him.”
His eyes were back on Tara again.
”Ms. Limey, I would prefer to see you determine your client's competency and convince him he has options rather than wait for a violent outburst of any sort.”
”I had hoped for something more, Mr. Sepada.”
”Believe me, Ms. Limey, I wish I had a bag of tricks.”