Page 4 of The Happy Month
“Not until we file the habeas corpus petition. The court has sixty days to rule. We’ll have several weeks to focus on other cases once we file.”
“Got it.”
Thinking we were finished, I stoodup.
“One more thing,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Edwin wants to have lunch with us today.”
Edwin Karpinski was an attorney affiliated with The Freedom Agenda enough to have an office with us, but not so affiliated as to actually use it. He had other offices downtown, which we sometimes borrowed. He wasn’t someone I really liked.
“Us? Do I really need to be there?”
“Actually, I’m the one who doesn’t need to be there. He asked that I arrange a lunch with you. I had to insist I was invited too.”
“Do you know what he wants?”
“He wouldn’t say over the phone. But he’s driving down and we’re having lunch at La Bohème at one o’clock. He wants a favor from you, obviously. I’d say it was a big one given the price of La Bohème and the fact that he hates driving down here.”
“If he wants me to investigate something, I’m not sure I’m interested.”
Beyond The Freedom Agenda, the kind of law Edwin practiced was mostly civil litigation, and that was mostly corporations suing some part of the government. One group of awful people suing another group of awful people; really not my thing.
“That’s why I want to come along. I want to make sure you’re comfortable saying no.”
“I’m a big boy, Lydia.”
“Even big boys need a lawyer now and then.”
The rest of the morning was quiet. I spent most of it reading over Anne Michael’s testimony and my notes on the things she’d said to me. I also began laying out questions I thought she should be asked. Lydia would be doing that too.I did mine mainly to make sure she didn’t miss anything. She rarely did.
Karen, Lydia’s assistant, came in and the phone began ringing. Since I killed Stu Whatley, Karen had been wary, distant even. I imagine she would have told the police the truth if it weren’t for her respect for Lydia. The only thing she’d ever said to me about any of it was, once at the coffeemaker, “It’s never a good thing when White people start lying.”
Honestly, I couldn’t disagree with her.
Lydia and I left around quarter of one. She drove. On the way we talked about our partners. She was married to a man named Dwayne who was in development at one of the studios. Apparently, a film he’d worked on was premiering soon and they were going to walk the red carpet.
“I don’t want to spend a lot. I’m probably going to go to a consignment shop I heard of where the stars sell off their gowns. I mean, I don’t expect anyone to take our picture, but I still need to look nice.”
“This is one of those moments I’m glad I’m not a woman.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you lived with Dwayne. He’s buying a tuxedo. He’s sure he’ll need to wear one more often. Of course, I know better. He’ll wear it twice then want a new one.”
We found a place to park and then walked a block and a half to La Bohème. The building was about eight stories, yellow brick, with a few neo-classical flourishes. The restaurant was on the first floor, next to a jewelry store. The floors above seemed to be offices. We walked up two marble steps into the restaurant.
La Bohème served excellent nuevo Italian food, featuring a well-designed dining room with cloth-coveredtables and lovely flatware. Each table had a tiny vase with inexpensive flowers purchased that morning.
On the far side of the room, in front of the window on the Pine Avenue side, sat two men. One of them was Edwin Karpinski. He was in his mid-thirties but looked quite boyish with blond hair, blue eyes and a well-trained body. His suit was gray, his shirt a gentle sky blue, and his tie bold with navy and purple stripes.
Across from him sat his older brother, who was clearly in his mid-forties, had started losing his wheat-colored hair, and spent less time in a gym. Despite the differences, it was easy to see the family resemblance.
Edwin stood up and made the introductions. “This is my brother John.”
“Jan,” his brother corrected, pronouncing it in the Polish way. Karpinski, of course they were Polish. At least on their father’s side.
Nobody offered to shake hands, so we sat down. Before we could say much of anything, the waiter was there asking if we’d like cocktails. Jan ordered a Tanqueray martini with extra olives, I asked for an Arnold Palmer, while Lydia and Edwin stuck with water.
