Eye of the Beholder by David Ellis Page B

her my card.
    Preemptively, she moves to block my path. “Just a few questions, Paul. Background is fine with me. I’ll buy you a drink. C‘mon, one harmless drink after work? ”
    She’s trying to recover now, back to the flirtation. It probably works for her most of the time, her looks alone. Why not? If I looked like that, I’d use it, too. A fellow like me has to rely on his winning personality.
    “I could mention Burgos,” she says, walking alongside me. Unless I throw her an elbow, or jump in a cab and close the door quickly, it looks like she’s not taking no for an answer. “Never hurts to remind everyone that you convicted the most famous serial killer our city has ever seen.”
    That much is true. Almost every potential client I meet gets around to asking about it. Inevitably, I find myself recounting the details, the grizzly murder scene, the flamboyant defense team, the rush of hearing the jury announce that the aggravating factors outweigh the mitigating factors. I leave out the part that, however time-consuming and publicized the case may have been, the prosecution of Terry Burgos was one of the easier cases I handled.
    “Speaking of—are you close to the Bentley family?” she asks me. “Ever talk to Natalia? Or Gwendolyn Lake?”
    She needs to work on her segues. Why even pretend she’s running a piece on Hector Almundo, when she obviously wants to talk about Burgos and the Bentley family?
    “Would you describe Cassie Bentley as a troubled girl? Emotional problems?”
    I stop, having reached the end of the courthouse plaza, and face Evelyn. Her hope springs eternal, the recorder poised before my face, as she chews on her lip. She seems to be formulating yet another question, but I’m more interested in the movement of her mouth. Dr. Freud had a point.
    Harland Bentley had married Natalia Lake, heiress to the Lake mining fortune. Natalia’s sister, Mia Lake, had lived with her daughter Gwendolyn on the other side of Highland Woods from Natalia and Harland—two enormous mansions, one for each Lake sister, essentially framing the wealthy suburb. Mia Lake died long ago, early eighties or something, leaving Natalia to serve basically as the mother to her niece, Gwendolyn Lake. But these people had something like a billion dollars, all told, so nobody went hungry.
    Natalia and Harland divorced shortly after their daughter, Cassie, was murdered by Terry Burgos. Natalia moved over to the other mansion, where her dead sister once lived, and where Gwendolyn Lake, her niece, might still live, for all I know. I never had the pleasure of meeting Gwendolyn, though from what I heard, it wouldn’t have been a pleasure.
    I don’t know why Evelyn’s asking about this. But I don’t enjoy cat and mouse, unless I get to be the cat. Or is it the mouse? “Cassie Bentley was a promising young woman whose murder was a tragedy,” I say. “Natalia Lake handled herself with incredible grace and dignity. I wish her, and her niece Gwendolyn, the very best.”
    Evelyn is quiet. Didn’t get what she wanted there. What did she expect? I’m a lawyer. I play with words all day.
    I give Evelyn a wide smile. “And Senator Almundo is innocent,” I add.
    She deflates. I gently take her recorder and slide the cue to the off position. “Evelyn,” I say, “when I cross-examine someone, I like to ask questions in the abstract, out of order, so the witness doesn’t see where I’m going. Then I tie it all together, in my favor, before they have a chance to fix the damage. But we’re not in court, I’m not under oath, and I don’t have to play your game. So do me a favor—say hi to your mother and have a nice day. If you want to play straight with me, you’ve got my number.”
    I bid her adieu and leave her at the corner of the plaza. She calls out to me, “I’ll play straight, then,” but now she’s incurred penalties for lack of courtesy. I’ll return her phone call one of these days, but not this