The Pelican Brief by John Grisham Page A

have a right to know who killed them.”
    “What’s her name again?”
    “Darby. Who killed them, and why?”
    “You could always pick names, Thomas. I remember women you turned down because you didn’t like the names. Gorgeous, hot women, but with flat names. Darby. Has a nice erotic touch to it. What a name. When do I meet her?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Has she moved in?”
    “None of your damned business. Gavin, listen to me. Who did it?”
    “Don’t you read the papers? We have no suspects. None.
Nada.
”
    “Surely you have a motive.”
    “Mucho motives. Lots of hatred out there, Thomas. Weird combination, wouldn’t you say? Jensen’s hard to figure. The Director has ordered us to research pending cases and recent decisions and voting patterns and all that crap.”
    “That’s great, Gavin. Every con law scholar in the country is now playing detective and trying to solve the murders.”
    “And you’re not?”
    “No. I threw a binge when I heard the news, but I’m sober now. The girl, however, has buried herself in the same research you’re doing. She’s ignoring me.”
    “Darby. What a name. Where’s she from?”
    “Denver. Are we on for Monday?”
    “Maybe. Voyles wants us to work around the clock until the computers tell us who did it. I plan to work you in, though.”
    “Thanks. I’ll expect a full report, Gavin. Not just the gossip.”
    “Thomas, Thomas. Always fishing for information. And I, as usual, have none to give you.”
    “You’ll get drunk and tell all, Gavin. You always do.”
    “Why don’t you bring Darby? How old is she? Nineteen?”
    “Twenty-four, and she’s not invited. Maybe later.”
    “Maybe. Gotta run, pal. I meet with the Director in thirty minutes. The tension is so thick around here you can smell it.”
    Callahan punched the number for the law school library and asked if Darby Shaw had been seen. She had not.
    ________
    Darby parked in the near-empty lot of the federal building in Lafayette, and entered the clerk’s office on the first floor. It was noon Friday, court was not in session, and the hallways were deserted. She stopped at the counter and looked through an open window, and waited. A deputy clerk, late for lunch and with an attitude, walked to the window. “Can I help you?” she asked in the tone of a lowly civil servant who wanted to do anything but help.
    Darby slid a strip of paper through the window. “I would like to see this file.” The clerk took a quick glance at the name of the case, and looked at Darby. “Why?” she asked.
    “I don’t have to explain. It’s public record, isn’t it?”
    “Semipublic.”
    Darby took the strip of paper and folded it. “Are you familiar with the Freedom of Information Act?”
    “Are you a lawyer?”
    “I don’t have to be a lawyer to look at this file.”
    The clerk opened a drawer in the counter, and took out a key ring. She nodded, pointing with her forehead. “Follow me.”
    The sign on the door said JURY ROOM, but inside there were no tables or chairs, only file cabinets and boxes lining the walls. Darby looked around the room.
    The clerk pointed to a wall. “That’s it, on this wall. The rest of the room is other junk. This first file cabinet has all the pleadings and correspondence. The rest is discovery, exhibits, and the trial.”
    “When was the trial?”
    “Last summer. It went on for two months.”
    “Where’s the appeal?”
    “Not perfected yet. I think the deadline is November 1. Are you a reporter or something?”
    “No.”
    “Good. As you obviously know, these are indeed public records. But the trial judge has placed certain restrictions. First, I must have your name and the precise hours you visited this room. Second, nothing can be taken from this room. Third, nothing in this file can be copied until the appeal is perfected. Fourth, anything you touch in here must be put back exactly where you found it. Judge’s orders.”
    Darby stared at the wall of file cabinets.