"And we certainly appreciate that, Mr. Ewen," Murrow said before Karp could reply. He looked at his watch. "Oops, we got to go, Butch. You're supposed to pick up your sons in less than an hour."
Karp had locked eyes with Ewen, but neither of them flinched. A tough old bastard, he thought, been around since Garrahy's days. "Yes, I believe Mr. Ewen and I have said what needs to be said."
Most of the members had left by the time they were escorted back out to the auditorium. A few stragglers gave them dark looks, but there was one reasonably friendly face, that of Richard Torrisi.
"Hi, Butch, good speech," Torrisi said, holding out his hand.
"Yeah, I really wowed them," Karp replied, shaking it.
Torrisi laughed. "Yeah, well, tough crowd but they're not as sheeplike as some people might want you to believe. I think most of them are waiting and watching. They won't be afraid to break from the leadership if there's a good reason."
"Aren't you talking ill of your bosses?"
Torrisi grimaced. "I suppose I am, technically. But to be honest, I think of the rank and file as my real bosses. I was hired by the leadership but to represent the members' interests."
"I think a lot of us have been in the same boat," Karp said.
"Yeah…hey, if you have a minute, there's someone else I'd like you to meet," Torrisi said.
Murrow answered. "Sorry, but not really. He has to be somewhere in…," he looked at his watch, "forty-seven-and-a-half minutes."
"That's okay," Karp said, "we've got time." He'd caught some sense of urgency in the union lawyer's voice and was curious as to what it might be about.
Torrisi led the way to the back of the auditorium and an exit door that opened into yet another hallway. "This place has more secret passages than a Scottish castle," Murrow muttered. "If these walls could talk."
"Just an old building with lots of cheap remodeling," Torrisi replied. "But you're right about the walls." He reached a door and grabbed the knob, but before opening it he said, "I'm sorry but Clay and Mr. Murrow will have to stay here."
Clay started to protest. He was responsible for Karp's safety and his boss had a way of ending up in more jams than ants at a picnic, as his grandmother used to say. Murrow, worried about some unknown political ramification of all the secrecy, began to voice his concern, too. But Karp waved them both to silence.
"Clay, I'm sure I'm quite safe. Even if the PBA wanted to shoot me, I think they'd plan it better than to do it in their own building," he said. "If you guys wouldn't mind getting the car and pulling it up to the curb, I'll just be a few minutes."
Clay Fulton and Murrow stalked off, muttering under their collective breath. Torrisi turned the knob and led the way into a room. Again the lights were low, leading Karp to wonder, What's with these union types. Is it for mood or are they too cheap to buy more lightbulbs? It took a moment for his eyes to adjust; only then did he notice the dark figure of a woman sitting in a chair on the far side of the room. He glanced sideways at Torrisi, who spoke as the woman stood up.
"Butch Karp, I'd like you to meet Liz Tyler. Liz, this is the district attorney of Manhattan."
The woman said hello but, Karp noticed, made no attempt to shake his hand or approach too closely. It was Torrisi who spoke again. "Sorry about the surprise, Butch; I wasn't sure Liz wanted to do this until just before the meeting. But I think it would be good for you two to talk." He stepped back through the door and said, "I'll wait in the hallway."
When the door closed, Karp was thinking how he would have liked to shoot Torrisi. What was he supposed to say to a woman who'd been through what she'd been through? No, I can't help you. He'd met thousands of victims, seen all sorts of injustices perpetrated on them not just by the criminals but also the system. If what Torrisi had told him at the meeting a week ago with mayor-elect Denton was true, she had been raped by both and was still being assaulted.
"Sorry…about what happened," he said, immediately regretting it as insufficient. But she seemed to appreciate the sentiment.
"Thank you, Mr. Karp," she replied. "Would you mind if we sat? I'm not real steady on my feet and, well, to be honest, looking up at you hurts my neck." She tried a half-smile at the joke, and he smiled broadly back.
"Of course not," he said, taking a seat on the couch while she sat back down in the chair.
As she adjusted herself, Karp used the time to observe. He knew she was in her forties, but she looked haggard and much older because of the dull gray hair and dowdy clothing. However, when she looked up and fixed him with eyes as green as a cat's, even in the dark, he realized that she had once been a beautiful young woman. But there was a slightly crushed look to the right side of her face, and the eye on that side wandered in its orbit sightless. She quickly lowered her head so he couldn't see her face.
"So Mr. Torrisi tells me you might represent the city in the lawsuit," she said, "brought by those…those men," Tyler said, still looking down.
"I…well, I don't know," Karp replied. "Ms. Tyler, please, there's no need to be ashamed. My wife lost her eye in an accident, and I haven't believed for one day that it ever detracted from her beauty. Like you, she is still beautiful."
Liz Tyler looked up, her eyes wet with tears. She didn't say anything, but the way her lip was trembling in a smile, she didn't have to.
Karp pushed on so as not to embarrass her. "I'm not sure it's the right thing to do…the district attorney representing the city in a civil lawsuit. It does sound to me like the city has an excellent chance of winning without my help."
"Do you think so?" Tyler asked. Her voice held hope but fear ruled her face.
"Well, yes, the truth is a pretty powerful defense…um, forgive me, but is it still Mrs. Tyler?"
The question appeared to slam into the woman like a wrecking ball. She blinked several times and seemed to take several deep breaths before she could answer. "No. Just Miss Tyler, or better yet, Liz. I'm…I'm divorced."
Karp blasted himself for not thinking quickly enough to have maneuvered around the question. He smiled and said, "Liz it is. And I'd appreciate you calling me Butch. Mr. Karp was my dad." It was an old joke, but it did seem to take some of the embarrassment out of the air.
"Have you read the files?" Tyler asked.
Now it was Karp's turn to be embarrassed. The boxes remained sealed in his office. In fact, he'd about decided to call Denton and tell him to have them picked up…that he just didn't feel he should get involved. "No," he said. "I haven't. To be honest, Liz, my forte is not civil law. The city would be wise to use someone else."
Karp's answer seemed to deflate Tyler. "Oh."
"What would you recommend that I do in this situation, Liz?"
His question seemed to take her by surprise. She looked up and this time held his gaze. "Since we're being honest, I don't know. After the first trial, I tried to put it all behind me…and failed miserably. It cost me my family. But over the past four or five years, I've found a place where sometimes I can pretend that I don't even have a past. None of it. Not the good things, not the bad things. I have no memory of that…that day, except random snapshots in my head…"
"You remember faces?" Karp asked.
Again, fear on Tyler's face. She shook her head. "No, no…not like that. I meant the beach. Waking up in the hospital. That sort of thing." She moved quickly on. "My point is that I don't know that I really want to go through all of this again."
Karp looked puzzled. "I don't understand," he said. "Why are you here then?"
"I guess because Mr. Torrisi asked me," she replied. "He and his partner were so good to me following my…my…problem. So were the two assistant district attorneys, Robin and Pam. I would never have gotten through the trial without them going above and beyond to protect and support me as best they could. Do you know that Robin let me sleep on her sofa when I couldn't go home? They took some of the defense attorney attacks on me personally…like friends would."