McCann planned to turn land on the outskirts of Desert Grove into a housing development called Sunnyvale Farm and he put Flynn on retainer to deal with his legal affairs. Flynn thought that McCann would be a constant source of easy money, but he was soon spending all his time on McCann's problems. First there were labor troubles, then Flynn had difficulties obtaining permits from the county supervisors. He was perplexed until someone let slip the fact that Martin Alvarez was interested in the land upon which McCann was building. Within months McCann was on the verge of bankruptcy and he blamed Martin Alvarez for his problems. When the FBI cut a deal with Lester Dobbs for his testimony, no one was shocked when he named Paul McCann as the man who'd hired him to help kidnap Patty Alvarez.
As Flynn was getting ready to leave the courtroom, Paul's wife, Joan, an anorexic woman with pale skin and jet-black hair, approached him. Flynn suspected that her physical appearance and high level of anxiety were the direct result of living with his client. She had filed for divorce twice, backing out when Paul promised to be faithful and stop beating her. Joan worked as Gene Arnold's legal secretary and it was her salary and savings that were paying Flynn's retainer.
"Mr. Flynn," she asked nervously, "can I speak to you?"
"Of course, Joan."
"What did you think of Dobbs's testimony?"
"Tough to say," Flynn said, hedging. He had learned that honesty was not the best policy with Joan. She was as fragile as a Faberge egg. Since her husband's arrest she had bitten her nails to the quick and developed a nervous tic in the corner of her left eye.
"You don't believe him, do you?"
Flynn put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Paul swears he's innocent, Joan. I'm his lawyer."
The answer seemed to pacify her. If she realized that it completely evaded her question, she didn't call him on it.
"I'll be a witness, won't I?" she asked for the millionth time.
"Of course."
"He was fishing. I saw him leave before dawn. He had all of his fishing gear in the van."
"That will help Paul for sure," Flynn told her in a soothing voice. "And the lab found nothing in Paul's van that showed that Mrs. Alvarez was ever in it."
The ransom money had not been found either. And the tracks on the logging road were from a stolen car that had been abandoned several days later in another county.
"I'm afraid, Mr. Flynn. I don't know what I'll do if Paul is sent to prison." She looked away. "He's not easy to live with. You know he's hit me and he's cheated on me. You know that."
"I know, Joan."
"But he can be so loving."
The way she said it made Flynn feel that she was trying to convince herself of the truth of what she was saying as much as she was trying to convince him.
"The night he proposed, he drove me out to Bishop's Point. We were alone. There was a full moon and the stars filled up the sky. He said he wanted to stay there with me forever. I believe he meant that. We would have been okay if we could have just stayed there."
Joan's shoulders shook as she sobbed. Flynn wrapped her up in a hug.
"Now, now," he said before releasing her. He held out a handkerchief so she could dry her eyes. When Joan handed it back, she tried to smile, but her lips just twisted and she choked back another sob. Flynn touched her shoulder again.
"Hang in there, Joan. The case will be over in a day or so."
"I'll try," she said, then smiled bravely and walked away, leaving Aaron Flynn very much relieved.
By the time Flynn arrived at his office it was 5:30 and his secretary was gone. Flynn was taking his trial materials out of his briefcase when Melissa Arnold knocked lightly on the office door, startling him.
"Sorry to frighten you, Mr. Flynn," Melissa said in a mocking tone. She leaned her hip against the doorjamb. "I believe you wanted to discuss the preparation of a daily transcript of Lester Dobbs's testimony."
"Yes, I did, Mrs. Arnold," Flynn answered nervously. He found it impossible to maintain his composure when he was alone with Gene Arnold's wife. "Why don't you shut the door and come in."
"Preparing a daily transcript is hard," Melissa said as she crossed the room. "I'll have to work late and it's such lonely work."
"Maybe I can help you solve that problem," Flynn said.
Melissa pressed against him and silenced him with her lips. Flynn grabbed the hem of her skirt and hiked it up until he had his hands on her silk panties. Moments later they were on the couch ripping at each other's clothes.
7
In closing arguments, Aaron Flynn played up the deal Dobbs had cut with the district attorney. The man was basically walking away, Flynn told the jurors. He was even out of jail pending sentencing on the attempted kidnapping count, which was the only charge the state was going to bring against him. But even though the jury knew Dobbs had a motive to lie, he seemed to be telling the truth and Paul McCann had no alibi for the time of the kidnapping. Two hours after they retired to deliberate, the jury was back with a verdict of guilty on all charges, including the charge of murder.
McCann didn't take the verdict well. He broke down. He screamed and cried. He swore he was innocent and that Dobbs was lying. Flynn promised to fight his case all the way to the United States Supreme Court if necessary. The appeal he promised would begin as soon as Melissa Arnold, the court reporter, prepared the transcript of the case.
But that never happened. One week after Paul McCann's trial ended, Melissa Arnold disappeared.
Someone was knocking on Martin Alvarez's bedroom door. He sat up groggily and stared at the clock on his end table. It was 2:30A.M.
"Senor Alvarez," a man called out. Alvarez recognized the voice of one of his guards.
"Come in."
A barrel-chested young man entered the bedroom.
"What is it?"
"Senor Arnold is here."
"What does he want?"
"He wouldn't tell me, but he's very upset."
"All right. Take him to my office, and see if he wants something to drink. I'll be right down."
The day after his arrest, Lester Dobbs had led the police to Patty Alvarez's grave in the desert. Martin was home when he got the news that Patty was really dead. He had identified the body, returned to his hacienda, and remained there, leaving only to attend Patty's funeral and Paul McCann's trial. Several friends had tried to pay condolence calls, but Martin had turned them away. This was different. Gene Arnold was more than Martin's lawyer. He had worked for Martin for peanuts when Martin was nobody. He had always been there for him when times were hard.
Alvarez dressed quickly. When he walked into his office he found his friend and lawyer pacing back and forth, his cheeks tear-streaked and his hair uncombed.
"She's gone," Gene said.
"Who's gone?"
Gene slumped on a chair and buried his head in his hands.
"Melissa," he moaned.
Gene Arnold was five eight, balding, and had the start of a paunch. He was not much to look at, in other words, which made his marriage to Melissa Arnold so surprising. He had met her during a deposition in Los Angeles, where she was working as a freelance court reporter. According to Gene, she had just left a terrible marriage. He had been pulverized by her looks and had proposed after one date. They married at a wedding chapel in Las Vegas and honeymooned at Caesars Palace.