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McRose - the writing team of highplainswoman and janlaw
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Date Posted: 07:51:35 04/13/07 Fri
In reply to:
McRose
's message, "Doppelgänger" on 19:52:35 04/06/07 Fri
Doppelgänger Chapter Four
Wednesday, March 28, 2007/8:30 am
Frontier Airlines Flight 420
Somewhere in the skies over mid-America
As commercial flights went, Harm decided, it was okay. If his biplane hadn’t had an open cockpit, he would have been tempted to fly himself out—but that open cockpit combined with the thousands of miles between Indianapolis and San Diego had put the kibosh to that idea even before the idea could take flight. He had been booked in coach at the government rate, of course, —but had gladly “spent” some of his frequent flyer miles to upgrade to first class. When he had requested the upgrade, the clerk had looked up at him, smiled a very friendly smile, and made the upgrade. He thought he heard her say “legs,” and, if he did, he would have agreed with her. At this point in his life, he didn’t feel like cramming his long legs into space designed for people of more “average” height. He settled in after hanging his garment bag containing his Service Dress Blue uniform in the closet at the front of the plane and pulled out the sparse case file he, Mac, Tracy and Bud had hurriedly amassed – almost entirely newspaper articles off the internet - to review on his way to Indianapolis via Denver. When the flight attendant took drink orders, he considered a double bourbon—a rare treat, since out of consideration for Mac, they kept only a couple of bottles of wine at home—and that was primarily for guests, but shook his head and decided on a Bloody Mary with the airline’s medium-mediocre breakfast. Now he was taking a break from his study of the case and savoring the ”crunch” of the spicy drink and musing, all at the same time.
How in the world had he gotten “drafted” into making this trip as legal representative for the Navy, anyway? When he transferred from JAG HQ to Staff Judge Advocate for Naval Forces Europe, he’d known his days in the courtroom were over, for the most part. Sure, in his new NCIS billet, there was the occasional testimony in a case here and there, but very seldom did he work strictly as a litigator these days. When he did step into a courtroom, it was mostly to check on the progress of his protégées.
Tracy had sent him and Mac, as a courtesy, her report on the situation in Indianapolis, and, furthermore, had suggested to JAG HQ via her own chain of command, that either he or Mac fly east to represent the Navy. Her rationale was that her impression of the D.A. and his staff in Indianapolis was that they were “hell-bent”—her words to him in a conversation, not in her report—on going after Petty Officer Morrison with little regard for what the Navy would want and it would take a strong personality/attorney to stand up to them. He grimaced. Mac probably would be better at this sort of thing—but she and Bud were both tied up in court, sitting second chairs to their junior trial counsel in ongoing cases and General Cresswell had reported he didn’t have anyone available on such short notice. Besides, NCIS would be doing any follow-on investigation, so the task logically fell to Harm. So here he was, sitting in a plane eastbound, separating him from his family. How did he feel about that??
On one hand, it would feel good to function as an attorney, to once again appear in court, in uniform. He missed it—just as he missed his occasional trips to aircraft carriers, but what he had waiting at home more than made up for the courtroom. That was the downside of this trip—it would take him away, albeit temporarily and for a very short time—from his family. For all the regrets he secretly had for not proposing to Mac sooner, he still couldn’t comprehend just how other aviators who had families did it—off for six-month deployments (longer, in some cases, because of the ongoing war in Iraq), missing out on important “firsts” in the growth of the youngsters, etc. In his case, he was just glad it didn’t happen very often.
Gazing at the Rockies far below as the pilot announced the beginning of the descent into Denver International Airport, Harm reflected on just how “glad” he was. Compared to his life almost exactly six months ago, he knew without a doubt that he had never been happier. Pulling his wallet from his pocket he smiled at the pictures. Two months shy of her first birthday, his beautiful, precocious daughter – the absolute image of her mother except for the Rabb eyes – was already walking and talking.
Mac – his “current” favorite picture – he rotated them – was of the two of them at the rail of Frank’s 45 footer on a day fishing trip just off the coast. Her hair streaming back into the wind, the two of them were laughing with glee at the dolphins frolicking around the boat.
Mattie and Chloe – on horseback at the beach. You had to look carefully to see the straps holding Mattie in place in the saddle with its specially made “back.” Mattie …his heart ached for his older daughter’s anguish, almost always carefully hidden from her family. Her January surgery had been successful in that the chronic, debilitating pain was gone. But as they’d been warned, it hadn’t been the miracle cure they’d hoped and prayed for. Though she – and they – still hadn’t given up entirely, “walking” was with RGO’s – reciprocating gait orthoses on both legs to help keep her feet flat and weight-bearing, and loftstrand crutches, but still with a stumbling, lop-sided gait. The orthopods and therapists held out little hope of further improvement. Mattie had acquiesced to going from five days a week physical therapy to three –the other two she swam laps in the school pool with the coach and swim team. Not only would it improve her upper body strength and tone, but in the water she was buoyant and “free” – no different than her classmates. She insisted she was starting to be able to “kick” – he hoped so. Sometime soon, with college looming, a decision would need to be made - wheelchair, motorized scooter, or continue with the braces and crutches, or use each of them for different activities. Ultimately, it would have to be Mattie’s decision.
Chloe – who would have thought that the flighty kid caught hiding on top of the elevator at JAG HQ would have matured into a compassionate and thoughtful 18 year old. Mattie’s “sister of the heart” since the day they’d met “on line,” she too was everything he and Mac wanted their youngest daughter to become. First via email, and now in the six months they’d been sharing Trish and Frank’s spacious guest suite, adapted to be fully accessible, the two girls – on the cusp of adulthood – had planned their future. With Frank’s help, they’d applied for and received early admission to UCSD. They both planned to major in aeronautical engineering, and then, with Frank as a partner, they planned to buy or open a float plane business in Alaska’s Inland Passageway. If Mattie couldn’t pass an FAA physical by then, she’d be the business manager. To supplement their income, they planned to write adventure/romance novels and operate a photography studio, specializing in pet photography. For two young adults still in high school, their plans were surprisingly well-thought out.
Mac …even after two years, Harm sometimes woke up unsure if he’d been dreaming, until the warm body snuggled close to him made the reality real. He was so glad to be gone from London, from a billet he hadn’t enjoyed, from a hectic life that had left no time for his wife and their precious miracle baby. On the eve of requesting retirement, a second chance – the winds of change – had given him and Mac the life they both wanted, in the place they both wanted to be.
Hearing the announcement requesting that “seats be returned to their upright position” in preparation for landing, he forced his mind back to the matter that had him traveling halfway across the country on less than two days’ notice.
He decided he wanted to “get a feel” for the personnel in the DA’s office for himself. It was an old habit of his—he would read the report of any given situation—and then go interview people. Mac often said—and this was true even before they were married—that he went “with his intuition,” not any kind of “logic” she could (or at one time “would”) recognize and so often, his instincts proved to be true. His instincts had more than once uncovered the complexities of a situation. Even after his “trip” to Paraguay, his instincts were still sharp—and this was never truer than in the case of CDR Kohler – that odd and unusual case of the officer “on the bridge.”
************
Checking into his hotel, he took a quick shower. He was much more comfortable in uniform when conducting “business,” so he went digging through his garment bag. Mac would have appreciated the fact that he was whistling as he worked on his tie—he was actually looking forward to some straight legal work for a change. Surveying himself in the mirror, he gave one final polish to the gold wings and left the hotel room, determined to make a good impression on the DA’s staff and see what he could do to protect the Navy’s interests.
**********
Same day/5:00 pm
Indianapolis
Office of the District Attorney
The celebration over Juice O’Malley’s conviction on all charges was winding down. The entire team had shared in the glory at the press conference, then met with the surviving family – Petr Zolokoff, the husband and father, Ekaterina and Vasily Olevenowski, the parents and grandparents, none of whom had missed a single trial session. Coming down off the post-conviction “high,” it was acknowledged without words that it was too soon to focus on the sentencing hearing starting Monday. There’d be time for that Thursday and Friday, after the jurisdictional debate over who would try Petty Officer Morrison – the State or the Navy, was resolved.
The Chief of Police, who had mayoral aspirations, Lt Dani McKinnen and her team, and Ed and Ray had drifted off, understanding that only the law – not the facts – would be at issue the next day. Jimmy, Mo and Annabeth settled down to decide how to handle the hearing. They knew emotion wouldn’t sway Judge Thomas Leonard.
Bouncing ideas for the oral argument off each other, they were startled when Conlon’s receptionist/secretary “buzzed” him. Jimmy’s eyebrows came together in a concentrated frown as he leaned over the intercom.
“Marylou, I thought I’d told you we didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Yes, sir. I know.” There was a pregnant pause. Then, “But you have a visitor—a Captain Harmon Rabb.” Mo frowned - her voice sounded awfully odd.
Jimmy leaned back, taking his finger off the intercom button for just a second. “Now, what do you suppose he wants?" Answering his own question, “sizing up the opposition, no doubt. I thought the Navy was sending a lawyer. Judge Leonard won’t let an investigator appear.” Annabeth recognized the tone of irritation in his voice. He sighed, as Annabeth and Mo exchanged glances. Both were remembering CDR Manetti’s parting comments. “Well, I suppose, since he’s here, we might as well size him up too." He pressed the button. “Go ahead and send him in, Marylou.” He leaned forward in his chair and stood up, fastening his suit jacket as he did so. Both women shifted in their seats to face the door.
Later, on reflection, Annabeth remembered the exact moment Captain Rabb walked through the door to Conlon’s office. The two men stared at each other. Annabeth and her supervisor and friend glanced at each other. It was downright eerie—the similarities. Annabeth’s critical mind took over, noting the differences.
Both were tall—it looked like they were the same height. The Navy Captain had a little more bulk to him—although she conceded the uniform might have made it seem so. His short-cropped hair showed the beginning of a few gray hairs peering through all that dark hair, while Conlon’s hair was sleek, smooth, totally without any hint of gray, and a little longer. But otherwise, the two men might have been identical. She caught the glimpse of gold as the Captain raised his hand to introduce himself,
“Captain Harmon Rabb, Navy JAG Corps. I’m at NCIS San Diego. We spoke on the phone –"
“Jimmy Conlon, ADA—Indianapolis D.A.’s Office.” He motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please—have a seat." He introduced the two prosecutors also in the room. As they sat, Annabeth unconsciously noted the very masculine way the Captain seated himself, as though that particular chair was his. She sighed inwardly. Definitely alpha male. She glanced at Mo and, as though in instant communication, Mo’s eyebrows shot up, as if they had the same thought. She thought, “This could be interesting. And—damn it! Why did men in general think they had to own ‘everything’?” That thought brought a fresh, albeit, short wave of grief as she remembered her husband who was so not “alpha male.”
Jimmy was honestly slightly confused. He’d understood from CDR Manetti that a senior judge advocate would come to Indianapolis to represent the Navy. He’d missed Harm’s mention of “JAG Corps” as he’d introduced himself, and so wondered again, why the Navy had sent an NCIS agent. Leaning back in his chair he stared at the other man. “So, what brings you in from the west coast, Captain?”
He held his cover in his hands, twisting it unconsciously as he spoke. “You’ve got one of our Sailors. We want him back.”
Jimmy snorted. “Not a problem, Captain ….AFTER I prosecute him for perjury and obstruction of justice!" He leaned forward, a move that had intimidated smaller, lesser men. It never occurred to him the movement wouldn’t work on a man of equal size. “Until then — he’s not going anywhere.”
Annabeth was fascinated by the dynamics between the two men. She’d been a prosecutor long enough to read body language fairly accurately, and, if she were correct, this “meeting” was heading for a clash, a confrontation, between the two men.
Jimmy shook his head and said it again. “He’s not going anywhere--not until the State of Indiana gets done with him.” A malicious smile came to his face. “Then it might be some time before the Navy gets him back.”
Annabeth saw the jaw muscles in the Captain’s face tighten and she felt a cold shiver march up and down her backbone.
“Oh, come on!” The Captain matched Jimmy’s move forward. “You’ve got your conviction – which you might not have gotten without the Navy’s help, let me remind you!.” A hard look took its place on his face. “Don’t give me that”—and he glanced at the two women—Annabeth had the impression he was holding back his language out of deference to her and Mo “crap about how important it is to the State of Indiana. You know very well that after Juice is sentenced, the press and TV’ll have little or no further interest in Petty Officer Timothy Morrison. I know”—and a certain smug look came over that handsome face as he turned to stare at Annabeth and Mo—“you two thought you had your case in the bag - and then Morrison showed up and blew it all to hell. It was the ‘Navy to the rescue’ that salvaged your case and got you your conviction!”
Jimmy’s jaw tightened in return. Annabeth had the weird sensation of watching mirror images. She glanced at Mo and the silent communication between the two women confirmed each other’s private opinion—this was too surreal to be believed unless you lived it! “Captain, you’re NCIS, not an attorney. And I know investigators have to be trained in certain aspects of the law, but we’ll see what happens in court tomorrow. By the way, is the Navy sending a lawyer?”
The other man straightened up and Annabeth swore she saw him grow a couple of inches taller as a superior attitude settled on his shoulders. A tight feral grin graced his handsome face.
“Oh, did I forget to tell you I’m the Navy lawyer??” From his briefcase, he pulled documents and held them out with a flourish. “Copies for you – my Notice of Appearance and Certificates of Good Standing from D.C., Virginia, and Pennsylvania.” Then, and only then, he leaned forward, matching Jimmy’s height and facial expression. “We’ll see who gets to try Morrison—and especially if I can run humvees through the holes in your arguments.”
Jimmy felt his stubborn streak kick in. “Fine. We’ll see you in court, then.”
“Tomorrow.” Rabb nodded shortly at Annabeth and Mo and left without another glance.
“Get Ed and Ray—I want to know just what kind of lawyer we’re going to be dealing with here.” From the moment CDR Manetti had spoken up in the courtroom, putting him on the defensive, Jimmy hadn’t had a good feeling about this twist in the saga of what had happened to Tatiania and Rina Olevenowski.
*************
Harm stood on the steps of the gleaming, glass-encased building, momentarily uncertain what to do next. The sun was shinning brightly, toasting him in his “dress blues,” reminding him of the mugginess of Washington D.C. springs in the past. He had forgotten just exactly how nice the weather was in San Diego. Deciding he looked rather strange standing there in the way of oncoming pedestrian traffic in this mid-western town where military uniforms were in scarce supply, he moved off the steps down to the sidewalk where his rental car was waiting. After settling in behind the driver’s seat, he decided calling Mac was probably an appropriate step to take. He took out his cell phone and started punching in the speed dial to her office—and then stopped.
In the two years they’d been married, Harm had learned a great deal about himself, mostly good—but a bit not-so-good. Among other things Mac had “helped” him with was the notion—and she had mentioned it briefly in their little “stint” in Russia the first time—that he tended to “go off half cocked” before thinking through a “plan of action.” There had been times when this tendency had gotten him into trouble during the marriage—and he shivered, as he remember bits and pieces of the marriage/divorce scenario his mind had envisioned at Jennifer’s promotion dinner years ago—and he had sworn internally at the time, he would never let that happen if and when he and Mac could “get it right.” Although being married to Mac had, for the most part, been pleasant and happy—mostly deliriously happy -- there had been moments that had been plenty painful and uncomfortable, made all the sharper in comparison to his most-of-the-time happiness and contentment. He decided after a moment in which he regained his emotional bearings, at least enough to make some saner, cooler judgments, to go get a cup of coffee and then, and only then, decide what to do about the next day’s hearing.
Java Joe’s Coffee Shop
Indianapolis
Same Day, a short time later
His cover lying next to the menu holder/salt/pepper/condiment containers next to the window, Harm’s hands wrapped tightly around the hot cup of coffee. He, gazed out the window not really seeing the street scene, but instead, he was lost in thought.
There was no doubt meeting Conlon for the first time had thrown him off-stride. CDR Manetti, in her briefing with both Mac and himself, hadn’t mentioned how much alike he and Conlon looked —although she had mentioned he was a tall man. He hadn’t paid any attention to her statement. Looking at his real-life “twin” had unsettled him enough that he had immediately gone on the defensive. His lips twisted up in a half lop-sided grin of amusement. In his case, as Mac was fond of reminding him, “being on the defensive” often meant “going on the offensive;” the theory being a good defense was being very offensive—in all senses of the word! How many times had Mac either gently commented on this tendency of his—or caustically, usually in the middle of a disagreement/marital argument. Fortunately, in this case, as he sipped his coffee, no real damage had been done so far. What he needed to do was come up with a “plan of action” to rectify the situation and “make amends” for losing “it” without being very obvious about it. He had given another thought to calling Mac, but decided not to. This tendency had the nasty habit of coming up at the least opportune times in his marriage and he was making a real effort to tame said tendency; he really wanted to try to “fix” this without her assistance, if at all possible. She would have, no doubt, read him the “riot act” given the opportunity—and while the competitive side of him would have enjoyed that discussion, at least to some degree, the more mature side of him wanted to avoid that confrontation—especially given Mahara’s – and often Mattie and Chloe’s -- presence in the house. In any event, it was three hours earlier in San Diego – Mac was undoubtedly still in court. He’d left voicemail assuring her of his safe arrival while he’d waited for his rental car.
Just then, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out and wasn’t really surprised to see that it was Mac calling him.
“Hey, sailor!” He thought her voice sounded cheerful, upbeat. “How goes it in the ‘heartland’?”
He leaned back in the booth he had taken. “It’s muggy as hell here!” Despite the ceiling fan moving lazily overhead, he could feel the sweat starting to form and go down the middle of his back, making his T-shirt cling to his back. He changed the subject quickly. “How’re my girls? – Did you get home early?”
Her laugh sounded musical to his ears. “We’re in recess until tomorrow. You wouldn’t of believed Mahara this morning —she was toddling around dragging one of Mattie’s crutches—and Mattie’s exasperation level reached, I think, new heights!”
He grinned as he pictured the scene. “Let me guess—this happened at the most awkward time?”
“Yeah—Mattie needed to go back to her room just as it was time to leave the house!” He chuckled as he envisioned the resulting chaos. “So, flyboy. You didn’t answer my question.” He ruefully observed to himself he should have known better than to use his classic diversionary tactics on her. She had never been one to let him get away with that—at least in court, anyway.
“Well,” he paused, to think just a bit before continuing. “Met with the DA today.” There was a short significant pause.
“And?”
“He insists the State wants first whack at Morrison.” Harm’s aggravation was immediate.
Another pause and he could picture the wheels spinning in her mind. “You didn’t get into a ‘pissing contest’ with him, did you?”
He squirmed. “Uh, yeah.”
There was a sigh at the other end of the phone. “Well, what are you going to do?”
They continued to discuss the legal options he had available, the oral argument he’d present in court the next morning.
“Well, then, I guess you’d better go hit “Fed Law” on the internet – law library in a box, as Bud says.”
“Yeah. Good thing Bud dragged me into the computer age -- I guess I know what I’ll be doing for the next few hours.”
“Cheer up”, came the distant voice of the woman he loved. “It’s legal research and it’s been a bit since you’ve done much of that.” How in the world, he wondered—not for the first time—did she know what the best “therapy” for him at the moment could have been? Then she added, “I don’t know what else is going on, but it sounds like we need to talk about whatever it is.”
“Just something startled me …when I get home…, yeah…love you! Tell the kids I said hi.” As he put his cell phone back in his pocket, he mused about how close they were—how much closer they had gotten since they’d been married. There had been a time when he would have been terrified of that emotional closeness. There were still times when he struggled with it. But the rewards—the comfort of being there for each other, the sharing of the highs and lows of each day, the overwhelming joy of just knowing they were together forever —they all made up for the fright he sometimes felt. He gathered his cover and briefcase, paid for the coffee and headed back to his hotel to hit the “law library on the net” and prepare for the hearing.
*************
Conlon residence
Indianapolis
Wednesday, March 28, 2007/10 pm
In his library/office/den surrounded by political mementos from the past (including the most prized item of them all, a personal letter written by then-Governor Nelson Rockefeller to his father acknowledging his father’s contributions for some political/social activity of some sort), Jimmy worked on a scotch while staring into the small fire shedding light on an otherwise dark room. He had purposefully left the lights off when he lit the fire—something he did when he was profoundly disturbed and needed some time for reflection. Topic for this particular time period of reflection: Captain Harmon Rabb.
He had not been “grown-up” enough to understand and/or comprehend fully the turmoil of the ‘60s and early ‘70s. Having grown up in a political-alert home, however, he had caught the remnants of his parents’ anguish over the Watergate scandal and how profoundly disturbed his folks were over Vietnam. One major change that had directly affected him: although he had to register for the draft when he turned 18, that had been purely paperwork—the military by that time had turned totally and completely voluntary—and therefore, a whole lot more professional, as a result. He had never been around military personnel for any length of time—Chiara being the exception, and even that had been in a really informal setting – she’d been in the Law Student Program and he’d only seen her in uniform a handful of times, if that. He had never given any thought, one way or the other, about the military—until the Iraq war began. And even then, he wasn’t especially deeply concerned one way or the other. He respected the men and women who chose to make the military their own particular career path, but that was no more than the respect he had for other professions like the ministry or medicine and the like. In fact, it could be said, he was relatively ignorant—just like the majority of the country—of all things military, unless—and until—such crossed his path. He had never expected the military to cross his professional path after Chi’s death.
And even then, he had not expected the crossing of paths to be so ....well….personal. When Captain Rabb had walked into his office this morning, it had been a direct shock for a couple of reasons: first, it was rare for him to meet someone he could look in the eye on a level basis. Secondly, when he did see the man’s face, he had received a mental jolt—except for the length of hair—and a tiny graying around the other man’s temples—he could have been looking in a mirror—up to and including the unique color of their eyes! It had been enough for him to lose his composure for a second or two, and then he’d resumed his confident professional persona and turned gracious host. Which had lasted all of five minutes or so until the Captain made it clear that the Navy’s interest in pursuing Petty Officer Morrison on it’s own hadn’t changed from when CDR Manetti had addressed the Court on Monday.
He would have to ask his folks just where those eyes came from. What strange genetic quirk would have produced an identical “twin” of his, totally unrelated, so far as he knew? Stranger yet, what were the odds of the two of them ever meeting in this lifetime? Somewhere, in the back recesses of his mind, he was familiar enough with the expression that said that everybody on the planet has a “twin”—but he didn’t know whether that meant everybody would meet their twin!
Furthermore, there was another really extremely ironic note to all of this: what were the chances that the hitherto unknown identical twin would have chosen the same profession as he—that they would both be lawyers?? It had registered somewhere in the recesses of his brain when Mo and Annabeth had reported the background of the Naval officer—that Captain Rabb hadn’t always been an attorney and was, in fact, a highly decorated Naval aviator. What kind of man, Jimmy pondered, went from the high-action orientation of Naval aviation to the sometimes ..well…more routine, even occasionally mundane practice of law?? Well, not really mundane or routine, but certainly not the same as flying fighter jets!
The fire had died down some, and he got up from the loveseat placed in front of the fireplace to stir it up and add another log. At that point, Locki, his Maine Coon cat, rousted himself and started curling around Jimmy’s legs. He bent down and, with a grunt, lifted the cat to his lap, where the feline promptly proceeded to curl a couple of times before settling in for a nap. “Locki, I swear you’re gaining weight!” he muttered. His long fingers absently stroked the cat as he mused further on his reaction to meeting his “twin” in such an unexpected way.
Like most people totally unfamiliar with the military and its lifestyle, he had certain assumptions and/or ignorance. He hadn’t been around military types, and specifically aviators, enough to make any judgments at all, but he wondered if all military aviators came across as arrogant, cocky, and self-assured as Captain Rabb had. He was mature enough, however, to recognize that whatever traits he saw in the other man and didn’t like, those same traits probably existed in him, as well. He grimaced. That would explain the legal “dog fight” that had started within five minutes of his meeting the man.
He sighed.
It hadn’t been so long ago that he’d been thrown off emotionally a little by the sudden, unexpected murder of his friend and mentor who’d come to talk to him about running for State Attorney General. Now this. The only time he could remember being this emotionally “off-balance” before in his life, at least since Chi’s death, was going through his divorce—the move out of the New York City apartment he’d shared with his then-wife and daughter, trying to keep his career on track at the same time, adjusting to his new home location—man! He thought his life had turned into a real mess. Fortunately, he’d had the maturity to recognize that it was only short-term chaos and that everything would eventually settle down. Then, of course, there was his moving to Indianapolis—but that had been planned and carefully orchestrated to keep the disruption to a minimum. And he’d found a home here, both career-wise and personally; enough, anyway, to chase that political office he’d always wanted.
So, the question was, what to do about this—problem?
He finished off his scotch in one quick gulp and stared into the once-again dying fire. He knew he was an exceptionally good attorney, quick on his feet. He knew the statutes inside and out—as well as the necessary “network;” otherwise, he wouldn’t have “maneuvered” his way into this position when it unexpectedly became vacant. Having heard a very brief summary of Rabb’s legal career, he had no doubt the other man was equally good.
Furthermore, he knew who he was, what he was, and why he was where he was. In addition, the judges here knew him—and he thought maybe Judge Leonard wouldn’t take lightly to the notion of an outsider coming in and stealing his thunder. Especially an overly-aggressive military man. The thought crossed his mind that maybe that was Rabb’s weak point—could he survive outside the military with its structure and discipline? His eyes narrowed in concentration. Maybe, just maybe, that was something to be exploited. It wasn’t much—but it was something. In addition, with Rabb in uniform—and given the divisiveness in the country, especially in his region, would that also provide a bias he could play into?
He shook his head. That was politics entering into a case where politics shouldn’t have been. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go that route—but he tucked it in the back of his mind to use, if need be. Then there was Judge Leonard’s nature to be considered. The judge was no-nonsense and strictly “by the book.” Unlike most of the judges in New York City, he had learned relatively quickly, these judges out here fell on the side of “strict constructionists” and Judge Leonard, especially, tended to narrowly construe the boundaries in which attorneys could flex their respective muscles—although even Judge Leonard could occasionally surprise him. Nope. He was better off sticking to the legal issues. He lifted the big cat, who protested with a loud “yeowl.” “Come on, big guy. It’s getting late. Let’s go hit the sack.” As he made his way upstairs to his bedroom, he thought, ‘Maybe some inspiration will hit in the morning.’ His pause for recollection had helped settle him down some. He reminded himself that he was who he was and no “living, breathing ‘twin’” was going to change that. Resolving to keep it all in perspective, he went to bed feeling just a bit better about the whole situation.
End Chapter Four
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