Chapter Four
Karen said goodbye to her grateful client.
Then she headed back to her office, which occupied half of the tenth floor of a modern glass-and-steel high-rise a few blocks from Pioneer Courthouse Square, the heart of downtown Portland.
She could afford the rent because she became independently wealthy when the city finally settled her civil suit.
They say that money can’t buy happiness, and that is true.
But money did buy Karen her penthouse, her office, and the freedom to take the cases she wanted to handle.
Her specialty was criminal law, but she had brought on experienced attorneys who were experts in personal injury law and family law.
Her only rule when an associate was deciding whether to take a case was that they be on the right side of the issue.
Since money was not a factor in deciding who the firm would represent, they didn’t represent abusers in divorces, and they made sure that the injuries in personal injury cases were legit.
Karen’s receptionist looked at her expectantly when she walked into the waiting room.
Karen smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “It was unanimous!”
The receptionist pumped her fist.
“Any calls I have to make?” Karen asked.
“It’s been really quiet.”
“Is Morris in?”
“He got back from talking to those witnesses on the coast an hour ago.”
Shortly after she was reinstated in the bar, Karen Wyatt had been appointed to represent a client in a complicated case.
Morris Johnson had been the lead detective, and her client had been convicted because of Johnson’s brilliant investigation.
Karen had been so impressed that she started asking around about Johnson and learned that he was an excellent detective who had been passed over for promotion and ostracized because of his support for her.
When Harry Schmidt negotiated the settlement that made her a multimillionaire, she asked Johnson if he would be willing to leave the Portland Police Bureau to become her investigator at three times the salary he was making as a detective. Johnson had accepted.
Morris Johnson’s hobby was photography. The hall that led to the investigator’s office was decorated with photographs of Haystack Rock, Multnomah Falls, Mount Hood, and other photographs of Oregon’s natural wonders that Morris had taken.
Karen’s investigator was typing a summary of his interviews on the coast when Karen walked in. He looked up.
“Unanimous not guilty!”
Morris beamed. “Way to go.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your excellent investigative skills.”
“Hey, it takes two to tango, Miss Wyatt.”
“And it takes a village to get an innocent person out of the clutches of the law when the law is represented by Oscar Vanderlasky.”
Morris laughed. “Did he miss the importance of the lamp?”
“Of course he did.” Karen shook her head. “He’s an obnoxious twit, but I love trying cases against him because I know he will screw up. So, how is O’Reilly looking?” she asked.
Morris stopped smiling. “Not as good as we thought it was. I talked to the clerk, and he’s not as positive about the ID as he was when he talked to the police, which is good. But the customer is dead certain O’Reilly robbed the store.”
Karen sighed. “You can’t win ’em all.”
“Don’t give up just yet.”
“I love your positive attitude. And on that note, I am going to drop my case file in Post on my desk and head home. See you in the morning.”
Karen’s condo was an easy walk from her office.
After sitting in court all day, it felt great to stretch her legs.
On the way, she passed the Happy Dragon, which had the best velvet corn and crabmeat soup in Portland.
When you’ve spent a year in prison, where someone decides what you can and cannot do every second of the day, being able to be spontaneous is a gift from heaven.
Ten minutes after she was seated, Karen celebrated her victory with a mouthful of that wonderful soup while she read a chapter of an Agatha Christie novel.
The good feeling only lasted until the ma?tre d’ seated a young man at the table next to her. He was in his twenties, dressed in a power suit. His hair and beard were professionally coiffed, and Karen guessed that he was an associate in one of the big law firms or working in finance.
Moments after he was seated, the man noticed Karen. He smiled, and she ignored him. A few moments after he ordered, he stared at her, and Karen knew what was going to happen next.
“Excuse me,” the young man said. “Have we met?”
“No,” Karen answered in a tone that she hoped would indicate that she did not want to continue the conversation.
“I’m sorry, but you look familiar,” he said, ignoring the hint.
Karen was attractive. If she were not Karen Wyatt, she would have assumed that this was the beginning of an attempt to pick her up.
But she was a celebrity, and her tale of being framed by the police, miraculously freed from prison, and awarded millions in a lawsuit had been fodder for social media and television news for months.
The furor had died down, but her notoriety still enveloped her like a shroud.
Karen was certain that the man would figure out why she looked familiar very soon, and her magic moment ended, so she finished her dinner and left a twenty-dollar bill on her table before walking out of the Happy Dragon.
Karen was upset because her treasured moment had been interrupted. As soon as she got home, she changed into her pajamas and settled down with her Agatha Christie. By the time she found out whodunit, she had forgotten how upset she had been at the Happy Dragon.