Legal Thriller: Michael Gresham: A Courtroom Drama (Michael Gresham Legal Thriller Series Book 1) (25 page)

O
ne day
in August I fly with Danny to Lafayette, Louisiana, where we rent from Hertz and drive thirty minutes north of town. I have twenty thousand dollars cash in my briefcase. It is my own money, and I am happy to be able to spend it like I'm about to.

The house is a broad, sloping wood frame with green shingles. There is a sweeping front lawn with magnolia bushes everywhere. We park out front and go up onto the porch and knock.

It's all prearranged. Without ten words, I hand them the briefcase with the twenty thousand dollars. They carefully count it. Then the woman goes into a back room and returns with a baby. There are tears in her eyes and in the eyes of her husband, too. But there are laws against this kind of thing that has happened, and I have gone over those laws very carefully with their attorney. They decided, in the end, to return James Lamb's baby to his family rather than return to Chicago and face serious federal charges for human trafficking.

The money is all there, and the baby is in Danny's arms. She covers its face with the light cotton wrap, and we step out into the bright August sunlight. There are no goodbyes, no promises of meeting again. We are here and taking this baby away because the law says we can. Without that, the man inside that house would have gunned us down with his shotgun. But he wasn't given that opportunity. He got his money back and got to remain outside the walls of some horrific federal penitentiary.

At O'Hare, we are met by both grandmothers. They are Sylvia's grandmother and James Lamb's grandmother. It has all been arranged over the months since James' death and wouldn't have happened if he hadn't given me the name and phone number of the couple who bought little Thel—short for Thelonious. The grandmothers asked Danny what she would like to name the boy, given that she had done most of the workup on the kid's retrieval.

At least, that's the middle name and not the first and not the last. The kid won't have to start fighting in kindergarten because of his name like Thelonius Monk must have done. I have nothing to back that up; I'm going strictly by human nature when it's six years old.

On the wide-body jet back to Chicago I sat next to the window, Danny and the baby were on my right. As I watched the sun quicken in its descent below the horizon, I saw in that light the Michael Gresham I had always been. To him, I apologized for my role in the extinction of James Lamb. And you know what? He immediately forgave me. Forgave me and took me back.

T
welve months have gone by
, and I find myself in one of those buildings I rarely frequent—a church. It is not a great cathedral, and it is not a small church in the country. It is in the Northwest ‘Burbs, and it is non-denominational.

Sue Ellen looks resplendent in a light knit summer suit topped off with a wide-brimmed summer hat. She is holding a bouquet of daffodils—I don't know why, custom at one of these gatherings, maybe. Beside her stands Eddie, the successful entrepreneur and owner of three house-washing franchises that are quickly cornering the market in this area of town. He is holding their son, a blue-eyed, very light-skinned baby that, if I were describing it I would only say, looks very fragile and very needy. It sucks quietly on one of those rubber nipples and occasionally opens its eyes to look around and frown. His name is Michael, although I'm told they will call him Mick.

Seated to my left are Esmeralda and her baby girl, and to her left is Arnie, who can't quit twisting his hands as though he's washing them. Esmeralda said something about Arnie having forgotten to take his OCD meds and today wanting to wash and re-wash his hands at every stop. My poor dear brother and all the rest of the people who suffer such unfathomable torture. I love him even more because of his ailments, never less.

And finally, to my right is my best friend in all the world, Danny Gresham. She is holding my right hand with her left, and I can hardly keep my eyes off the ring on her hand; it set me back twenty-five thousand dollars and at times I wish I had spent twice that for her. She's worth everything I have or ever will have. Again the shades of my dark house are raised, the curtains are open, and she has me out in the yard cutting the grass and trimming the bushes while she's inside cooking and taking every possible vitamin and mineral and supplement that her well-baby doctor says she should be taking. She is four months along, and our baby girl's name will be—you ready for this?

Dania. Just like her amazing mother.

Arnie has reminded me that Clint and Mick did this fathering thing in their seventies, and I am supposed to somehow feel unburdened by that.

I don't. I worry about college funds and freshman visiting day when her father shows up in a wheelchair with an oxygen bottle strapped above the rear-mounted electric engine.

Dania tells me that's all in my head.

And it might very well be. But I've given up my two-a-day habit.

Cigarettes are kaput.

O
n the day
I am to take Danny to the hospital so labor can be induced (we have a baby who is resisting this world), I receive a call from Sam Shaw over at Arnie's law firm.

He is breathless.

"Michael," he rasps into the phone in that senior partner voice of his. Off-putting to some, mildly humorous to nobodies like me who will never go up against him. "Have you seen Arnie?"

"No, Sam. I haven't seen Arnie. Why?"

"He hasn't been in the office two days in a row. He is missing depositions. Is he sick or something, do you know?"

I pause to reflect. "You'll have to call him, Sam. I don't do Arnie keeping anymore."

"I'll keep trying his cell, Michael, sorry to bother you."

I had to turn off the snowblower to take the call when I felt the cell phone vibration in my pocket. I replace the phone and am about to start up again when the phone begins vibrating a second time.

"Hello?"

“Michael, Esmeralda. Have you seen Arnie?"

"No, why?"

"He's gone. I was up at my mother's visiting, and I thought he was home. I got back an hour ago, and I cannot find him and he's not answering his cell. I've called everyone. Nothing."

"Well, you know how Arnie can be."

I am ready to fire up the snowblower and continue with my own driveway in front of my own house and leave Arnie and his problems on the other side of town.

"Michael," she says before I can say goodbye, "the handcuffs are gone."

I stop. I cannot move.

I begin shoving the silent snowblower toward my garage.

The search is on.

T
HADDEUS MURFEE SERIES

The Defendants

Beyond a Reasonable Death

Attorney at Large

Chase, the Bad Baby

Defending Turquoise

The Mental Case

Unspeakable Prayers

The Girl Who Wrote The New York Times Bestseller

The Trial Lawyer (A Small Death)

The Near Death Experience

SISTERS IN LAW SERIES

Frat Party: Sisters In Law

Hellfire: Sisters In Law

MICHAEL GRESHAM SERIES

Michael Gresham

Michael Gresham: Secrets Girls Keep

J
ohn Ellsworth practiced
law while based in Chicago.

For thirty years John defended criminal clients across the United States. He has defended cases ranging from shoplifting to First Degree Murder to RICO to Tax Evasion, and has gone to jury trial on hundreds. His first book,
The Defendants
, was published in January, 2014. John is presently at work on his fourteenth legal thriller, which, it is hoped, will be published before May, 2016.

Reception to John’s books has been phenomenal; more than 500,000 have been downloaded in 24 months. All are Amazon best-sellers.

John Ellsworth lives in Arizona in the mountains and in California on the beach. He has two dogs that ignore him and worship his wife.

• @jellsworthbooks
  
• johnellsworthauthor
  

C
opyright
© 2016 by John Ellsworth

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

I
make
my living writing books and I’m very happy about that. The practice of law is difficult and will wear you out in a hurry. But because I make my living writing books, I would really like to ask your help. Book reviews are the lifeblood of what I do, and your review of my book would mean a lot to me. If you would take a moment or two and leave your review on Amazon that would be wonderful. I honestly thank you.