Special Agent Coffey was in the interrogation room already, drinking a cup of coffee. He neither rose nor offered me a cup; I sat down in the chair Agent Rabiner indicated.

“Ms. Barrett, when did you find out that your client had escaped Herkmoor Correctional Facility?”

“This morning, when you called.” I had been awoken from the first decent sleep I’d had in weeks, I might add.

“Did you know that your client was planning to escape?”

“He never told me.” Indeed, I had preemptively told him that attorney-client privilege didn’t cover escape plans or communication with co-conspirators.

“But you guessed?”

“Agent Coffey, half of New York was betting my client would attempt to escape. If you were the only man who could catch a psychopath, wouldn’t you?”

His eyes narrowed even further. “Do you have any idea where Mr.”—he emphasized the title with pleasure—“Pendergast is?”

“Are you referring to my client or his brother?”

“You know perfectly well who I’m referring to, Ms. Barrett,” he growled.

“I would assume Dr. Aloysius Pendergast is searching for his brother,” I responded coolly. The federal government may have the authority to strip a man of his rank, but they can’t touch his doctorate.

“And do you know where he would be searching?”

I thought for a moment. Agent Pendergast had mentioned no places, no possible aliases of his brother. He had been exceedingly careful when speaking to me. I shook my head. “I really don’t know, Agent Coffey.”

“When was the last time Mr. Pendergast had been in contact with you?”

“We had a meeting at Herkmoor yesterday afternoon.”

“Did he ask you to contact anyone then?”

“No.”

“Has he ever asked you to contact anyone?”

“Only for the purposes of his defense, Agent Coffey.”

“For the purposes of his defense?”

“Agent Coffey, you’re no doubt aware that we’ve requested independent analyses of the forensic evidence.” Not to mention we had witnesses. “I’m afraid that the information of who I’ve contacted on these matters is of course privileged.”

“Did he give you specific names to contact?”

“Given my client’s experience in law enforcement, he would of course be in a position to recommend certain firms.”

Coffey wrote something down on his notepad; I momentarily felt sorry for the poor agent who would be stuck calling every independent forensics analysis lab on the eastern seaboard, only to be told that their client list was confidential.

“Who else has been in contact with your client?”

I looked at him. “Hasn’t Herkmoor sent over Agent—sorry, Doctor—Pendergast’s phone and visitor records?”

“Ms. Barrett, are you trying to be difficult?”

“I’m an attorney, Agent Coffey.”

He leaned back and appeared to be thinking of new ways to provoke me into revealing something—but I simply had no information I could give him; at least nothing that would reveal the location of either Pendergast brother. Even if they did know where Diogenes Pendergast was, there was nothing the police or the FBI could do to prevent him from committing more atrocities.

No, the only person who could stop Diogenes was his brother.

And the best way to help Agent Pendergast do that was to keep the police out of his way until he wanted their assistance.

“Agent Coffey?” I asked.

He shook himself out of his reverie.

“Is it all right if I use the washroom? And would it be possible for me to get a cup of coffee?”

“Ms. Barrett, I’m not done with my questioning—”

“I’d be happy to answer any questions that don’t violate privilege, but I don’t think well without caffeine.” I had already had my morning cup, but Coffey didn’t know that.

**********


A female agent watched over me inside the women’s room. Back in the interrogation room, I was given a Styrofoam cup with bitter-tasting brew and two half-and-halfs. Agent Coffey now had a folder next to his notepad.

“Ms. Barrett, how did you first meet Mr. Pendergast?”

“Dr. Pendergast has been a client of Donnelly, Bernstein and Barrett for many years, Agent Coffey—even before I started with the firm. I first met him in... what was it, ’85 or ’86, when he was making a new will just before getting married.” At my urging, he and his fiancee also signed the fastest-negotiated prenuptial agreement I’d ever seen; I had had a feeling that they wouldn’t need it. It was too soon thereafter that I learned how right I was.

“Before Mr. Pendergast was charged, when was—”

“I was under the impression that all details of an attorney’s meetings with her client were confidential, Mr. Coffey. I suppose you could try and subpoena my appointment book, but I doubt that you’d get very far.” If he did try it, watching the FBI agent try to get a court order for my DayPlanner would be amusing.

Besides, Agent Pendergast’s phone call warning me of his brother’s reappearance wasn’t in there anyways.

Agent Coffey sighed. “Outside of business, have you ever been in contact with Mr. Pendergast at any other time?”

That goddamn question, the one always asked when a client of wealth, good looks, or both is defended by a lawyer of the opposite sex—or by one of the same sex, in some cases. “Socially, you mean? No.”

“I was just curious.”

“I see.”

He set his pen down and opened up the folder, revealing a spreadsheet. “What about Eli Glinn?”

“What about him?”

“Do you know him?”

“Agent Coffey, I’m going to assume that you mean socially, as I can’t comment on my professional contacts. I’ve said hello to him in the reception area at Herkmoor.” We’d also eaten lunch together a couple of times, but we’d discussed the case during those lunches. So, no, I didn’t know Eli Glinn socially.

At least not yet.

“What about William Smithback?”

“Not personally, but I’ve read Relic. My mother’s a big fan of his.” I’d promised my mother that when the case ended I’d get her a copy signed by Mr. Smithback; she had also wanted Agent Pendergast to sign it, but there are limits to what an attorney can get her client to do.

Agent Coffey frowned; Smithback had not treated him kindly in that book. “Vincent D’Agosta?”

“Only from the book, I’m afraid.”

“Charles Proctor?”

“He’s been kind enough to give me rides to and from the prison, but I hadn’t met him before all of this happened.”

“Viola Maskelene?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Agent Coffey, I’m nowhere near her social level.”

He scanned the spreadsheet again. “Captain Laura Hayward?”

“No.”

“What about Dr. Nora Kelly?”

“No.”

He went through a few more names, all of whom I’d met with regards to the case but none of whom I knew personally; I responded in the negative to all of them.

He closed the folder. “Well. Ms. Barrett, one more question. When was the last time any of the people I’ve just named contacted you?”

“Are you asking me who’s working on Dr. Pendergast’s defense?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Then why are you asking me that question?”

“Because I have reason to suspect that some of them may be involved with Mr. Pendergast’s escape.”

I sighed. “Around eight p.m. last night Mr. Proctor dropped me off at my apartment.”

“Early hours for a trial attorney.”

“I do some of my best work outside the office, Agent Coffey.”

“And that was the last time you’ve had contact with any of Mr. Pendergast’s associates?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any idea of where any of them might be?”

“I don’t keep the schedules of my clients’ associates, Agent Coffey. Have you tried calling them?”

He stood up. “Will you be in town this weekend, Ms. Barrett?”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving, Agent Coffey—but do I need to inform you if I go shopping in New Jersey?”

“I’d like to be able to contact you in case I have any more questions.”

“If I’m not at the office you can leave a message; if it’s urgent my secretary has my contact information.” I stood up and offered my hand; he grudgingly shook it. “Thank you for the coffee.” I put on my coat and turned to leave.

“Ms. Barrett... if your client or any of his associates contact you, contact us.”

I turned back. “I always try to cooperate with law enforcement to the fullest extent, Agent Coffey.” Hearing no response, I let myself out of the interrogation room.

After Agent Rabiner escorted me to the elevators I steeled myself for the press throng outside. A few questions, I thought. I’ll be friendly but give them nothing they don’t already know. Then to the office; I needed to double-check the case law on attorney-client privilege, and I could catch up on backlogged work until my client chose to resurface. I'd cooperate with law enforcement, all right—but not in the way Agent Coffey desired.

The elevator doors opened; through the lobby windows I saw my new interrogators. I squared my shoulders, and stepped out into the cold February air.

---