Cold Winter Rain Read Online Free PDF

Dressed better than the man: dark blue suit, pink shirt, probably Brooks Brothers or Ann Taylor.  Odd eyes: one green, one brown.  Heterochromia iridium.  Anna used to tell me I read too much.
    I shook their hands in turn.  “It’s just Slate.”
    Agent Sanders nodded.  “Slate, then.  You were retained to advise the family on legal issues related to Kris Kramer’s disappearance?”
    Before I could answer, Kramer spoke.  “The fact that Slate has been retained is not privileged.  But any question as to the nature of any legal advice he may offer falls squarely within the privilege.”
    “ And the fact that you find it necessary to retain counsel when your daughter is missing raises interesting issues,” Sanders said.
    “ Well, I’m sure what Agent Sanders means is that it is a little unusual for a family with a missing child to hire counsel this early when law enforcement has no reason to suspect a family member might be involved,” Alston said.  He turned to Sanders.  “I’m sure Mr. Kramer is just being thorough and careful, and after all, he is himself a well-respected attorney.  Natural for him to retain counsel during any difficulty.”
    “ Does your practice include criminal law, Attorney Slate?” Sanders asked.
    “ No,” I said.
    “ Media law?”
    “ Nope.”
    “ Domestic relations?”
    “ Missed again.  Sorry.  No more guesses.  Three strikes.”
    “ You’re out,” Bill Alston said.
    Patricia Sanders rolled her eyes.  “Why is it that the testosterone levels and the sports metaphors multiply geometrically when the number of men in a room increases arithmetically?” Sanders asked.
    “That is a mathematical conundrum on par with Fermat's Last Theorem,” I said.
    “ Well.  Way too much of both in here for me,” Sanders said.  “I’m going upstairs to speak with Mrs. Kramer.”
    “ She’s with the priest,” Alston reminded her.
    “ Good.  I’ll speak with him too.  We’ll take all the help we can get.”
    Don Kramer and Agent Alston spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the avenues of investigation they were pursuing:  speaking with Kris’s friends and teachers, interviewing her family, reviewing posts on social media.  The FBI treated all such disappearances as possible kidnappings until proven wrong, but so far no communications from kidnappers had surfaced.
     
     
     
    Agent Sanders’ footsteps on the stairs prompted Alston to check his watch and to suggest that it was time for them to head back downtown.  Sanders and Alston shook Kramer’s hand.  Alston clapped him on the shoulder.  I followed them into the hall.  Kramer opened the door for the agents; they looked back, nodded to me, and walked out into the rain.  One media cameraman in bright red rain gear hustled out of his van and filmed them getting into their government sedan and driving away.  That footage would make for scintillating television.
    Kramer led me back into the library.  “I apologize for Susan earlier,” he said.  “She’ll come around.  She always does.  She just has to understand things are moving too fast for me to consult with her every thirty seconds.”
    “ Not a problem,” I said.  “But I do need to speak with her about that afternoon when she picked Kris up at school.  So I hope she comes around soon.”
    “ Count on it,” Kramer said.  “How’s the reading going?  Draw any conclusions?”
    “ It’s clearly a good lawsuit.  But most good lawsuits don’t drive defendants to commit criminal acts before they’re filed.  What makes this one different?”
    “ It’s different because one defendant, or group of defendants, is the New Orleans Mob.” Kramer nodded.  “Same bunch twenty years later.  Meet the new boss.  Same as the old boss.”
     
     
     
    After the meeting with Kramer, I spoke briefly with Paul Kramer about the afternoon he’d last seen his sister.  That conversation revealed nothing useful.  Kramer gave me a little more