Prosecution: A Legal Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page B

around Alma Woolner shifted first one way
and then the other, gradually moving her away from where we stood,
until all we could see of her was the jet black hair that swept up
from the slope of her neck. Horace never lost sight of her.
     
    "Alma looks wonderful," I remarked admiringly.
     
    "Alma always looks wonderful."
     
    "You're a lucky man, Horace."
     
    He turned to me. "You have no idea."
     
    And in an instant he started in on me. "Why don't you
wander around? Maybe you'll find a really attractive woman just
dying to spend her nights with a guy who likes to spend all of his
in a library." He began to move away, working through the crowd,
one eye on Alma, the other darting back to me. "Lot of
possibilities here," he taunted, nodding his head and raising his
eyebrows every time he passed anyone in a dress.
     
    "They're all taken!" I yelled over the din.
     
    He stopped and grinned broadly. "Not all of
them!"
     
    "You didn't!" I called back.
     
    "See you inside!" he shouted, as he disappeared from
view.
     
    I stopped the first waiter I found and exchanged my
empty glass for a full one. Faces vaguely familiar slid by in the
distance, but I felt no urge to draw closer. A young woman with
laughing eyes glanced at me, and I remembered when that might have
been the first beginnings of a new romance. I stared back at her
for a moment, and then, looking away, moved on.
     
    At the announcement that it was time to enter the
great hall where dinner was to be served, I left the crowd behind
me and made my way along the glass-lined lobby to the rest room.
Standing on the marble floor, staring at the tiled wall in front of
me, I barely noticed when someone used the urinal next to me. As I
zipped my fly, however, he spoke my name. I looked back and found
myself caught in the gaze of a gray-eyed stranger, looking at me
over his shoulder.
     
    "Yes," I replied, reaching down to turn on the
faucet, "I'm Joseph Antonelli."
     
    "We've never really met," he explained, moving to the
next basin. He turned off the faucet, wiped his hands on a paper
towel, and waited while I did the same. "I'm Arthur O'Rourke," he
said, as he shook my hand. The name meant nothing to me, but there
was something impressive about him. Tall and thin, with a high
forehead, deep-set intelligent eyes, and a narrow, sensitive mouth,
he had the generous look of someone always willing to help.
     
    "I believe you know my wife," he said. "Gwendolyn."
Arthur O'Rourke, twenty years her senior, was married to the
DA.
     
    "Yes, of course," I said, wondering what she had told
him about me as I let go of his hand.
     
    "I was surprised when I heard you'd retired," he
remarked. "I know Gwendolyn was disappointed. She's always said you
were a great lawyer."
     
    "It was kind of her to say so," I replied, as he held
the door open for me.
     
    Walking down the hallway together, he asked me
whether there was any chance I might practice law again, quickly
adding that it was not something he could ever have done.
     
    "Be a criminal defense attorney?" I asked.
     
    "Oh, no. Be an attorney of any kind. I could never
imagine having to stand up in a courtroom," he said. "Gwendolyn
seems to thrive on it. I really admire that about her."
     
    He spoke quietly, carried himself with an easy
elegance, and had the sensibilities of someone who flinches at the
utterance of a harsh word."Do you think you might practice law
again?" he asked, as we entered the dining hall.
     
    "I'm thinking about it."
     
    He stopped and turned to me. "You should," he said,
quite serious. "I always wished there was something I could do
really well," he went on, a trace of regret in his voice.
     
    We said good-bye, but before I began the search for
my own table, I watched him work his way toward his, an unhurried
journey interrupted by acquaintances and well-wishers. I saw his
wife in the distance, moving purposefully from table to table,
fastening her glittering gaze on each person whose hand she