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cab. The voice sat down beside her and closed the rear door.
    “Just drive,” the voice ordered the cabdriver.

Chapter Three
    The law offices of Elijah J. Faulkner, Jackson, Tennessee
    The building that housed Eli Faulkner’s office was located one-half block west of the courthouse square in downtown Jackson, on Washington Street. Rays of sunshine were slowly chasing away the chill on Monday morning when Eli pulled into the alley between his office building and the First National Bank building and parked in his reserved parking space. The weekend had been pleasant, and he had played a rare round of golf on Sunday afternoon.
    Now it was back to work. Eli entered the building through a rear door. He climbed the back staircase to a landing on the third floor that opened into the kitchen his employees used mainly for morning and afternoon breaks.
    The building had been a very popular hotel during the late 1800s and early 1900s. Several political dignitaries had occupied various rooms during those years—some for reasons that remained untold. The facility had been in a serious state of disrepair when Eli bought it at a foreclosure sale three years earlier. It had taken six months to rehabilitate the structure, but he was quite proud of the finished product. The old Otis elevator in the lobby of the building was still operational and serviced all three floors of the historic hotel. Eli had converted the third floor into an enviable suite of offices. The bottom two floors were likewise remodeled and leased for more than enough money to cover the mortgage.
    “Good morning,” Barbara said as Eli emerged from the stairwell. She was in the kitchen refilling her coffee cup. Even though her face was perhaps fifteen years past its prime, Barbara tried to look younger. Employees joked about her standing appointment at the beauty salon to replenish the dark red color in her hair at the first sign of a gray strand. She exercised regularly and had a steady boyfriend. He was a salesman or a truck driver or had some such occupation that kept him on the road often. Eli had met him at the office Christmas party last December but had immediately forgotten his name.
    “It’s a little cool outside for the third week of May, isn’t it?” Barbara stirred her coffee and propped herself against the kitchen cabinet.
    “It’ll warm up soon enough.” Eli lingered in the kitchen, preparing his own cup of hot liquid breakfast with caffeine, flavored creamer, and sweetener. “And”—he grinned—“we won’t even notice because we’ve got a busy day.”
    Barbara nodded in agreement.
    “Come into my office in a few minutes and we’ll get our game plan prepared.”
    With that, he disappeared—coffee mug in hand—into the hallway that led to his office in the back of the building. The old wood floor creaked with each step he took.
    A borderline perfectionist, Eli kept his office orderly. Every book was in its place, and his desk was free of clutter. His life was organized, too, and he liked it that way. The discipline had been instilled in him through high school and college athletics. At six feet two he wasn’t tall enough to play professional basketball, but he had never lost his love for the game. He still played in an early morning pickup game at a local high school gym two days a week.
    The office decor was minimal but tasteful. Frames with matted undergraduate and law school diplomas from the University of Tennessee hung on one wall of the room, next to his license to practice law. A settee and two leather wingback chairs formed a sitting area across from his most cherished piece of furniture: an antique partners desk. The desk occupied a prominent position in the middle of the room. The dealer from whom he’d acquired it had tried to convince him that it had been used by Supreme Court Justice Learned Hand. Eli wasn’t that gullible, since he knew Judge Hand had never served on the Supreme Court. But Eli was convinced that the