The only good Lawyer

are on police forces.”
    “But this is so cool,” the two-syllable variety again. “What’re you trying to find out?”
    “Let’s start with the eyebrow ring. Doesn’t it hurt?” A laugh. “Everybody asks me that. No, it didn’t hurt to have my eyebrow pierced, account of it’s only skin there. You don’t have any, like, nerve endings or stuff. And it doesn’t hurt to keep the ring in, either. Only real pain was when...”
    “When what, Terry?”
    “I got into a fight at school. Over what my dad...” Then he seemed to remember why he stopped me. “So, what were you talking to my mom about?”
    “I’m trying to help your father.”
    It was like a curtain came down, ending the first act abruptly. “Because he killed Mom’s lawyer.”
    “That’s what the police think, and why your father’s in jail. But I think maybe he didn’t do it.”
    “Hey, that’s pretty lame, you know? I can read. The police have his fingerprints.”
    “Which is just evidence.”
    “Yeah, well, I was staying over at my friends for Bachelor Pad that night, so what can I tell you?”
    “Bachelor pad?”
    “Space Age pop music. You gotta be old enough to remember that instrumental stuff from the fifties and sixties. Neal Hefti, Quincy Jones, all those dudes.”
    I was having trouble with this. “You and your friends listen to that music?”
    “Yeah. It’s major cool. You can go to the old shops that sell used vinyls, or there’s some fresh tracks coming out on CD. They even have fan mags and a website you can browse.”
    I shook my head. “Look, Terry, I’m trying to help your father with—”
    “Yeah, well, I’m not gonna help you.”
    “Why not?”
    “My dad’s been a shit from day one in this whole thing, and my mind’s, like, on overload just thinking about it.”
    “But what if he didn’t kill Mr. Gant?”
    “He did, dude.” Terry compressed his lips, having trouble himself with what he was about to say. “You heard about my dad going, like, nuts at the law firm, right?”
    “Right, but—”
    “No but’s, just listen, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Just before that, he calls me when Mom’s not home. Says he thinks her lawyer’s been hitting on her.”
    “Hitting... you mean, sexually?”
    An exasperated huff. “Of course, ‘sexually.’ My dad claimed that wasn’t right, that he was gonna report the guy to the lawyers’ thing.”
    Uh-oh. “The Board of Bar Overseers?”
    “I don’t know the name of it, okay? But what got me is, my dad wanted me to spy on Mom for him. Like, can you imagine that? The guy turns into a drunk, leaves us with zero money, and he expects me to...” Terry shook his head.
    “Did your mother and Mr.—”
    “I don’t know that either, okay? I just know what my dad wanted me to do, and I wouldn’t do it. Now, I’ve told you, so be prepared, okay?”
    Absently, I said, “The Boy Scout motto.”
    Terry looked at me, confused now. “Boy Scout...?”
    “Motto. ‘Always be prepared.’ ”
    A smirk. “I was thinking more, like, condoms against AIDS, dude.”
    As Terry Spaeth walked up the path, I had to keep reminding myself: A different world, they’re growing up in a different world.

    Since Nicole Spaeth had stressed that her relationship with Woodrow Gant had been strictly professional, I decided to talk with Steve Rothenberg and his client before pushing her. But that could wait till the morning. Another stop shouldn’t.

    After pressing the bell button and hearing the dentist’s drill noise, I waited under the center portico of the Chateau. A few minutes passed, but I didn’t want to tick off Vincennes Dufresne by ringing again if I could help it.
    The big door took a hit from the interior side before creaking open. Dufresne peered out at me, the head cocked and a half-glass of red wine in his right hand. “You again, eh?”
    “John Cuddy, Mr. Dufresne.”
    “I’da remembered that.”
    “I was wondering if you’d seen Michael Mantle.”
    “Not since the last time you was here.”
    “Mind if I check his room, anyway?”
    “I don’t exactly feel like hiking up two flights with you.”
    “A good chance I can find it myself.”
    “I’ll have to give you the master key.” Digging around in his pocket, Dufresne lowered his eyelids and recocked the head. “And then there’s another viewing fee, of course.”
    “Of course,” I said, reaching for my wallet.

    Once on the third floor, I went directly to Mantle’s door. Nobody else was in