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Eight
“You’re still here, I see.”
“For now.” Holt couldn’t hide his disdain for Seymour, so he didn’t try.
“You look like hell,” Seymour said, narrowing his eyes on his son.
“I could say the same for you, but I won’t.”
The conversation started just as Holt imagined it would when Annie told him Seymour wanted to see him. He’d been about to leave to go to the police station.
Holt had put off this second encounter as long as he could, taking more time in the shower and dressing. But like he’d told himself, the sooner he took this case and ran with it, the sooner he could sail away. That strategy had gotten him in gear quicker than anything else.
“I was hoping we could get through this without exchanging insults.”
Holt gave his father a sardonic smile. “Then don’t insult me.”
Seymour released a harsh sigh. “I can’t for the life of me understand why you can’t forgive and forget. Dammit, I’m your father.”
Holt’s stomach coiled into a knot. “Whoa. Memory Lane is closed. I suggest you keep that in mind when we’re together.”
“In other words, I heed or you walk.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“You’re a real bastard, Holt.”
“Like father, like son, I guess.” Holt shrugged.
“Do you want some coffee?” Seymour asked in a tired tone.
His father looked exhausted, Holt thought. And old. Yet that defiant glint remained in his eyes and in the way he carried himself. But the lines in his face seemed to have deepened and his hands shook slightly, a result Holt figured, from his drug use.
“Holt, I asked you a question.”
“No coffee for me.”
“Suit yourself. I’m having some.”
Holt watched as Seymour not only poured himself a cup out of the silver coffeepot that Annie had brought in, but brought back a small bottle of bourbon from the bar and proceeded to lace the coffee with that.
“Are you a drunk as well as an addict?”
Seymour muttered a curse as he glared at Holt. “While you’re under my roof, I demand you show me respect.”
“If you earn it, you’ll get it. And drinking at this time of the morning isn’t going to earn it.”
“You just don’t understand,” Seymour responded in a clipped tone.
“I understand that if you don’t straighten your act up, they’ll put you under the damn jail instead of in it.”
“I’m paying you big bucks to see that doesn’t happen.”
“I’m an attorney, not a miracle worker.” Holt paused and made his way deeper into the room. “As for money, I don’t want one red cent from you.”
Seymour looked him up and down, the curve of his mouth bordering on a sneer. “Well, from the look of you I’d say you need it. I’ve never seen you so unkempt, so without pride.”
Holt clenched his jaw to keep from retaliating. They could stand there and hit each other with barbs until doomsday and nothing would change. Seymour was losing control even though he refused to admit it. And control was what made his father tick. Since Holt didn’t see him relinquishing rule without a fight, he’d have to ignore his little power plays.
Until Seymour tried to control him, that is. Then he’d nail him.
“Put the bottle away and pour the coffee out,” Holt said, with steel behind his words.
Seymour glared at his son. “I won’t have you dictating to me, dammit.”
Holt didn’t flinch. He merely held his gaze steady.
“Oh, all right,” Seymour muttered, shoving the cup aside.
“Were you drinking when you operated on Grant Dodson?” Holt questioned.
“Of course not,” Seymour snapped. “I would never take a drink before surgery.”
“But drugs are okay?”
Seymour’s face turned so red that Holt thought it might explode. “That’s different. I was just easing the pain in my back.”
“So you still maintain your complete innocence?”
“Without reservation.”
“Well, I can tell you right now, the odds are stacked against you.”
Seymour narrowed his eyes on Holt. “If I didn’t know you and your sense of ethics, I’d say I’m a fool for trusting you.”
“That’s a chance you’ll have to take.”
Their eyes met for a long hostile moment.
“So what’s your plan?” Seymour asked into the silence. “I want to be kept in the loop.”
“You know that’s not my style. When I think you need to know something, I’ll tell you. Meanwhile, I’ll do my job.”
“That’s unacceptable.”
“That’s the way it is.”
“If you’re planning to use this unfortunate accident to bring me to my knees, to try and make me pay for—”
“Put a plug in it, Seymour,” Holt interrupted. “You’re not fit to mention my mother’s name.”
Color flushed into Seymour’s face, but he didn’t say anything. He merely clenched his teeth so tightly, his jaw quivered.
“I’m out of here,” Holt said. “Before I go, I think it’d be to your advantage to be on your best behavior since the press is all over this like stink on stink.”
Seymour stiffened. “I don’t need you to tell me how to conduct myself.”
“From where I’m standing, you damn sure do.”
Holt sat behind the wheel of his SUV rental, trying to calm his temper before tackling the chief of police. If he’d thought that defending his father was the ultimate insult, having to be around Maci, his stepmother, was more difficult. “Can it, Holt,” he muttered to himself, stepping out of the vehicle, feeling the heat from the concrete rise up and envelop him. This weather was another reason his temper was on a short fuse. He didn’t appreciate air conditioning with his shirt plastered to his skin.
Patience, he told himself, walking into the station.
Five minutes later he found himself sitting across the desk from Ted Satterwhite, which had surprised him. He hadn’t expected to have such easy access to the chief, even though they had known each other since elementary school. Attorneys didn’t usually get such good treatment and he’d doubted he’d be an exception.
“So what can I do for you, counselor?”
“Other than touching base with you after a lot of years, I’d like a copy of the charges against my client.”
“That can be arranged.”
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me your secrets.” Holt kept his tone blasé, willing to play a game of cat and mouse with good old redneck Ted. One never knew what might come of that.
“I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours. Is that the deal?”
“Works for me.”
Ted shrugged. “At this juncture, we have none.”
I’ll bet, Holt thought. Obviously, Ted wasn’t going to play along.
“By the way, thanks for seeing me,” Holt said. “Maybe we’ll actually get through this with as little bloodletting as possible.”
“Maybe so,” Ted drawled, leaning back in his chair.
Holt stood.
Ted’s eyes drilled him. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“No,” Holt admitted with unvarnished honesty.
“At least you got the guts to tell the truth.” Ted’s scrutiny deepened. “All that bad blood between you and the doc is certainly no secret.”
“Didn’t think it was.” Holt purposely spoke in a rendition of his own drawl.
“I have to tell you, though, he’s going down for killing that fellow.”
“We’ll see,” Holt said in a nonchalant tone.
Ted pushed his gangly body to its full height, which made him tower over Holt who was over six feet himself.
“I’d like to think this won’t get ugly.” Ted rubbed his slightly grubby-looking chin. “But if it’s a street fight you want, the D.A. is sure capable of giving it to you.”
“Has he—or maybe he’s a she—ever won a case against a doctor?”
Ted seemed taken aback, then his expression hardened. “I don’t rightly know.”
“Sure you do.” Holt spoke with confidence. “And the answer is no.”
Ted didn’t so much as stumble in his reply. “There’s always a first time. When you read the arrest report, you’ll see why I’m so confident.”
“I know what it says. I just wanted a copy for my files.” Holt smiled. “By the way, how’s Beth and the boys?” He couldn’t believe he’d failed to ask that already.
Ted’s grin was genuine. “Great. Maybe you’d consider coming to dinner one evening.”
“Maybe I will.” He paused. “I’ll be back in touch.”
A smirk curled Ted’s lips. “I’m sure you will.”
“So how did it go with Satterwhite?”
“Easier than taking candy from a baby.”
Holt smiled at Marianne whose fair complexion accentuated the freckles across her nose Holt often teased her about while she rebutted that they were angel kisses.
“Huh,” she said in a huff, “I wouldn’t trust that redneck as far as I could throw him.”
“Well, you should know. If my memory serves me correctly, you two were once sweet on each other.”
Marianne’s pert nosed wrinkled in distaste. “Only for a week.”
Holt chuckled. “Whatever.”
“I’m serious. You shouldn’t trust him.”
“Hey, do I look like I just fell off a watermelon truck?”
Marianne flushed. “Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply you had.”
“At ease. I was just ribbing you. And I have been out to pasture for a while.”
“That doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten how to kick butt.”
“We’ll soon see, won’t we?”
Arriving at his office after leaving police headquarters, Holt found that Marianne had everything in order. She’d even pulled the folders from pending cases that had been updated and placed them on his desk, along with law books pertaining to cases on doctors.
“What’s first on the agenda? Or do you know yet?”
