They checked into their rooms at the St. Regis, two single rooms on each side of Fitch, who'd been able to extort only four from the hotel. Holly's room was down the hall. Dubaz, Joe Boy, and Dante were four blocks away in the Royal Sonesta. Jumper was first parked on a bar stool in the lounge, where he had a view of the front entrance of the hotel.
The waiting began. There was no sign of her as the afternoon dragged toward dark, and no one was surprised. Jumper was moved four times, and swiftly tired of shadow work.
Fitch left his room a few minutes before seven and rode the elevator to the roof. His table was in a corner with a nice view of the Quarter. Holly and Dubaz were at a table ten feet away, both well dressed and seemingly oblivious to everyone. Dante and a hired escort in a black mini-skirt had another table. Joe Boy would take the pictures.
At seven-thirty, she appeared from nowhere. Neither Jumper nor Pang reported seeing her anywhere near the front lobby. She simply emerged through the open French doors on the roof and was at Fitch's table in an instant. He later speculated that she did what they had done-got a room at the hotel under another name and used the stairs. She was dressed in slacks and jacket, and very pretty-dark short hair, brown eyes, strong chin and cheeks, very little makeup but then little was needed. He guessed her age to be between twenty-eight and thirty-two. She sat quickly, so fast in fact that Fitch didn't get the chance to offer her a chair. She sat directly across from him with her back to the other tables.
"A pleasure to meet you," he said softly, glancing around at the other tables to see if anyone was listening.
"Yes, a real pleasure," she replied, leaning on her elbows.
The waiter appeared with rapid efficiency and asked if she wanted something to drink. No, she did not. The waiter had been bribed with hard cash to carefully remove anything she touched with her fingers-glasses, plates, silver, ashtrays, anything. He would not get the chance.
"Are you hungry?" Fitch asked, sipping a mineral water.
"No. I'm in a hurry."
"Why?"
"Because the longer I sit here the more photos your goons can take."
"I came alone."
"Of course you did. How'd you like the red socks?" A jazz band began across the roof, but she ignored it. Her eyes never left Fitch's.
Fitch rolled his head back and offered a snort. It was still difficult to believe he was chatting with the lover of one of his jurors. He'd had indirect contact with jurors before, several times in different forms, but never this close.
And she came to him!
"Where's he from?" Fitch asked.
"What difference does it make? He's here."
"Is he your husband?"
"No."
"Boyfriend?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
"You present a lot of questions, young lady. And you expect me to ask them."
"He's an acquaintance."
"When did he assume the name Nicholas Easter?"
"What difference does it make? That's his legal name. He's a legal resident of Mississippi, a registered voter. He can change his name once a month if he wants."
She kept her hands tucked together under her chin. He knew she would not make the mistake of leaving prints. "What about you?" Fitch asked.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you're not registered to vote in Mississippi."
"How do you know?"
"Because we checked. Assuming, of course, your real name is Marlee, and that it's spelled properly."
"You're assuming too much."
"It's my job. Are you from the Coast?"
"No."
Joe Boy leaned down low between two plastic boxwoods just long enough to take six shots of the side of her face. A decent view would require a tightrope act on top of the brick banister, eighteen floors above Canal. He'd stay in the greenery and hope for something better when she left.
Fitch rattled the ice in his glass. "So why are we here?" he asked.
"One meeting leads to another."
"And where do all the meetings lead us?"
"To the verdict."
"For a fee, I'm sure."
"Fee has an awfully small ring to it. Are you recording this?" She knew perfectly well Fitch was recording every sound.
"Of course not."
He could play the tape in his sleep for all she cared. He had nothing to gain by sharing it with anyone. He carried too much baggage to run to the cops or to the Judge, and that didn't fit into his modus operandi anyway. The thought of blackmailing her with the authorities never occurred to Fitch, and she knew this too.
He could take all the photos he wanted, and he and his thugs scattered around the hotel could follow and watch and listen. She'd play along for a while, dodging and darting and making them work for their money. They'd find nothing.
"Let's not talk about money now, okay, Fitch?"
"We'll talk about whatever you want to talk about. This is your show."
"Why'd you break into his apartment?"
"That's just what we do."
"How do you read Herman Grimes?" she asked.
"Why do you ask me? You know exactly what's happening in the jury room."
"I want to see how smart you are. I'm interested in knowing if you're getting your money's worth from all those jury experts and lawyers."
"I've never lost, so I always get my money's worth."
"So what about Herman?"
Fitch thought for a second and motioned for another glass of water. "He'll have a lot to do with the verdict because he is a man of strong opinions. Right now, he's open-minded. He absorbs every word in court and probably knows more than every other juror, with the exception, of course, of your friend. Am I right?"
"You're pretty close."
"That's good to hear. How often do you chat with your friend?"
"Occasionally. Herman objected to the strike this morning, did you know that?"
"No."
"He was the only one of the fourteen."
"Why'd they strike?"
"Conditions. Phones, TV, beer, sex, church, the usual yearnings of mankind."
"Who led the strike?"
"Same one who's been leading from day one."
"I see."
"That's why I'm here, Fitch. If my friend was not in control, I'd have nothing to offer."
"And what are you offering?"
"I said we wouldn't talk about money now."
The waiter set the fresh glass in front of Fitch and again asked Marlee if she wanted something to drink. "Yes, a diet cola in a plastic cup, please."
"We, uh, well, we don't have any plastic cups," the waiter said with a puzzled look at Fitch.
"Then forget it," she said, grinning at Fitch.
Fitch decided to press on. "What's the mood of the jury right now?"
"Getting bored. Herrera's a big fan. Thinks trial lawyers are dirt and severe restrictions should be placed on frivolous lawsuits."
"My hero. Can he convince his pals?"
"No. He has no pals. He is despised by all, definitely the most disliked member of the panel."
"Who's the friendliest girl?"
"Millie is everybody's mother, but she won't be a factor. Rikki is cute and popular, and very health conscious. She's trouble for you."
"That's no surprise."
"Do you want a surprise, Fitch?"
"Yeah, surprise me."
"Which juror has actually started smoking cigarettes since the trial started?"