Free VC04 - Jury Double by Edward Stewart Page B

man’s voice, genially gruff. “You have reached the answering machine of Judge Robert MacLeod. Please leave a message at the sound of the—”
    Anne pressed the disconnect bar and dialed the 929 number.
    At the fourth ring a machine clicked on. “Hello, you have reached the residence of Gina Bernheim. If you have a message for the judge, please—”
    A woman’s voice cut in live: “Hello? Hello?”
    Anne’s finger came down sharply and broke the connection.
    “So Bob MacLeod’s a judge,” Anne said. “State or federal?”
    Leon’s thumb tapped lightly across a dark stripe in the afghan. “Federal. Southern district of New York.”
    “Have you represented any clients before him?”
    “I don’t have clients anymore.”
    “Then what’s your business with Gina Bernheim?”
    A startled look flashed across his face and then he covered it. “Gina and I are old chums.”
    She knew there had to be more to it than that. “You phoned MacLeod and Bernheim the same nights those obscene calls were made. But you phoned from the house, not the cabin.”
    Leon shrugged. “It’s a free country. I’ll use whichever damned phone I want and I’ll say whatever I want.” He thumbed his nose.
    “I suppose the calls have something to do with your pro bono work?”
    “What pro bono?”
    “You said you’re doing some pro bono.”
    “No, I didn’t.” He drew the afghan up to his waist and patted it smooth over the sofa. “Though from the looks of things I may have to consider representing myself. Which would be extremely pro bono.”
    Anne felt a shaming surge of jealousy. For as long as she could recall, her father had been involved with one client or another who took precedence over his family’s needs—an atomic spy, a Hollywood black-listee, a Weathergirl protesting Vietnam with an Uzi and killing two Chicano bank guards.
    “And you’ve engineered the perfect free-speech case. Dirty phone calls to the homes of five of the most distinguished lawyers in the nation.” She shook a handful of phone bills at his face. “With all the trouble you have walking, you still managed to drag yourself up to that cabin just—”
    “It’s not a crime, you know, telling a pretty girl she’s pretty. Brandeis decided that issue once and for all.”
    “Leon, this isn’t the forties—this is the nineties—society has changed.” She felt anger now, compounded with an instinctive desire to protect this irresponsible old genius who happened to be her father. “There’s a thing called sexual harassment. There are laws against it.”
    He shrugged. “I’d like to argue against a few of those laws in the Supreme Court. The telephone is still protected speech. The government can’t listen in, and they can’t censor it.”
    “Then you admit you called those girls?”
    “I’m under no legal obligation to give out that information to any government. Or to any daughter.”
    “For God’s sake, you’re not in court. I’m trying to help.”
    “It’s a little late for help.” He stared past her, out the window into the darkness. “None of this would have happened if you’d taken the time to come see me a little more often.”
    She flinched at the old familiar attempt to arouse guilt. “If you want a daughter’s company, why don’t you ask Kyra to visit?”
    Leon shot her a tight, judgmental look. “Kyra does visit. But she has a child to look after, and a career. You don’t have a career. You don’t have children.”
    He was as good as saying that her work didn’t matter; didn’t stack up to her sister’s. It wasn’t the first time he’d made the comparison. She turned and walked to the door.
    “Anne.”
    She stopped but did not turn.
    “I’m redrawing my will. Leaving the bulk to a foundation to fund worthy legal defenses. And setting up an annuity for Tim. He’s a good young man. He keeps me company, which is more than some people do. Would you be interested in acting as executor?”
    She couldn’t