Chapter X

I made some calls from Colleen Clark's kitchen while she showered. The first was to Paulie Fulci, informing him that I would require the brothers' services. Paulie didn't ask if I thought Colleen Clark was innocent or guilty—he just didn't like seeing a woman being railroaded—but I gave him my opinion anyway. I figured it was for the best. It was one thing to ask someone to look after a woman on a point of principle, but another to do so because you thought she was blameless.

Paulie offered to come by Portland PD headquarters later with Tony, on the off chance of any trouble, but I advised him to stay away. We wouldn't be announcing Colleen's arrival, the police would be able to take care of her once she got there, and I didn't care to see the Fulcis in cuffs because some concerned citizen started spitting at our client. Instead, I asked that one or both of them head over to the Clark house as soon as possible. I didn't want it standing empty while Colleen was in custody. The remaining calls involved tidying up some loose ends on other cases and heading off prospective clients. Colleen would be consuming all my resources for the foreseeable future. She appeared in the doorway while I was finishing up.

"My mom's on her way here," she said. "Can we wait for her? She won't be very long."

"Sure, we have time."

Colleen had tied her hair back, put on a plain blue dress, and reapplied her makeup with more care than before. She held a matching blue purse in her hands, which she caught me looking at. Her shoulders sank as she realized why.

"I can't bring anything with me, can I?"

"You can, but it'll be taken from you when you're processed."

"?‘Processed,'?" she said. "What a horrible word. It makes me sound like a slab of meat."

She set the bag aside.

"I've never been inside a jail," she said. "I've only ever seen one on TV."

"Moxie and I will make sure you're well looked after," I said.

"Are you going to share my cell?"

But she wasn't smiling. She was scared, and I didn't blame her.

"Believe me," I said, "if I could, I would. In the absence of that, we have other ways of making sure you'll be kept out of harm's way."

I didn't tell her that it would be easier for us to do that if she was held at Cumberland County Jail, which was smaller and, as places of incarceration went, kinder. If she were to be sent to Maine Correctional in Windham, or the State Prison in Warren, our task would be made more difficult. We didn't have the same contacts in those institutions, and some of the inmates would be of a different degree of unpleasantness from CCJ's residents. But both Windham and Warren were overcrowded, and might not have the space to accommodate her anyway.

The doorbell rang. Colleen stood to get it, but I waved her down.

"From now on," I said, "this is how it will be. You don't answer the door or phone, and you don't go anywhere unless I, or one of my colleagues, is with you. Okay?"

"Okay."

I thought we might also get some surveillance cameras installed, and a video doorbell for the door. It would act as a deterrent, as well as helping the Fulcis with their duties. I went to the door and checked the peephole. A woman in her early sixties was standing on the step. I spotted the resemblance and let her in.

"Mrs. Miller?" I said. "My name is Parker. I'm working on your daughter's behalf, aiding her attorney."

Evelyn Miller waited until the door had closed behind her before speaking. Her daughter might have acquired some of her looks, but not her demeanor. The mother radiated energy and purpose, and right now she was also being fueled by a rage so hot it had turned her face red. She dispensed with the niceties and cut to the chase.

"Seriously, you've advised her to hand herself over to the police?"

"Mom, please—" said Colleen from the kitchen.

"I didn't argue against it," I said.

"I thought your job was to keep her out of jail."

"This is a long game, Mrs. Miller," I said. "Don't judge it by the first move."

"Oh, that's very clever. Did you keep the fortune cookie it came in?"

"Mom!"

This time, Colleen Clark's voice was very loud. Even her mother was so surprised by the force of the interjection that it took her a few moments to react. After she did, her manner was more conciliatory.

"I'm just worried for you," she said, advancing to the kitchen, where she took her daughter in her arms.

"I know," said Colleen, "but I told you: they were going to arrest me anyway, and try to make me look as bad as they could. This way I get to decide. I have the power. It's not much, but it's something. Mr. Parker and Mr. Castin aren't asking me to do anything I don't want to."

Which wasn't completely true, because nobody really wants to go to jail. Nevertheless, it was kind of her to say. Her mother glanced back at me.

"I apologize," she said.

"That's not necessary."

Despite the front, Evelyn, like her daughter, was no more than two steps from crumbling to pieces.

"Is Mr. Castin here?" she asked.

"We're going to meet him at Middle Street," I said.

"You know, I was warned against allowing my daughter to hire him. I was told that he sometimes behaves in a manner unwise for a Maine lawyer—unwise for any lawyer, for that matter."

"I'll concede that he's unconventional," I said, "but then, this is hardly a conventional case. Speaking of which, Colleen, we ought to get going. Before we leave, I was wondering if you have a spare set of keys to the house?"

Colleen retrieved a leather keyholder from a hook inside one of the kitchen cabinets and handed it over.

"For you?" she asked.

"For the men who are going to be keeping an eye on you and your home. We'll have copies made and return the originals to their spot."

"Do you want the alarm codes and password, too?"

"Can't hurt, but it's not going to be standing empty."

She wrote the information on a piece of paper, drew a deep breath, and took in her kitchen as though for the last time.

"Well, then," she said. "I suppose we'd better get this done."

THE FULCI brOTHERS PULLEDup in their truck just as we were locking the front door. Colleen and her mother looked understandably alarmed, which was the effect the Fulcis had on strangers, and occasionally even on close acquaintances. Evelyn Miller reached into her bag, possibly for a can of Mace.

"These are the men who'll be taking care of you and your property," I told Colleen. "Let me introduce Paulie Fulci and his brother, Tony."

The Fulcis had dressed to impress in pressed tan chinos and white shirts. They looked like massive vanilla ice cream cones.

"I've made up the bed in the spare room," said Colleen, once the pleasantries were out of the way, "and there's food in the refrigerator, but not much. I'm sorry, I haven't really been able to shop."

Paulie thanked her and assured her that they could feed themselves, which was never in any doubt. I gave him the keys and the alarm details, and left it up to the brothers to decide how to divide their responsibilities, but I didn't anticipate any more problems with graffiti and excrement. I also asked them to pick up a video doorbell and a couple of cheap motion-activated cameras that could be accessed from cell phones.

The presence of the Fulcis appeared to have impressed Evelyn sufficiently to thaw her attitude still more.

"You know some threatening people, Mr. Parker," she said, as she joined her daughter in the back of my car.

"I do," I said. "Someday, you may even get to meet them."