The Second Girl(6)

“I can walk.”

I take her hand as she steps out of the car and close the door behind her, then let go of her hand to lock the doors.

She grabs my other hand and holds tight.

We walk toward Costello’s office, and I think about how tight her grip is, as if she’s afraid that if she lets go I’ll lose her. I feel uncomfortable and sad, two feelings I don’t usually surrender to.

“Watch where you’re walking,” I tell her.

Costello’s office is located in one of the older buildings on the south side of Indiana Avenue. It’s connected to another large redbrick building that takes up half the block. Most of the offices in the buildings on either side of the street are occupied by attorneys who work in private practice. Some of them have big names and even bigger clients. And many of them, like Costello, used to work for the U.S. Attorney’s Office, but chose the dark side after they realized the hours they were working for the government didn’t justify the paychecks they were getting.

Costello’s an unusual breed, though. She began her career in law as a police officer. That’s how we met. We were in the academy together. Developing a friendship with someone while going through the academy strengthens the bond, makes the relationship more like family. She already had an undergrad degree from George Washington University. She worked hard for seven years to obtain her graduate degree, and after that she resigned from the department, passed the bar, and worked for one of the larger corporate attorneys here in DC for a couple of years. Now she has her own practice. She is like a Swiss Army knife. Now she does a lot of pro bono work, takes on cases for the “less fortunate.”

Amanda’s still squeezing my hand when we step out of the elevator and walk down the hall to a corner office. There’s a plaque affixed to the wall to the left of the door; it reads “Law Office of Leslie Costello.”

The receptionist shoots me a sweet smile when I open the door, then furrows her brow when she notices Amanda, wearing my large suit jacket like a dress, walk in after me.

“Morning, Leah.” I smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Marr.” She smiles again and looks down toward Amanda.

“This is Amanda. I need to see Leslie right away.”





Five



Costello shoots me the same kind of look Leah did when I walked into her office holding the girl’s hand. Must be an effect little girls have on people, or maybe it’s the effect I have, being seen holding the hand of a little girl with nothing but a suit jacket on.

Costello lifts herself out of the expensive ergonomic chair behind her desk, walks to the front of the desk, and leans her butt on the edge. She’s wearing a solid gray pencil skirt and a matching two-button blazer with a red button-down shirt. The skirt shows off her long legs, and if I weren’t on the verge of a mental crash, and holding this poor girl’s hand, I might feel my blood pumping itself in the right direction. The shirt she wears is one of her “go to” power shirts, usually reserved for an important court appearance. That’s probably why she didn’t answer the phone when I called. I’m crossing my fingers and hoping it was a matter she already took care of and not something she’s on standby for.

“You can let go of my hand now, Amanda.”

She does, but reluctantly. I can see her studying Costello, maybe feeling a bit more comfortable because of the comfortable office setting and Costello’s pleasant demeanor.

“Hi, Amanda,” she says.

“Hi.”

Costello gives me that same look, obviously waiting for an explanation.

I look at my wristwatch again. It’ll have to be the seriously condensed version.

I nod my head sideways and downward toward Amanda, a signal that it might be best to talk in private. We’ve worked together long enough that she gets it immediately.

“Amanda, do you like orange soda?”

She nods.

“I have another room here that I use for meetings. It has a television with cable. I’d like to take you there to wait with Miss Leah if that’s all right. I think we can find something good for you to watch on TV while Mr. Marr and I talk.”

She stands from her leaning position on the desk and offers Amanda her hand.

Amanda takes it.

Amanda looks at me, then turns to Costello. “Can Frankie come, too?”

“Yes, Frankie can, but he’ll have to leave you with Miss Leah while we talk in private.”

Amanda nods.

We walk out of her office and down a little hallway to the conference room.

A large rectangular mahogany table is in the center of the room. A conference phone sits at the left end. Three chairs are tucked under the table on each side, and one at each end. Other than a nineteen-inch flat screen affixed to a bracket in the right corner of the room and a large whiteboard with nothing written on it centered on the opposite wall to the left of the door, the room is devoid of anything that might be overly distracting.

“You can sit anywhere you want,” Costello tells her.

She doesn’t decide, so I walk in and pull out the chair at the end of the table closest to the TV.

“This one has the best view,” I say.

She walks toward me slowly and sits down.

Costello pushes a button on the phone.

“Yes, Miss Costello,” says Leah over the speaker.