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face.

 
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
    After several unproductive minutes, Diana
conceded that she couldn’t concentrate on the Flannigan/Rogart file
in her office. She’d had it for the night and called a cab. She
tucked the file into her briefcase; then exited the office,
thinking maybe she’d have better luck at home. At that moment,
everything in her life seemed out-of-focus.
    As she left the building, Diana saw that the
snow had intensified. She was glad when the cab appeared after only
minutes. The ride home was of relatively short duration in spite of
the weather. Something ominous seemed to follow her as she paid the
cab driver; then hurried up the walk to her door as new snowflakes
piled upon the earlier accumulation.
    Once inside her house, Diana immediately
locked the door behind her. Lights that she’d put on a timer were
already glowing in the foyer and living room. Diana paused in the
dining room, flicked on the wall switch that lit up a crystal
chandelier; then dumped the contents of her briefcase─the
Flannigan/Rogart file─on the dining table. Her gesture had all the
ceremony of dumping the garbage. Bad attitude, Diana, she could
almost hear her mother’s comment.
    Piss on her. Diana kicked out of her
taupe suede boots and walked into the kitchen, flipping the switch
for the island light. Her glance crossed the stainless steel
refrigerator, but her late lunch with Jess still sat heavily inside
her.
    From the adjacent laundry room, a faint sound
drew her attention. The cat door flapping shut? “Tigger?” She heard
a thump as the cat’s feet hit the wood laminate floor. Tigger was
no lightweight. “There you are,” she said as the yellow tabby
strolled in and proudly dumped a dead starling at her feet. He then
rubbed against her leg in a bid for praise or a handout.
    “You really didn’t have to wait dinner on my
account.” Diana picked up the bird. It was cold to the touch and
stiff. “Couldn’t you at least have warmed it up?” Diana shuddered
as she deposited it in a plastic bag. It would smell if she put it
in the trash canister. Their usual routine was to exchange the bird
for a saucer of milk; then Diana would take her “gift” outside to
the big Dumpster.
    She wavered by the back door. Something in
the night, apart from the snow, made her shiver. Then she turned
and placed the bird in the kitchen trash, making mental note to
take it out in the morning. In the emotional chill of her empty
house, Diana doled out Tigger’s milk and cat goodies and stroked
his thick fur, brushing off a dusting of snow from his coat.
    The need to hear another human voice filled
her. She punched in Jess’s cell number on the kitchen phone.
    Jess answered on the second ring. “Edwards
and Associates.”
    That answer mode always amused Diana, since
Jess operated her business solo. She gave her stock response:
“Edwards is a flake. Give me one of the associates.”
    “I see you got home okay,” said Jess. “Have
you had a chance to look at the file?”
    “I intended to, but I was interrupted.”
    Silence. Then, “Oh?”
    “Jessie, you’ve got one hell of a nerve
sending that man to my office.”
    “What man?”
    “ What man?” she mimicked. “You know
what man. How else would Darren Rogart even know I was involved in
the case?”
    “So, what do you think of him?”
    “I’ll reserve judgment for now. He did bring
up something that had crossed my mind. Even before you brought it
up at lunch.”
    “Spit it out already.”
    Diana put the phone on speaker , got a
mug from the mug tree and set herself up a cup of tea. She placed
it in the microwave and hit the minute button.
    “Diana?”
    “Does Flannigan have any kind of
record?”
    “A couple of DUIs,” replied Jess. “A speeding
ticket and a breach of contract civil suit. He was the plaintiff on
the civil suit.”
    “No domestic violence or child abuse?” asked
Diana, frowning as she removed the mug of tea from the
microwave.
    “Nothing in