The Time Remaining

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259 41 “Dodge,” Raya whispers. “Are you asleep?” Gilchrist opens his eyes. Raya is leaning over him. “I didn’t know if you were asleep or just resting. That detective is here. I told him that you were too tired to see him, but he said it was important.” “Cobb?” “I don’t know his name, but he said he was the same man you’ve seen before.” Gilchrist swings his legs to the floor, rubs his eyes, smoothes his hair, stands, and walks into the living room. Cobb is standing by the porch window. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Gilchrist.” “It’s all right. I drifted off, but it wasn’t a deep sleep. What’s up?” Cobb takes a few steps toward Gilchrist and asks, “I suppose you heard Gelb give you credit for saving his life.” “The television statement? Yes, I heard it.” Gilchrist keeps looking into Cobb’s eyes to see if he has an ally here or just a Washington detective who is curious. “I heard it myself,” says Cobb. “And?” Cobb nods his head in Raya’s direction as if to suggest to her that he wants to speak to Gilchrist alone. After Raya has returned to the bedroom and closed the door, Cobb says, “I heard everything that Gelb said, and it’s a frigging lie.” Gilchrist is taken aback by Cobb’s sudden frankness. He waits for something more, but Cobb simply repeats what he has just said. “What makes you say that?” asks Gilchrist. “Because I know differently.” “How do you know?” 260 | The Time Remaining “I heard differently.” “Heard?” “The telephone. Remember the call I made to the house before you came out? I don’t know if you did it on purpose or not, but you never ended the call, never cut the connection. I heard everything that was said by you and Gelb until the end. It’s all recorded.” “I didn’t leave the line open on purpose, Cobb. I guess I just forgot.” “Can we talk about it? I think it’s really important.” “Have a seat.” They sit opposite one another. “How much did you hear?” asks Gilchrist. “The whole nine yards. I heard you talking to Gelb and to the man who was shot. I heard you mention your friend, Sharif Tabry. Wasn’t that his name?” “Sharif Tabry. That’s right.” “When he died in that house fire in Georgetown, I gave you a bit of a hard time, Mr. Gilchrist.” “Call me Dodge.” Cobb smiles and nods. “Okay, call me Marty then.” He pauses. “I went back over the files of that case this morning. Gelb’s statement on television made me want to give it a second look. I was a Marine like you, Dodge. And one thing that the Marine Corps teaches you is how to spot a sea lawyer when you see one. And this Gelb is the sea lawyer of all sea lawyers. So I looked at the file. The doctor’s statement was that the contusion on the side of Tabry’s was probably caused by a blow because there was no sign that a falling beam or piece of plaster did it. In other words, nothing fell on him, and he didn’t run into anything since he was still on the couch.” “How could you be sure?” “A good coroner can tell, and my coroner is the best in the business. A blow from a club or the butt of an automatic creates a distinctive wound. It’s not like anything else.” “What’s your conclusion?” “Someone hit him. The rest was a setup—the cigar, the booze. I checked it out with half the faculty at Georgetown and some of Tabry’s The Time Remaining | 261 students at the time. They all told me that they never saw Tabry smoke, and nobody ever saw him drink anything stronger than ginger ale.” “Where do we go from here?” “I’ve already gone, but I have to say that the evidence is too flimsy for a case. It would make a good newspaper story, but we couldn’t build a case on character witnesses alone. And we’d have no one specific to accuse. We could never pin it on Gelb. That’s one clever son of a bitch.” “Sharif Tabry could have told you that a long time ago.” “A long time ago...