CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Russell Byars and Jack Henson were waiting in the conference room on the 30th floor of the office tower when Sally arrived. There were only a handful of others at work in the firm’s office that occupied two floors of the building on this snowy Saturday. Ambitious junior associates could be found working during off hours in most all law firms, and Henson & Byars was no exception. When Sally entered, Byars had his back to the door pouring a cup of coffee at the sideboard. Henson stood and offered Sally his hand.
“Hello, Sally,” he said. “Sorry to wreck your weekend like this.” He was wearing his trademark western wear, toned down to denim on this Saturday. And, no string tie. Sally noted his sheepskin coat and black Stetson hanging on the coat tree in the corner. She had always liked Jack Henson. He was so laid back that employees at the firm sometimes jokingly wondered if he was fully awake. An summer intern once remarked that he thought Henson’s pulse might reach 56 during sex. His longish hair and bushy mustache were real. His drawl was slow and rural, betraying the razor sharp mind and keen intellect that he possessed. Many a courtroom adversary had left a case wondering how “that cowboy” had been able to sway the jury to his point of view. Fact was, Jack Henson was the real deal.
“I’m sure you guys had other plans for the day, too,” she said. Byars had turned around holding up a cup, with a questioning look, silently offering her coffee. “Yes,” she answered. “I’ll fix it.”
Byars moved to the table and sat down at the head. “Let me fill you two in before Hastings arrives,” he said.
“Please do,” said Sally. She poured her coffee, doctored it with cream and sugar then sat down opposite Henson at the table.
“At just after midnight last night,” he began, “I got a call from Jana Hastings, Jack’s wife. She was staying at the Prairie Plaza Hotel where Jack had booked a suite for the weekend. She said that Jack had left earlier, just before dinner, to go run an errand… to pick up his laptop computer at some repair shop. He had told her he would be gone no more than an hour and when he wasn’t back in over three hours, she called the Police looking for him. She’d tried his cell phone off and on all night and gotten no answer. Then sometime around eleven-thirty, she got a call from the Desk Sergeant at the downtown precinct that she had talked to earlier. He told her that her husband had been taken into custody and was being held in connection with a brutal slaying… that Hastings was in lock up at the downtown precinct. She drove down there where Hastings told her to call me.”
“So, what happened?” Henson asked, looking over at Sally.
“He’ll be here soon. Let’s just all get his story at the same time,” said Byars.
“How’d you get him released?” asked Sally.
“Well, the cops weren’t about to let him go last night even though he hadn’t been formally charged. I just held off until this morning. I called Judge Garvey at home. He knows Hastings and allowed his release as long as we signed for him. His car was banged up, but drivable. So after I signed for his release at the jail, he went back to the hotel to shower and change. That’s when I called you two.”