"It wouldn't help if he did. Igoe's place isn't a five-minute drive from Rivers's, farther down the road."
"Has Pierre a lawyer?" Rand asked.
"No. Not yet. We were just talking about that."
"Dad would defend him," Dot suggested. "Of course, he's not a criminal lawyer—"
"Carter Tipton, in New Belfast," Rand told them. "He's my lawyer; he's gotten me out of more jams than you could shake a stick at. Where's the telephone? I'll call him now."
"You think he'd defend Pierre?"
"Unless I'm badly mistaken, Pierre isn't going to need any trial defense," Rand told them. "He will need somebody to look after his interests, and we'll try to get him out on a writ as soon as possible."
He looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to nine. It was hard to say where Carter Tipton would be at the moment; his manservant would probably know. Karen showed him the phone and he started to put through a person-to-person call.
It was eleven o'clock before he backed his car into the Fleming garage, and the rain had turned to a wet, sticky snow. All the Fleming cars were in, but Rand left the garage doors open. He also left his hat and coat in the car.