I told Quetsch more about Liss than about myself, and he listened with his eyes closed and his head hung low, saying nothing except an occasional antiphonal "yes." When I was through, he raised his head.
Quetsch told me what the job paid and when to start, and then he walked me out and shook my hand.
It was strictly a civil practice, built largely on insurance defense, but a good chunk of this had disappeared two years earlier when Quetsch refused to make his son partner and the son started his own practice in the next town over, and the two stopped speaking.
It was, as I say, a civil practice in every sense of the word, and the affection I felt in the office extended to the lawyers we did business with, even our opponents, half of whom had worked for Quetsch early on in their careers, as did some of the judges.
I put the toilet seat down, and as she dried herself I sat and told her about my visit with Perry, about the bail hearing and how much it might cost us to post bond, and how I'd have to talk to Quetsch.
I fetched the bottle of port that Quetsch had brought to our wedding, along with three small glasses, tinted blue, green, and rose, and set them down on the coffee table.
He told me that Quetsch wanted him to cover a pretrial conference in a medical malpractice case, but that the other side couldn't make it, so it was simply a matter of getting a new date from the judge's clerk.
When I got back to the office, it was late in the afternoon and Quetsch was in the lobby, pulling up the weights in the grandfather clock near the foot of the stairs.