Chapter Three

The morning after his meeting with Maleek, Matt arrived at the office early. The new offices of Nelson & Murdock were located on the first floor of a converted brownstone in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. Matt climbed the steps to the front door and paused to run his hand over the "Nelson & Murdock" sign. It was the original sign from their first office. Somehow it had survived the disastrous end of their first partnership and ended up in a box of client files that was sent to storage. Karen found it when she went looking for the case file of a former client who had returned to the firm. Touching the sign was a daily ritual for Matt. The sign had become a talisman of sorts for him. It reminded him how close he'd come to losing everything, and it strengthened his resolve not to let that happen again. He brushed his hand lightly over the new sign below the "Nelson & Murdock" sign – "Page Investigations" – and went inside.

At mid-morning, after Foggy returned from an early court appearance, Matt, Karen, and Foggy gathered around the conference table (formerly Foggy's mom's dining table) for their daily firm meeting. Foggy drove a hard bargain when he and Matt became partners again. His price was a new incarnation of Nelson & Murdock that was very different from their old firm. They would help people and still make a living. Matt even believed him, most of the time. There would be no more getting paid in fruit and pastries. Clients who could pay, would pay – on a sliding scale based on what they could afford. And the firm would take civil cases on a contingency-fee basis when they could. Foggy even brought some paying clients with him. Jeri Hogarth was not pleased, but there was nothing she could do about it. All of them, including Karen, had to agree before the firm took a new case. As a non-lawyer, Karen could not be an official partner in the firm, but she had an equal voice in all of their decisions. They had agreed to work together, and that was how it was going to be. Above all, Foggy insisted they had to talk to each other. There would be no more secrets.

Matt and Foggy had reached an uneasy truce about Matt's other "job" as Daredevil. Matt had finally come to accept both parts of his life. He'd learned the hard way that he couldn't only be Daredevil, any more than he could only be Matt Murdock. Daredevil needed Matt Murdock, and Matt Murdock needed Daredevil. So far, he'd managed to maintain a precarious balance between them. For his part, Foggy wasn't fully on board with Matt's double life. But he knew he couldn't convince Matt to give it up. Like any good lawyer, he knew how to choose his battles, and this was a fight he couldn't win. As long as Matt pulled his weight in the partnership, Foggy would look the other way when he put on the suit.

The meeting was nearing its end when Matt spoke up. "There's a new case I think we should take – Maleek Jackson." He summarized what he had learned from Brendan O'Connor, emphasizing the inconsistencies that set off O'Connor's bullshit detectors – and his own.

Foggy and Karen looked at each other. "You gotta be kidding me, Matt," Foggy said.

Matt shook his head. "No. I went to see Maleek in jail, Foggy. He's innocent. He didn't kill that girl."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Matt said flatly.

"Because I really, really don't want us representing a serial killer."

"We won't be," Matt assured him. "You know I'd know if he was lying. He wasn't. And there are too many things that don't add up. He was set up. You don't want an innocent man to go down for murder, do you?"

Foggy leaned back in his chair, his arms folded. He glanced over at Karen, who shrugged, then nodded. "OK," he said. "Karen?"

"OK by me," she replied.

"Thanks, guys," Matt said. "Thanks for trusting me."

Later that afternoon, Karen and Matt were in Matt's office, reviewing the files on Maleek's case that he had picked up at Brendan O'Connor's office. After an hour and a half, Matt stopped his screen reader and rubbed his temple. Something he'd read in one of the reports was bothering him, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was. Then it came to him: according to the arresting officer's report, the gun was in Maleek's right hand, but Maleek had told him he was a southpaw. So the cop lied. The gun was planted. Not exactly a surprise. He shrugged and went back to the autopsy report. It was grim reading. He didn't envy Foggy and Karen, who would have to review the autopsy photos. The descriptions of Candy's injuries were bad enough. A few minutes later, Foggy wandered in and flopped down onto a chair. "I think I'm finally losing my mind," he declared. "Have I ever told you how much I hate summary judgment motions?"

"Once or twice, maybe," Matt replied with a half smile. He paused the screen reader and leaned back. "Karen and I were talking about Maleek's case earlier. She talked to some of the women who knew Candy, for her article. We should show them that photo of Maleek we got from Lenny, see if they recognize him." He ran his hands across the papers on his desk, as if looking for the photo.

Karen found it and handed it to him. "Here it is."

"I'm thinking you should be the one to talk to them," Matt told Karen. "They already know you."

"Actually, Matt, I think you should," Karen replied. "They won't see you as a threat, and – "

"Ouch. You really know how to hurt a guy, don't you?" Matt protested in mock outrage. "Besides, I have it on good authority that Daredevil is a very scary looking dude."

"Give me a break," Karen griped. "But, seriously, Daredevil isn't going to talk to them, Matt Murdock is. Those girls will eat you up."

Foggy groaned. "Eww."

"I didn't mean that," Karen laughed. "But I had a hell of a time getting any information out of them. They're more likely to talk to Matt."

"OK, I'll do it," Matt agreed. "I only hope I'm not too tasty."

"Noooo!" Foggy threw up his hands and fled.

Matt waited until after midnight to look for the women who worked the streets where Candy had worked. He had changed out of his business suit into jeans and a hoodie. As he walked to the door, he put on his dark glasses and grabbed the coat and baseball cap he'd scrounged from the donation box at the Clinton Church. They were reminders of a time in his life he'd rather forget, and he told himself, not for the first time, that he should get rid of them. But they came in handy at times like this. Before heading out, he put the photo of Maleek in one pocket and several folded bills in another, and picked up his cane from its place next to the door.

Swinging and tapping his cane in front of him, he walked west along 47th Street between 10th and 11th Avenues, one of the blocks where Candace had worked, according to Karen. He focused on the sounds that would tell him where the prostitutes of Hell's Kitchen were working that night. The block was empty, but when he turned the corner onto 11th Avenue, he spotted three women who were working there. Their heart rates ticked up when they saw him: a potential client. He approached the nearest woman – she was young, just a girl, really. Despite her heavy floral perfume, he could tell she had already entertained at least one client tonight.

"Hey, mister," she said, in an accent that pegged her as a Hell's Kitchen native. "Wanna have some fun? They say I give the best head in the Kitchen."

He shook his head. "Nope. Just looking to talk." He took one of the folded bills out of his pocket and held it up. "Want to make an easy 50 bucks?"

"Sure," she said. She attempted to snatch the bill from Matt's hand, but he caught her arm before she could grab it. "How'd you do that, man? Are you really blind?"

Matt ignored the questions. "You got a name?"

"You can call me Jewel."

By that time, the two other girls working the block – "Lolita" and "Cherry" – had joined them. Matt repeated his offer of an easy $50 and asked, "Did you know Candace, uh, Candy Apple, the girl who was killed a couple weeks ago?"

They all nodded. "Yeah, she used to work around here and over on 47th and 48th sometimes," Jewel said.

"Why you asking?" Cherry asked. "You some kinda cop or something?"

Before Matt could answer, Lolita spoke up. "You trippin', girl," she scoffed. "Dude's blind. A blind dude can't be no cop."

Matt confirmed it. "No. I'm not a cop." He took the photo of Maleek out of his pocket and held it up. "Did you ever see this guy with Candy?" he asked.

"What guy?" Lolita asked. "You're holding it backward." She took the photo from Matt and turned it over. She walked a few steps away, closer to the street light, to look at it. After a few seconds, she shrugged and said, "Never saw him before." She passed the photo to Jewel, who looked at it, shook her head, and handed it to Cherry. "Nope," she said, putting the photo in Matt's hand. He fumbled with it a little before putting it back in his pocket. He gave a mental sigh of relief. All three girls' heartbeats stayed steady when they looked at the photo. They were telling the truth about not seeing Maleek with Candy.

"Thanks for your time, ladies," he said, handing each of them a bill.

"You sure we can't do anything else for you?" Jewel asked.

"Not tonight," he said as he turned and walked away. He was halfway down the block when Jewel called out to him. He stopped and waited for her to catch up.

When she was standing next to him, she said, "I didn't want to say this in front of the other girls, but I don't think Candy would have gone with that guy in the photo."

"Why not?"

"Candy wasn't from around here. She was from somewhere down South, she ran away after her stepfather molested her. I don't like to say nothing bad about Candy, with her being dead an' all, but she was kind of a racist. She never wanted to go with the black guys. We all told her their money was the same color as the white guys', but she didn't care. So, like I said, I don't think Candy would've gone with him."

"Thanks, that's helpful," Matt said. He handed her another bill and walked away. His encounter with the three prostitutes left him feeling profoundly sad. God, they were so young! Still in their teens, he thought. He knew how Candy had ended up on the streets of Hell's Kitchen, and he suspected the other girls' stories were much the same. Tucked into each folded bill was the business card of a shelter for runaway teens. He had no illusions: there was little chance they would be able to free themselves from "the life." But at least he could let them know there was a safe place for them, if they wanted to try. And maybe he could keep them safe from a killer.