Act of Deceit

Chapter 18

B laine threw his file down on his desk and kicked his trash can across the room, smashing it into a bookcase. It bounced, then rolled in a semicircle on the linoleum floor.

“I knew it the second she asked for Craft and Simpson. That bitch. She’s never stopped being a public defender.”

Donnally cast Blaine a sour look.

“Skip the performance,” Donnally said. “It was your job to get this guy to trial and now you’re dead in the water.”

Blaine spun toward Donnally, his finger jabbing.

“You-”

Donnally raised his palm.

“Now you’re going to blame me?”

“I don’t know why you opened up this can of worms in the first place.”

“That’s not the point. The question is what you’re going to do about it.”

Blaine dropped into his chair, thought for a moment, and then said, “Since it looks like Nanston has already made her decision, I’ll try to smoke her out and make a record for the appeal.”

He glanced out of the window, then looked back at Donnally with a half smile.

“Wait a second… wait a second. Maybe we can block the speedy trial hearing altogether. Maybe we can argue that no decision can be made on anything in the case until he agrees to talk to the shrink and is found competent. That way Nanston can’t dismiss the case and he stays in custody.”

Donnally locked his hands on his hips.

“Let me get this straight,” Donnally said. “You’re going to trade places with the defense? You arguing he’s not competent and them arguing he is?”

Blaine’s smile turned into a grin. “Exactly. You saw how Brown has been acting in court. If his own lawyer calls him a lunatic, I sure as hell can.”

“Who are you trying to kid, me or yourself?”

The prosecutor’s grin faded. “Apparently not you.”

Blaine tapped his pen against the edge of his desk. His eyes blurred, then he started to nod.

Donnally sensed the prosecutor’s mind gaining traction on the slope of his impromptu strategy.

Blaine’s head snapped up and he aimed a forefinger at Donnally’s chest.

“You’re still going to be my first witness,” Blaine said. “But this time to show that he’s crazy. You’re gonna testify about Brown’s delusion that he was in the nut ward for thirty-theven yearths. ” Blaine laughed as he imitated Brown’s lisp.

Donnally glared down at the prosecutor. “Not… a… chance.”

D onnally walked down the courthouse steps and turned toward the eight-story county parking garage a half block away. It loomed over the surrounding buildings like a nuclear cooling tower. He stopped at the corner crosswalk.

I did my part, Donnally said to himself as he stared at the red “Wait” sign. Maybe I delivered a different message to a different recipient, but it got delivered.

Moments later, Donnally found himself crossing the intersection, away from his car and toward the lake. He felt suffocated by the rumbling of traffic that reverberated off the government offices behind him and the faces of the apartment buildings along the encircling boulevard.

Donnally traversed the grass between the sidewalk and shoreline trail, sickened by the trash littering the bank: the squashed malt liquor cans and scattered pork rinds, the yellow-brown butt ends of joints, the Taco Bell wrappers.

He stopped along the shore and watched the foamy water lap up against the moss-covered rocks. He took in a breath infused with the decay bubbling to the oily surface.

The air was thick with an odor of rot and deceit that seemed to seep through his clothes and into his skin.

He exhaled.

It was time to head home.

I’m done playing postman.