Double Jeopardy

8

7:05 A.M.

TRAVIS SAT IN THE holding cell reviewing the Moroconi file while the guards fetched his client. It was a familiar routine. They insisted that the lawyer be in place first. Maybe they wanted to make the lawyer uncomfortable, Travis speculated. To let him experience a few moments of the foreboding the guards lived with on a daily basis.

The guards made no secret of how much they hated attorney-client conferences, during which they were required by law to afford the defendant and his counselor privacy, if only for a brief period. They seemed convinced lawyers took advantage of the privacy to smuggle weapons or other contraband to their clients. Travis couldn’t blame them. Four years ago he knew he would have harbored the same suspicions.

He buried himself in the file, trying to pass the time as profitably and painlessly as possible. It didn’t work. He kept staring at the photographs, wondering what kind of monster could do that to another human being.

The cell door abruptly swung open and two uniformed guards escorted Alberto Moroconi into the cell. Travis was introduced to a medium-sized man with a wispy mustache and a day’s stubble. Travis was surprised, although he wasn’t sure why. What was he expecting, Frankenstein?

The guards planted Moroconi in his chair and handcuffed him to the table.

“We don’t need the bracelets,” Travis said. “Please remove them.”

The guard closest to him shrugged. “Warden says leave ’em on.”

“There are several documents and photographs I need him to examine.”

“Ain’t that a shame.” The guard closed the cell door behind him. “Maybe he can hold them with his nose.”

Thanks bunches. Once the guards were out of earshot, Travis addressed his new client. “My name is Travis Byrne. I’ve been appointed to represent you at the trial today—”

“You’re a cop,” Moroconi said curtly.

“I’m a lawyer,” Travis replied. How on earth—“I used to be a cop.”

“Same diff’rence. I knew it was somethin’ like that. It shows.”

Travis didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t plan to kill precious time finding out, either. “I need to ask you a few questions—”

“You ain’t one of these cops-and-robbers screwballs with a secret game plan, are you? Like playin’ good cop to my face while you’re fixin’ to send me up the river.”

“I assure you I’ll do everything the law permits to obtain an acquittal.”

Moroconi scrutinized Travis intently. “A cop doin’ me favors. Go figure.”

“Mr. Moroconi, our time together is limited. Can we discuss your case?”

Moroconi folded his arms across his chest. “Shoot.”

“Did you know the victim, Miss Mary Ann McKenzie?”

“Oh, yeah. I knew the bitch.”

Travis bit down on his lower lip. “And … how did you know her?”

“I was at the bar where it all started that night. You know, O’Reilly’s. She comes struttin’ in, tryin’ to get some action, swingin’ her cute little ass around. Personally, I think she got what she deserved, the stupid cunt.”

Travis felt his heart beating faster. Cool off, he told himself. You’re the man’s zealous advocate. “Did you see what happened?”

“At the bar, yeah. After she’d flung her fishy smell all over the place, she sashayed out the front door. A gang of studs sittin’ in the corner decided they wanted a piece of that and followed her. Didn’t surprise me what happened. I knew it was comin’.”

“Did you attempt to warn Miss McKenzie?”

“Why? Hell, I don’t care what the little twat says. She wanted it.” He laughed. “Maybe not exactly what she got, but she wanted it.”

“And what did you do when you saw these men follow her out of the bar?”

Moroconi shrugged. “I had another Scotch and soda.”

Travis redirected his eyes to the file. “Miss McKenzie says you were one of the men who attacked her.”

“She’s fucked in the head.”

“She picked you out of the lineup.”

“She remembers me from the bar. So what?”

“She says you urinated on her and forced a Coke bottle—”

“Well, she’s wrong, goddamn it! Don’t you see?” Moroconi leaned across the table. “The stupid slut had been fucked blind! She couldn’t tell me from Elvis!”

Travis coughed. “She also states that you suggested tying her to the bumper of her car—”

“Look, you shit-faced shyster, I’m innocent. Are you going to help me or not?”

“I’m—” Travis took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His stomach was churning like the ocean during a storm. “It’s not necessary for you to plead your innocence to me. In fact, I wish you wouldn’t. I’m simply trying to uncover facts that could assist your defense.”

“Shee-it.” Moroconi blew air through his teeth. Bits of spittle flew across the room. “All you’re interested in is covering your ass. Just like everybody else.”

“I assure you that isn’t—”

“Just keep the goddamn trial going. Can you do that?”

“I’m not sure I understand—”

“Just keep the trial going, asshole! How long will the feds’ case take?”

“Three or four days.”

“Fine. Throw in a lot of objections and make sure it doesn’t end any sooner. I’ll take care of myself.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good strategy—”

“Are you my mouthpiece or ain’t you?”

Travis hesitated. “I’m your court-appointed attorney—”

“Then do what I say.”

“I think I could help you—”

“You better just try to help yourself, jerkwad.”

Travis’s head twitched. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean exactly what I say. People are trying to get me, in case you haven’t figured it out, chump.”

Oh great, Travis thought. A conspiracy theory from the paranoid defendant. I suppose the rape was committed on a grassy knoll. “Why do you assume—”

“Why do you figure I got hauled in by the police?”

“I understand there was an anonymous tip. …”

“What a lucky coincidence. Shit. They saw a chance to nail my butt to the wall and they took it. In spades.”

“I really don’t understand—”

“Are you blind? Jesus, why do you think you’re here? Do you really think my last lawyer just disappeared? Decided to go to Tahiti or somethin’? There are people who want me gone, asshole. That’s why they framed me for this rap, and that’s why they’re gonna make sure I do serious time for it.”

Travis frowned. “And who are these alleged people?”

“They’re people who’d cut your fuckin’ heart out just to see what it looks like, that’s who!”

Travis heard the guards returning. Time was up already. Sad thing about it was he was relieved—although the trial would start shortly and he hadn’t gleaned any information he could use in court. “I don’t feel I can adequately represent you without more cooperation on your part, Mr. Moroconi. The judge won’t like it, but perhaps I should withdraw. He’ll deny the motion, but if I just don’t show up—”

Moroconi sprang out of his chair and lunged at Travis. Travis jumped, falling backward in his chair. Moroconi tried to dive after him, but the handcuffs restrained him.

Guards ran down the corridor and shoved the key into the cell door. Moroconi twisted and strained on the tabletop, spitting and cursing, looking as if he might burst free at any moment. Thank God for those handcuffs, Travis thought. The handcuffs I wanted removed.

Moroconi fought the guards as they hauled him to his feet. “Just make goddamn sure you’re there today, shyster. I don’t care what you do, I don’t care what you say. Just keep the trial going. Understand?”

Travis nodded slowly.

“Good.” Moroconi smiled, baring his yellow teeth, as the guards dragged him out of the cell. “See you in court.”