Lassiter

45 No Alibi

Drained from his near-kidnapping and stuffed with maple bacon brittle, Kip had conked out on the sofa. I carried him into his bedroom and tucked him into bed. Then I went through his backpack and found a note from Commodore Perkins at Tuttle-Biscayne.

Would I please select which date was convenient for Kip’s disciplinary hearing?

The Commodore thoughtfully provided nine different days. I decided to choose the last one, then, at the last moment, ask for a continuance. If I did this often enough, maybe Kip could graduate before he was expelled.

An hour later, I was lying in bed watching television. Csonka was sleeping in the corner of the room, snoring and farting. I flipped through the channels, found an old L.A. Law episode just starting. The opening credits rolled, soaring horns and banging drums inviting me to spend time with some lawyers who had a helluva lot more time for bed-hopping than I did.

My phone rang. Too late for good news. Caller I.D. told me it was our esteemed State Attorney.

“What’s up, Alex? One of my clients steal your purse?”

“What are you doing right now, Jake?” Castiel said.

“Whatever I want. I’m in the privacy of my own bedroom.”

“Let me speak to Amy Larkin.”

“Why would she be in my bedroom?”

“I thought maybe you were nailing her. What time did she leave?”

“What are you talking about? She wasn’t here tonight.”

Castiel sounded brusque, but smug. “Thanks, Jake. You haven’t been this much help since you wore the wire.”

Damn. I’d let my guard down. It happens sometimes after three fingers of Jack Daniel’s. “Wanna tell me what just happened?”

“You just ruled yourself out as an alibi.”

Oh, shit.

“What is it you think Amy did?” I asked.

“She killed Max Perlow. One bullet to the chest.”

I bolted up. “No way. Why would she?”

“Shot at Charlie Ziegler and missed. Charlie I.D.’d her.”

I could hear my own heart sledge-hammering. Had she really done it?

“They pulled a.38 slug out of Perlow,” Castiel continued. “If it matches the bullets she fired into your tires …”

“Wait a second. How’d you get those?”

“You forgetting I sent a county truck to tow your pimpmobile?”

“You had the slugs pulled from my tires?”

“I planned to prosecute your client for firearms violations. Who knew?”

“Someone stole Amy’s gun two days ago.”

If it’s possible to hear a man shaking his head, I heard Castiel’s spinning. “You make this shit up as you go along, Jake?”

“Amy told me. Someone ransacked her motel room and stole the gun. She was all freaked out about it.” Even as I said it, I hated the story. How damn convenient.

“Just tell her to turn herself in, Jake. I don’t want anything messy.”

I told him I would if I could find her. It’s one of the ethical rules I happen to believe in. You don’t tell a client to run away. You bring her in to face the music and do your best to keep it from being a funeral march.

“I loved Max like my own father,” Castiel said, somberly. “This is personal, Jake.”

“Don’t handle the case yourself, Alex.”

“You’re the one who better get out. I don’t give a shit about collateral damage.”

“I don’t abandon clients, you know that.”

“Up to you. But from here on out, our friendship is meaningless, Jake. I’m taking her down, and I don’t give a shit if I take you down with her.”