Missing Justice

of ourselves here, but in the event Mr. Gunderson and Mr. Minkins are

ordered to testify either today or at a subsequent grand jury hearing

it strikes me that it may not be appropriate for the two of them to

share counsel." I looked down at a PPDS printout. "I see here that

Mr. Minkins is on probation for forging a check. His probation

officer might not be happy about a failure to cooperate with a murder

investigation or gambling, for that matter, since Mr. Thorpe has said

his client was in a casino just eight days ago. As a matter of fair

process, Mr. Minkins should at least have an attorney who is thinking

solely about Mr. Minkins's best interests."

They had good poker faces, but I could've sworn that Gunderson looked

afraid, and Minkins looked mad. And they both looked nervous.

Prescott must have seen it too, because she suddenly displayed a

decisiveness I'd never before witnessed in her. "I am not going to

quash the subpoenas. Although I granted a similar motion filed by a

different witness last Friday, I believe that the defense's desire to

question Mr. Gunderson and Mr. Minkins is distinguishable. The

questioning does not raise the same issues of privacy implicated by the

earlier subpoena, and the defense has articulated a plausible nexus

between these witnesses and this offense. Although it is not a nexus

that has in any way been proven, I believe the defense should be

entitled to at least question these witnesses further to determine

whether they possess relevant exculpatory evidence. As for potential

harm to the witnesses, Mr. Thorpe, you said so yourself: They can

always invoke if they believe the questioning is likely to incriminate

them."

Thorpe was clearly stunned, but he did his best to cover. "I'd like a

moment to confer with my clients, your honor, to determine how they

would like to proceed."

"Of course. We'll reconvene here in ninety minutes. And, with respect

to Ms. Kincaid's observations about the appropriateness of joint

representation, if either of your clients wishes to speak to me in

chambers about that matter, I will be available and can assist in

obtaining substitute counsel if necessary. Ms. Kincaid, you might

want to stay nearby, in the event you're needed."

Prescott had gone one step further than I expected. If Min-kins had

missed the point of my earlier comments, Prescott's certainly set the

stage for Minkins to jump ship.

As we left chambers, Thorpe said something to Roger, who then excused

himself from Townsend, no doubt so he could accompany his partner and

Slip's next witnesses back to some conference room at Dunn Simon.

"Roger, I was hoping we could talk before you leave," I said. "I need

to speak to Townsend about something."

"Now's not exactly a good time, Samantha. Jim told me about the stunt

you pulled back there. I don't know what you're up to, but don't say a

word to Dr. Easterbrook while I'm gone, or I'll have your bar ticket.

On my instructions, he's going home."

I stood by the door and watched them head down the hall. By the time

they got to the elevator, Jim and Roger were already playing referees

between Gunderson and Minkins.

I turned to my favorite flannel-and-cords guy. "Hey, Slip. You

gamble?"

Thirteen.

I won the bet. Minkins called Judge Prescott just forty minutes later

from a pay phone in the lobby of the Dunn Simon building. Slip had

guessed it would take an hour.

I spent some of the time talking to Slip. He gave me a copy of the

spreadsheets he'd printed out from Clarissa's mystery disc. Based on a

quick scan, I had to agree that nothing interesting popped out, except,

of course, the fact that the data had been password-protected in a safe

deposit box.

I thought about the security system on the Easterbrook house. Maybe

they were cautious enough to keep something as innocuous as a backup

file under lock and key. But would Clarissa really stow a copy of her

husband's file alongside a video of a tryst with her boyfriend?

I spent the remaining half hour thinking about everything I had learned

about Clarissa this week. Based on what I'd heard, it was hard to

imagine that she'd sell her office to someone like Gunderson. But

ultimately I could picture it. After all, there had been times when I

wondered whether the cops and lawyers

I knew were always squeaky clean. You never know how a person's

circumstances might affect their decisions. A few years of pushing

through the morass of boredom I saw in Clarissa's files, and your

average person might not see the harm if a couple of arbitrary,

meaningless decisions went the wrong way.

So what had been Clarissa's circumstances? Maybe she felt guilty about

her affair and wanted the money if in fact there had been any money to

make it up to Townsend. Or maybe the money was to help her leave

Townsend and start a life with T. J. Caffrey.

Judge Prescott's clerk finally saved me from my aimless speculation

when she told me about the call from Minkins.

Prescott handled the stress well. She made a quick call to Thorpe to

confirm that he was aware of Minkins's decision, then found the nearest

defense attorney in the hallway to stand in as counsel. The short

straw went to Lisa Lopez, one of the most liberal cop-haters in the

PD's office. If you need a defense attorney who can cut through the

crap and pull a recalcitrant defendant to the plea table, Lopez is a

pain in the ass. But here, we'd paint the picture of a

down-on-his-luck chump-change cheat, eager to flip the switch on the

big bad white-collar criminals in exchange for a walk. Lisa'd be all

over it.

Prescott gave Lisa a chance to talk to Minkins alone. I called

Minkins's probation officer to make sure I wasn't missing anything. The

PO had never heard of him and told me to do what I needed to do.

A half hour later, I was sitting with Lopez and Minkins in a jury room.

Lisa cut to the chase. "Before he says anything, I want full

transactional immunity," she said.

She knew that was impossible. Transactional immunity is the brass ring

of plea deals, and no one ever receives it. Hand that over to a

defendant, and he can boast of every bad thing he ever did, and you can

never touch him for any of it.

"First of all, you know that's not going to happen," I told her. "More

important, you know that what I'm willing to give him depends on what

he's got to say."

"Are you in a position to give him a walk?"

I was nervous about making a deal without talking to Russell. But if I

called him now, not only would I look weak, but he might screw things

up and stop the flow of information. I steeled my courage. This was

no different than what I'd done hundreds of times before with drug

informants.

"Again, it depends on what he's got to say. Can he give me PC for

murder?" With probable cause for someone other than Jackson, I'd have

enough to make arrests and obtain search warrants.

"No," she said without hesitation, apparently surprised that I had even

entertained that as a possibility. Minkins eyed her suspiciously, and

I got the feeling that he would've offered to say whatever was

necessary to save his ass.

"No promises," I said. "You've got to take your chances or take the

stand. Up to you."

Lisa nodded at Minkins, and he said what he had to say.

"First off, I got nothing to do with anyone dying. Swear to God, to

this day I still don't know what the fuck's going on. But far as I can

tell, you think someone set up this Jackson for a fall. As to that

point, what I can add is that Larry handed me the dude's number a

couple weeks ago and told me to hire him. Didn't matter what the terms

were. Gunderson owed a friend a favor, and that meant I had to get

Jackson on-site. Turned out not to be a problem. The guy jumped at

it."

"Did he say who the friend was?" I asked.

"No clue."

Most likely a cover story Gunderson gave Minkins just to get Jackson on

the property.

"Anyway," he continued, "Jackson gave his information to a girl we use

for personnel-related stuff, and that's about all I had to do with him.

Then Friday I'm working at the site late, checking out the status of

things, and I see Jackson packing away some paint into his van. I

didn't recognize him, so I asked the guy his name. I remembered it

from when Larry told me to hire him, so I told him, Go ahead and take

it. Then I called Larry."

"What was his reaction?"

"Nothing special. Just thanked me for telling him about it. Next

thing I know, we got a body on our hands Monday and Jackson's getting

arrested for it."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"So I'm not a good Samaritan. Sue me."

I wasn't buying it. If his decisions today said anything about his

behavior generally, Minkins was self-interested. No way did he sit

there silently while Gunderson dragged him into the middle of this.

"You're leaving something out. How'd you wind up at the library?"

He pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling. "So you did make me. I

was beginning to wonder."

Sucker.

"When I saw the news about Jackson, I asked Larry what the fuck was

going on. All he said was and I remember this "Take a lesson from it,

Billy, and keep your mouth shut." Scared the shit out of me. So I

started doing some snooping around of my own. Figured if I got the

goods on whoever pulled that shit on Jackson and the lady judge, they

couldn't pull anything on me."

"And what did you find out?"

"Not a lot. I know Larry's leveraged up the ass trying to keep the

bills paid. And I know you were doing some serious research into the

urban growth boundary."

"You're still not telling me why you were following me, Billy."

"It was stupid, OK? I watched the news Friday about the hearing, and

they said something about there being a shooting at your house last

month. I was thinking about trying to work something out with you, so

I went by Saturday morning, just because I wasn't doing nothing else.

Then I saw you driving away. Next thing I know, I'm following you

around the library. When I saw what you was working on, I realized I

didn't have a fucking clue about what was going on, and I was like to

get myself in more trouble than be able to help myself."

"But now you're coming clean anyway."

"Well, when you said what you said earlier, I figured it was about the

only choice I had. Larry sure as hell ain't gonna take care of me."

It sounded credible. I could see a guy like Billy Minkins feeling

desperate enough to follow me around while he tried to figure out what

to do. Thanks to the local news, anyone who was curious could find out

what block I lived on from a search of the Internet.

"Did you tell Gunderson about the library?" I asked.

"No way. I hightailed it out of there and laid low. I ain't saying

I'm perfect. Hell, it's not like I'm blind it's not every businessman

who's gonna let a guy like me take care of an operation. But no way

did I sign up to be in the middle of a murder trial and whatever crap

led up to it."

"You certainly don't sound like someone who trusts Larry Gunderson.

How'd you hook up with him anyway?"

Minkins let out a chuckle. "AA. Court-ordered after my check-writing

scheme went awry. I couldn't get work after that, and Larry'd been in

the program for years. Fucking ironic, ain't it?"

There's a reason guys like Minkins wind up in the system. Instead of

taking some responsibility for the decision that led him to this room,

he had found a way to blame it on the only chance a court had given him

to get his life under control. But Minkins seemed to think I liked

him, so I kept my mouth shut.

"Do you know of any connection between Gunderson and Clarissa

Easterbrook?"

"Other than her body being found there? Nope."

"Do you know anything about Gunderson paying bribes or kickbacks to her

or any other public officials?"

"Nope, but I wouldn't put it past him."

"Are you going to bother telling me what you're fishing for, Kincaid?"

Leave it to Lisa Lopez to think she's not doing her job unless she

butts in every once in a while.

"Me telling you what I think isn't part of this deal," I said. "What

matters is your client telling me what he knows, and I'm trying to make

sure he's done that."

I asked a few more questions, but I couldn't get anything more out of

him.

Lopez could tell the debriefing was coming to a close. "There you go,

Kincaid. Billy never even broke the law, so I want assurances that he

doesn't face potential prosecution. And his PO better not jam him up,

either."

"But he hasn't given me anything, Lisa. He said it himself. He

doesn't know what happened."

"You've got more than you had before. And he might not know all the

details, but that's because he doesn't have anything to do with it."

She was right. That's the problem with our system of flipping. Those

who have the most to trade are the ones least deserving of a break. If

Minkins was telling the truth, he had some serious moral shortcomings

but he wasn't a murderer.

"Fine, but only after he passes a poly."

Billy Minkins had his own priorities. "And I want some protection."

"Explain it to him. Lisa. I'm not exactly running a witness

protection program here."

"Fuck that noise," Minkins said. "I get the impression you don't know

any more about what's going on than I do. You turn me loose after

Gunderson knows I cut a deal, and I might wind up like that judge of

yours."

Shoot. Why didn't I think of that?

There was only one way to swing this, and it all depended on how badly

Billy wanted protection. As it turned out, he was more scared than I

thought.

Lisa and I told Prescott's clerk that we were ready and returned to the

courtroom. Thorpe and Gunderson were already there, presumably waiting

for Slip to call Gunderson to the stand pursuant to the subpoena.

"We're back on the record," Judge Prescott made clear. "Mr. Minkins

has chosen to proceed with separate counsel, and he is now present and

represented by Lisa Lopez. The motion to quash the subpoenas served

upon Larry Gunderson and William Minkins is quashed. Mr. Szlipkowsky,

you may proceed to question your witnesses."

This had happened too quickly. I hadn't had a chance to talk to Slip.

I crossed my fingers and hoped that the fifty-fifty odds would fall my

way.

"The defense calls Larry Gunderson to the stand."

I exhaled a sigh of relief, and Jim Thorpe rose. "Excuse me, your

honor. It was my understanding that the purpose of the prosecutor's

conference with Ms. Lopez was to determine whether Mr. Minkins was

offering testimony that would warrant an offer of immunity to him. As

your honor is well aware, such conferences often invite fabrications,

especially where as in Mr. Minkins's situation the person being

questioned is

OTJ

on probation and therefore subject to the whim of law enforcement. It

only seems fair that my client should know what occurred in that

conference before being questioned."

Somewhere along the road, when I wasn't looking, Prescott had truly

come into her own. Without asking any guidance from the other

attorneys, she reached the right conclusion. "Mr. Gunderson is merely

a witness in these proceedings, not the accused. He has no standing to

request information about other witness's potential testimony. Please

instruct your client to take the witness seat."

Thorpe whispered some last minute advice in his ear and Gunderson took

the stand. Short, round, and balding, he might have appeared jolly

under happier circumstances. But here, his expression was stern but

concerned as he repeated the same response to each of Slip's questions:

"On the advice of counsel, I decline to answer pursuant to my Fifth

Amendment rights."

Although typically the bane of my existence, today the words were music

to my ears. Larry Gunderson, the supposedly disinterested landowner,

was invoking his rights. It was better than anything I could have

hoped for.

When Slip had finished his list of questions, he called Minkins to the

stand. To everyone's surprise (well, maybe not everyone's), Minkins

also invoked his Fifth Amendment rights. When the questioning was

done, I rose.

"Your honor, at this point, I would request that the sheriff's deputy

place Mr. Minkins in custody on a probation detainer pursuant to the

request of his probation officer."

"This is ludicrous, your honor." I wasn't surprised at Lisa's acting

skills. Having seen her profess her faith in her clients time and time

again in court, I knew she could pull it off. "Ms. Kincaid is

obviously penalizing my client for invoking his Fifth Amendment

rights."

"Ms. Lopez is forgetting, your honor, that Mr. Minkins was a defense

witness, not a suspect. The State is continuing to pursue its case

against the defendant, Melvin Jackson, and is simply informing the

court of a decision by the probation department. The probation officer

has already faxed a formal detainer to the sheriff's department. He is

concerned about Mr. Thorpe s earlier representation about Mr.

Minkins's whereabouts at the time of the offense. The witness is on

supervision for a forgery that arose from an alcohol and gambling

addiction."

Moments later, Minkins was led away in cuffs, where he'd be safe and

sound in a relatively clean and comfortable county holding cell until I

told his PO it was time for a hearing. It wasn't the Four Seasons, but

it provided the protection Minkins was after.

Larry Gunderson's head looked like it was about to explode. My guess

was that he had been tempted to perjure his way through the

questioning, but was smart enough to play it safe once he assumed that

Minkins had given him up. It's nearly impossible to make your way

through an interrogation when you don't know what cards the questioner

has already drawn. Any screwups would be under oath and on the record,

preventing him from wiggling around at a trial down the road.

Lisa threw me a glance before leaving the courtroom. Other lawyers

might have worried about the long-term repercussions of crossing

another attorney, especially one as powerful as Jim Thorpe. But Lisa

Lopez, ever the true believer, did what was best for Minkins.

"Unless someone has further need of Mr. Thorpe and his client,"

Prescott said, "the two of you are free to leave as well." They almost

looked surprised when no one spoke up.

With the witnesses gone, Prescott asked Slip if he had any additional

witnesses.

"No, your honor."

"Rebuttal, Ms. Kincaid."

"None."

Slip and I went through the motions on argument. He wove the strongest

conspiracy story he could given the information he had. I stood by my

case against Jackson, emphasizing that any questions about possible

conspiracies must be decided by the jury. If anyone from the office

called Prescott to check up on me, it would look like I'd played my

proper role in the system. I wasn't looking for a dismissal against

Jackson, just enough of a reaction from the court to get my office's

attention.

When we were done arguing, Judge Prescott gave me what I needed.

"All right, I don't know what exactly happened in here today, but I'm

ready to rule."

When I got back to my office, I was greeted by a note on my chair. See

me ASAP. And, no, that doesn't mean after a quick run. Russ.

I didn't go for a run, but I did take a second to check my voice mail:

two defense attorneys, a victim, and my father. Since I had changed my

outgoing message to say I'd be in court all day, the callbacks could

wait.

In Russell's office, I did my best to look worn out from my crazy

morning. "Hey, there. I'm finally out of the Jackson prelim." I held

up the note he'd left for me.

"What the hell's going on over there? Your gem of an ex-husband called

Duncan a couple of hours ago claiming you were sabotaging your own

case. Something about you telling the defense attorney to subpoena

some clients you called him about over the weekend?"

Russell had been good to me so far, so I almost felt bad about lying to

him. Almost. "Roger's got his head up his ass. The defense

subpoenaed the same witnesses I asked him about, because anyone giving

a second thought about this case would be asking the same questions. If

anyone should be in trouble, it's him. He's thinking more about the

other clients than he is about Townsend."

"Sounds like a conflict," he said.

"I thought so too, but apparently all the clients signed off on it."

"So what was the end result?" he asked.

"Prescott found probable cause, but not without a fight. She said on

the record that the defense had raised serious questions about whether

we had the entire story, and that we skated through only because the

standard of proof's so low. Oh, yeah, and the media were in the

courtroom."

"You're fucking shitting me."

"I shit you not. After the morning I've had, I am in a strictly non

shitting mode of communication." I did my best to sound upset, but now

I had the office right where I needed it. No way would Duncan permit

the bureau to continue ignoring the evidence pointing to Gunderson.

"I'm almost afraid to ask: Who are these witnesses?"

"Larry Gunderson, who owns the Glenville construction site, and Billy

Minkins, who works for him."

"For the love of God, Kincaid. Not this again. The defendant's mom

says one thing to you 'my boy ain't never had a job so good' and ever

since then you can't let it drop."

His Mrs. Jackson impersonation wasn't half bad.

"It's more than that, Russ." But before I got a chance to explain it

all to him, his phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he decided to

answer it.

"Hi, Duncan .. . Yeah, she's right here.. .. No, Prescott found

probable cause, but it's a little more complicated than that.. .. OK,

yeah, we'll be right down." Russ hopped out of his chair as he hung

up. "I'll do what I can for you, Samantha, but if I were you I'd hold

my nose and pucker up, because you've got some serious ass-kissing in

front of you."

In the couple of minutes it took to run down the back stairs to

Duncan's office, I managed to give Russ at least the big picture. I

left out the part about my role in steering Slip's action, but I did

tell him about the contents of Clarissa's safe deposit box and

Gunderson's stake in the urban growth boundary.

"So what's your theory?"

"I'm not done telling you everything yet."

"Reader's Digest version, Kincaid. Duncan's waiting for us."

"I think Clarissa had some kind of deal with Gunderson where she agreed

to rule in his favor on his appeal. I also think that Gunderson has a

lot to lose if the urban growth boundary doesn't expand in Glenville,

and that Clarissa's affair with Caffrey had something to do with that.

For whatever reason, though, Clarissa was thinking about blowing the

whistle "

A voice cut me off. "Where the hell are they?" Shit. It was Duncan

standing in the hallway, apparently counting the seconds to make sure

we weren't dillydallying.

"I think that's for us, kid," Russ said. "Let's do this."

My pulse started to accelerate the minute I sat on Duncan Griffith's

leather sofa. If what they say about state-dependent learning is true,

his office would eventually begin to trigger an automatic gag reflex in

me.

He wasn't helping to calm my nerves. "Sounds like you've had a busy

morning, Samantha."

"Yes, although not nearly as chaotic as Roger Kirkpatrick apparently

led you to believe. Russ told me that Roger called you."

97 R

"Well, he called me, but the bigger problem is Jim Thorpe, who called

the chief of police, the mayor, and everyone else who was willing to

listen. The way I understand it, Kirkpatrick's pissed on behalf of

Townsend, because he doesn't want to see the prosecution of his wife's

murderer derailed. And Thorpe's pissed because his client's being

dragged through a three-ring circus. Do you want to explain to me why

you're sabotaging your own case?"

"I did nothing of the sort. The defense threw us some curve balls

today, and I still managed to swing the probable cause finding." It

was hard to keep a straight face with the sports metaphor.

"According to Kirkpatrick, you called him Sunday afternoon asking to

talk to this Gunderson fellow. Then, when he said no, lo and behold,

the defense attorney ups and subpoenas the guy. You want to explain

that to me?"

I gave him the same version I gave Frist the one where Slip and I are

equally savvy and wind up on the same track. I also gave him a rundown

on what Minkins had confirmed about Gunderson and what I still

suspected.

By the time I was finished, Duncan's eyes were pressed shut, his right

palm pressed against his temple. "That's one a hell of mess, all

right," he said, his eyes still shut. Then, opening them to look at

me, he said, "We'll talk about your role in this in a second, but first

things first. Russ, the last time I checked, you were working this

case too. What do you think?"

"I don't like it," Russ said. "But I think the defense has dug up

enough that we have to look into it. If we ignore it, Szlip-kowsky

will haul it all out in front of a jury, and we'll look like we're

steamrolling a poor black guy to cover up some white-collar dirty

laundry."

For a second, I thought I'd stroked out and was having delusions. I

looked down. Nope, I was still wearing panty hose and my calves were

still puffy. This was definitely not heaven. But my supervisor was

actually defending me to our boss.

"You guys can't possibly be telling me that you buy this conspiracy

theory shit," Duncan said. "Planted evidence, for Christ's sake?"

"I don't know what to think," I said, "but I agree with Russ. We can't

ignore it. How many times have I heard in this office that only the

guilty lawyer up? You should have seen Gunderson in there. He invoked

to every question. He's definitely hiding something, and if he takes

the Fifth in front of a jury, we're toast. Jackson will walk, and so

will any hope we have of trying someone else for the same crime."

Duncan thought about it, his prosecutorial instincts kicking in.

Prosecutors share a belief system resembling a kind of secular faith,

and a central tenet of that system is that a witness who invokes is

hiding something. Maybe not the thing you're looking for, but

something. In our church of prosecutors, it's the equivalent of the

truth shall set you free.

"Help me think this thing through," he said. "If it's all connected,

the victim and Gunderson had some kind of arrangement, and Gunderson

killed her because she was planning to talk?"

"Right," I said. "I think it went beyond that one appeal Clarissa

heard. I think her affair with Caffrey fits in somehow. He's a swing

vote on whether to expand suburban development, an issue Gunderson

stands to profit from. A lot. It would explain the videotape Clarissa

had of her and Caffrey coming out of the motel. Maybe she was

blackmailing him but couldn't go through with it."

"And they set up Melvin Jackson as the bad guy?" Russ asked.

"It certainly wouldn't be the first time a white criminal took

advantage of stereotypes." We'd all seen the stories before. When

that woman sunk her kids in the river, the first thing she said was

that some black guy took them and everyone immediately believed her.

Duncan did not look happy. "Well, I guess we're going to need to look

into this guy's business dealings, but the police aren't going to like

it if it means trashing the case against Jackson. Any possibility the

guy had a deal with the victim but didn 't set up Jackson?"

"I don't see it," I said. "If Gunderson was bribing Clarissa, it's too

much of a coincidence that Jackson winds up working for Gunderson and

putting Clarissa's body there."

Russ was shaking his head. "No, there is a way. You told me early on,

Sam, that you thought Clarissa felt sorry for Jackson, at least

initially, right?"

"Right. She had notes in her file showing she'd done some legal

research trying to find a theory she could use to rule for him."

"OK," Frist continued. "So what if you're right, and she's on the take

with Gunderson? Maybe she calls in a marker of her own and gets

Jackson the job."

Minkins did, after all, say that Gunderson had told him he was hiring

Jackson as a favor to a friend. I followed Frist's theory. "But

Jackson didn't know that, of course, and is still pissed off about his

eviction."

"He kills her, dumps her at the site, and everything else falls into

place."

"Except the part where Gunderson tells Minkins to keep his mouth shut

when Clarissa's body turned up," I said.

"But think about it. Gunderson knows he's crooked on the bribery

scheme, and all of the sudden the other half of the equation winds up

dead on his property. Maybe he used it to scare Minkins into staying

quiet about the Jackson hire, which might have shown a connection

between the victim and the company."

5B1

I completed the thought. "Which might've revealed whatever quid pro

quo they had."

"Or maybe Minkins made that part up," he added. "It wouldn't be the

first time an informant threw in a little extra to help the case."

Man. First Russ defends me, then he outsmarts me. It's a crazy world,

this one we live in. A world where Clarissa Easter-brook might have

used her position with Gunderson to help out Jackson, only to have him

kidnap and murder her.

I was frustrated that I hadn't seen it earlier. I had been so focused

on figuring out the connection between Gunderson and Clarissa that I

had just assumed that it was related to Clarissa's death. But I had

never been able to figure out how Gunderson knew about Jackson in order

to frame him.

Russ's scenario gave our office a reason to send the cops back out to

work: We still think Jackson did it, we could say, but we need to find

out what Gunderson was up to so the defense doesn't blindside the

jury.

The truth was, my gut was telling me that I'd been wrong about Jackson.

He did it. I'd never forgive myself if Slip actually got Jackson off

using information I'd hand-delivered.

"The way things stand now," I said, "I think we need to get MCT back on

this right away." I told Duncan about Prescott's comments in the

courtroom and the near certainty that the news would be breaking

imminently.

"That's just great. She had to make sure that my day was fully fucked.

All right, here's the deal. Thorpe's got everyone's attention on this

thing. I'm supposed to meet at City Hall this afternoon with the MCT

lieutenant, the mayor, and the city attorney to determine how to

proceed."

Noting our looks of disbelief, he said, "I know, it's overkill. But

the bureau already took an embarrassing hit on this case and doesn't

want it going down the drain, the city attorney's worried about getting

sued, and the mayor well, the mayor's probably going to make sure we

don't all kill each other. If I had to guess, with so many offices

involved, it could take a couple days before anything happens, but

Jackson's not going anywhere, right?"

I shook my head.

"The defense attorney's not going to make any noise?"

I shook my head again. "But are you going to make MCT follow up on the

Gunderson angle?" I asked.

"Like I said, Kincaid, I doubt anything's going to happen for a couple

of days."

"But, in a couple of days, that's what you're expecting, right?"

"Not that I owe you an explanation, Samantha, but no, I wasn't planning

on asking MCT to look at a possible corruption case, because that's not

MCT's jurisdiction. We'll get the bureau on it, and we'll get some

answers by the time of trial, but that's good enough for now."

Now I saw Duncan's take on the situation. If the corruption involving

Gunderson wasn't related to the Jackson murder case, there was no

reason to start a beef with MCT about opening a closed case. The

problem was, the bureau wouldn't be under the gun to see the Gunderson

investigation through.

"Duncan, I think it is appropriate to ask MCT to do the work. It's

Jackson's defense attorney who's trying to set up Gunderson as the

killer, so it's the detectives on that case who are going to be

motivated to get to the bottom of it. If they find out that Gunderson

was bribing Clarissa and blackmailing Caffrey but didn't set up

Jackson, everyone will be happy."

"You don't get it, Samantha," he said. "MCT's not going to be happy

about anything that makes this case any more complicated than it needs

to be. And if we ask them to look into Gunderson Development, it looks

like we believe there's actually a connection between Gunderson and the

murder. And we don't." His point was a good one, but I wanted the

work done well, and I wanted it done soon. "And, for the record, Sam:

slight problem claiming Szlipkowsky came up with these witnesses on his

own. How'd he know to serve the subpoenas on Jim Thorpe?"

Crap. I thought Slip had served Gunderson and Minkins directly.

Apparently, he was willing to flirt with unconventional-ity, but wasn't

about to bypass retained counsel. The problem, of course, was that it

looked like his knowledge of the representation came from me.

I couldn't remember saying anything to Slip last night about Thorpe.

But I did remember something else.

"Probably because Jim Thorpe represented Gunderson Development on the

appeal in front of Clarissa. His name was in the file Slip found in

her safe deposit box."

Duncan didn't like it, but he knew he couldn't prove I had done

anything wrong.

"Anything else?" he asked.

The last thing I wanted to do was set him off. But I couldn't let him

go into that meeting without telling him about Min-kins's immunity deal

and the OHSU financial records in the safe deposit box. If those facts

eventually came out later, he'd look foolish in front of the bureau and

the mayor, and whoever put him in that position namely, moi would pay

the price.

"Well, there's a few other details you should probably know about," I

said.

"Details? Why do I have a feeling that, coming from you, Samantha,

those details are going to be something like a pin that fell out of the

grenade?"

I told him about my secret immunity deal with Minkins.

"Did you know about this, Frist?"

"No, sir, I didn't."

I couldn't bear to look at him.

"Big surprise," Duncan said, shaking his head. "Before I lose it, let

me get this straight: You let a witness invoke on the stand, knowing

you had given him immunity, without telling the defense attorney? No,

forget about the defense attorney, without telling the judge?"

I never thought about it that way. I knew I was keeping something from

Gunderson, but I didn't owe him any information unless and until he was

a criminal defendant. I had thought about Slip at the time, but

figured I'd explain it all to him later, and he wouldn't mind under the

circumstances.

But, from a technical perspective, I had misled the court. Once a

witness has immunity, he's got no Fifth Amendment rights, so

technically Minkins should have answered all of Slip's questions. Even

if Slip didn't mind the lost opportunity, Judge Prescott wouldn't be

pleased that I used her courtroom to dupe Gunderson.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"See, that proves we've got a problem, Samantha. You're better than

that. I know you've got a tendency to go your own way, but this is

something different. I don't know if it's the new caseload, the

ex-husband, the mess that went down last month but for whatever reason,

you've lost your judgment on this one."

I couldn't hold my tongue any longer. "No, I haven't, and this is no

different from what goes on around here every day. We can do whatever

we want on our cases as long as no one's paying attention, but the

minute someone raises an eyebrow, we're second-guessed at every turn.

And if you're not part of the club, you're third- and fourth-guessed.

And now it's even worse, Duncan, because you've personalized it. Maybe

I've made some mistakes, but don't suggest there's something wrong with

my motives."

"You're the one choosing to make it personal, Samantha. You need to

take emotion out of this."

If I had a dollar for every time a pissed-off man told me I

was being emotional, I wouldn't have to deal with angry men any more.

Apparently rage is only an emotion when combined with estrogen.

"I'll call Judge Prescott and take my licks, but I don't hear anyone

suggesting what I should have done as an alternative. If Gunderson was

involved in Clarissa's death, telling him that Minkins flipped wouldn't

just jeopardize our investigation, it would've put our informant at

risk."

Duncan was no longer in the mood to argue. He didn't need to; he was

the boss. "I'll give some thought to all this, Samantha but right now

we both need to cool our heels. Until you hear further: Russ, you

handle anything having to do with Clarissa Easterbrook. And call

Prescott. It's better she hear about this from you as the MCU

supervisor."

I had expected Duncan to kick me off the case. Maybe it was even the

right thing to do, given some of the calls I'd made. But having Frist

apologize to a judge for something I'd done? I started to interrupt,

but Duncan signalled for me to keep quiet.

"No, Samantha, I'm not risking it. If you're not apologetic enough,

she's just going to pick up the phone and complain to me. If you're

lucky, she'll figure you're in enough trouble at home not to report you

to the bar."

I shook my head.

"I know what you're thinking. If you want to resign, that's up to you.

Alternatively, you could turn your attention and your talent to the

many other cases assigned to you. Your decision."

All the earlier huffing and puffing aside, it had come down to this the

ultimate trump card. Unfortunately, Duncan had seen me in action

enough these past weeks to know that, when push came to shove, I'd

rather put up with the crap I take here than fight over corporate money

with attorneys like Roger and Jim Thorpe. Maybe Grace would give me a

job sweeping up hair at Lockworks.

"I'll let you know." Then I walked out of his office, leaving him

there with Melvin Jackson's new prosecutor.

I had hoped to be out of the building before Russ made it up to the

eighth floor, but he managed to catch me while I was still getting my

things together. One more reason not to keep such a messy office.

"Don't worry about the call to Prescott," he said. "I won't make you

look like a jerk."

"I think Duncan already took care of that," I said, throwing my pumps

in my gym bag. One of them didn't quite make it in and hit Frist in

the leg.

"Easy now. For what it's worth, it would've been a lot worse if Duncan

didn't actually like you."

"If you didn't notice, I just got kicked off my first murder trial," I

said, pulling the pictures of Vinnie and my family from my cork board

and tucking them safely away in my briefcase, just in case.

"Yes, but you walked out with your job and the case on track, and with

very minimal ass-kissing. I know you'd rather hang on to it, but I

won't bungle it."

"Better not," I said, laughing, while I pulled my rain slicker on.

"You're obviously going somewhere, but before you leave, why don't you

let me in on the parts you edited out for Duncan."

I did my best to look confused.

"Cut the shit, Samantha. I can tell you're leaving something out. If

you need me to go into cross-examination mode, I'll point out that you

told Duncan there were some details you left out. As in plural. And

you clearly had more to say to me before we got pulled into Duncan's,

but I don't think it was the secret immunity deal, because you

obviously didn't realize it was going to be so explosive. So spill it:

What were you saving up for last?"

What the hell. He'd stuck by me so far.

"Earlier, I thought it was a big deal, but now that you've convinced me

I had my head up my ass" he laughed too "anyway, it's probably nothing,

but the safe deposit box that had the videotape and the Gunderson

file?"

He nodded.

"Well, the one other item in the box was a password-protected floppy

disc containing the budget information for Townsend's new hospital

wing."

"And how does that fit in with everything we just talked about

downstairs?"

"It doesn't. If you're right, it just so happens that Clarissa stored

a backup of her husband's data in the same place as the other things.

But, earlier, it made me wonder if maybe Townsend had something to do

with it. Maybe Gunderson coughs up money for the hospital in exchange

for Clarissa's help, something like that."

"And he lets her sleep with Caffrey so she can deliver his vote for

Gunderson? I don't see it."

Me neither. On the other hand, according to everyone who knew him, the

pathetic guy we'd been talking to the past week wasn't the same man

Clarissa Easterbrook had married.

We talked it through but kept going around in circles.

When I finally retrieved my gym bag from under the desk, Russ handed me

my briefcase. "So where are you going, if you don't mind me asking?"

I wasn't ready to answer that question yet. "Sounded like Duncan was

going to steer the meeting toward a holding pattern. Let the news sink

in and the personalities calm down."

"I know," he said. "I was there, remember?"

"It may have been a mistake to drag Gunderson into the murder case, but

now he knows we're looking at him on the bribery. Not the best

situation for the preservation of inculpatory evidence."

"You mean Slip's mistake," he said.

"Right."

"Well, you heard the boss: Nothing's happening until decisions get made

at the highest level," he said, like we were still shooting the

breeze.

"But maybe someone could poke around a little on the side. Just to see

what falls loose," I said.

"Maybe."

"You mind if I take the rest of the day as personal time?"

"Not if you need it," he said. "Just tell me what you find out."

9R9

Fourteen.

By the time I got to Metro Council headquarters, Terrence Caffrey's

office was already locked down. Metro was probably only a part-time

legislative gig.

I took a chance and drove past the address I had copied from the

mailing envelope Slip had found in Clarissa's safe deposit box. T. J.

Caffrey and his family lived in a brick colonial just a couple of

houses south of Reed College. A woman probably Caffrey's wife was

planting bulbs along the front walk. A mini-van and a Toyota Avalon

were parked in the driveway.

Two cars hopefully meant two drivers.

I wanted to talk to Caffrey alone, but I was willing to do it the hard

way if necessary. I parked my Jetta around the corner on Woodstock

Boulevard, confident that it blended in among the students' cars across

from the library.

I looked at my watch. I'd give it an hour before I knocked on the

front door.

Fifty-five minutes later, the front yard was empty, my stomach was in

knots, and my self-imposed boldness deadline was preparing to bend.

Chuck had been paging me, and I hadn't called him back out of fear that

he'd convince me to take the night off and abandon my stakeout. Then I

got lucky.

The gardener walked out the front door holding a toddler and a Meier &

Frank shopping bag, yelling back to someone inside. A little boy

probably four years old followed her. She strapped them both into the

minivan, threw the bags in front, and drove off.

I didn't know how many kids Caffrey had, but most folks stop at two

nowadays. Then it dawned on me he might not even be there. What woman

in her right mind takes her children on a mall run when she could leave

them at home with their dad?

There was only one way to find out. I mustered my courage, got out of

the car, marched to the front door, and panicked.

Just when I was about to bail, Caffrey opened the door. "I thought I

saw someone. Can I help? Oh, Ms. Kincaid. It's you."

He looked down the street, no doubt to make sure the missus had left.

"I'm not trying to cause you any problems."

"As I know you're aware, my lawyer quashed that subpoena."

"Well, that's just it. The subpoena was served by the defense to

require you to testify under oath at the preliminary hearing. I just

want to talk to you, but I need to know if you're still represented."

"Ronald Fish is my lawyer. I'm sure you remember the very

uncomfortable meeting we had Friday morning."

Of course I did, but that wasn't what I was getting at.

"I guess what I'm asking you, Mr. Caffrey, is whether you hired an

attorney specifically because of the subpoena, or are you telling me

that you've retained counsel to defend you in all matters involving

Clarissa Easterbrook?"

Caffrey was savvy enough to know that, as I had worded it, the latter

sounded bad. It sounded well, guilty. By now, he may even have heard

the news about witnesses taking the Fifth at the prelim. In the news,

they always make that sound like a confession.

I was taking advantage of a loophole in the rule against contacting a

represented party, but I was squarely on legal ground. And I had no

respect for a guy who was more worried about his own political future

than the murder of a woman he'd been sleeping with.

"No," he said, without hesitation. "I thought I should have a lawyer

for the courtroom proceedings, but I've got no problem speaking to you

informally. Within limits, that is. I've only got about ten

minutes."

He was giving me a warning signal. I needed to be gone before the wife

came home. Press too far, and I'd be out of here. With the rules of

the game defined, he asked me in.

"Since time is short, I'm not going to waste it pushing you to answer a

question I think we both know is pointless." As I spoke, he folded his

hands in his lap and looked down at them. At least he seemed to have

some shame about his cowardice. "I think Clarissa got herself in

trouble on one of her cases at work, something to do with Gunderson

Development. And I also think she talked to the City Attorney about

it."

"Gunderson Development had a case in front of Clarissa?"

I told him about the file, including the note about Clarissa's

conversation with DC. The skin on his hands creased as he tightened

the resistance in his fingers. I was on to something, and he was

surprised by it.

I went for broke. "Clarissa also had a videotape of the two of you

leaving the Village Motor Inn, and it was in an envelope addressed to

this house. She was blackmailing you, wasn't she?

Was it so you'd leave your wife, or was she trying to pressure your

vote for Gunderson?"

He was no longer surprised. He was downright flabbergasted. He was

looking at me like I had just invited him to a fund-raiser for Satan.

"No?" I sounded pitiful.

He shook his head, then said what his expression had already made

obvious. "Clarissa was not blackmailing me."

"But you do know something that might be related to her death." I

could state the obvious too.

When a few moments passed and he realized that I wasn't going to

interrupt the silence, he finally spoke up. "Clarissa wasn't perfect.

No one is."

"Is that why you haven't said anything? With all due respect, making

sure we get the guy who killed Clarissa is a hell of a lot more

important than preserving her reputation."

"I've been tearing myself apart. When she first disappeared, I didn't

know what to do. But then it sounded like the evidence against Jackson

was so strong, I felt I'd be dragging Clarissa through the dirt for no

reason."

The fact that he got to keep his own name clean may have factored in as

well.

"Look, the case against Jackson is strong, but the defense is arguing

that someone set him up. I started to believe it myself, but it looks

like whatever Clarissa had going with Gunderson wasn't involved in her

death. But I think it did have something to do with your upcoming vote

on the urban growth boundary."

"If it's not related to her death, why does it even matter at this

point?"

"I hope I don't need to explain to you, of all people, that if

Gunderson was blackmailing or bribing a public official, he should be

punished." The argument seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"And if we don't find out for ourselves what was going on between

Clarissa and Gunderson, then the defense attorney can use innuendo and

speculation to confuse the jury at trial. I don't want Jackson to

walk."

The possibility of Clarissa's murderer going unpunished seemed to be

more persuasive. "It doesn't have anything to do with my vote." He

was clearly insulted at what he perceived as the insinuation. "Clarissa

never talked to me about that. Just like I never tried to tell her

what to do on her cases. But I think she did have a connection to this

Gunderson you're talking about."

He stopped, but I did nothing to disturb the silence.

"A few weeks ago, she told me she rigged an appeal for someone. I

don't know the details of the case, but I know she ruled in his favor

when she shouldn't have. I was shocked when she told me. It was

totally unlike her."

"Did she tell you why she did it?"

"No. I think she only told me because she was worried about something

else, some newer problem. She said the arrangement was supposed to be

the one case, but it hadn't ended at that. They wanted something else,

but she wouldn't say what. I begged her to talk to me about what was

going on, but she wouldn't. She said she was going to handle it

herself."

"How was she handling it?"

"I'm not sure. I know she went to Dennis Coakley so she could clear

herself from any other cases where she might be pressured, but I don't

know if she told him the full extent of what she did. The next thing I

knew, she said she had figured out a way to get out of the position she

was in, but that there was a risk that people would learn about well,

about our friendship."

"Did she talk to anyone else about it?" I asked.

"Not that I know of. I doubt it. She was incredibly embarrassed.

Ashamed. She was trying to find a way to get herself back on the right

track without losing everything. God, in retrospect, it explained why

she'd been so damn .. . good those last couple of weeks. You know she

actually felt sorry for that monster?"

"For Gunderson?"

"No, for Melvin Jackson. Well, she never told me his name, but she did

tell me his whole sad story. She called HAP to see if zero tolerance

really meant zero tolerance. She called SCF to see if he was really

going to lose his kids. Hell, she was even talking about finding the

man a job to make sure he'd be on his feet when he was evicted. At the

time, I asked her why she didn't just rule in his favor. But that was

before I knew she'd already gone down that road before. I guess she

wasn't willing to bend the law again, even for what she thought was a

good cause."

Despite what Clarissa had done for Gunderson, I respected her even more

now that I knew what she'd gone through. She died doing everything she

could to turn her life around, looking for redemption by helping a man

like Melvin Jackson, a man who showed his gratitude by bashing her head

in with a hammer.

"How long had you been .. . close?" I asked.

"Almost seven months." It was clearly painful for him to talk about

this, and I had allowed the conversation to get off track. Just then,

my pager vibrated. Chuck again. I turned the thing off.

"When she said people might find out about your friendship, I imagine

that must have alarmed you a great deal."

"Perhaps not as much as you might think. I had very real feelings for

Clarissa. Think what you want about me, but she was truly a decent

person. She was under so much stress the guilt over what we were

doing, combined with whatever she was involved in I could tell it was

tearing her apart. Obviously,

I pressed her to tell me what our relationship had to do with her

problem, but she refused. In the end, I told her to do what she had to

do."

"When was that?"

"The Friday night before she disappeared."

I tried to think of any other information I needed from him while he

was being so cooperative. I had a newfound respect for cops. This

off-the-cuff stuff was much harder than the questioning I was used to

with a legal pad and the artificial setting of a courthouse on my

side.

"I know I gave you my assurances that I wasn't going to push on certain

topics, but there's one other thing I need to know." I explained the

ME's report of nonoxynol-9 in Clarissa's vaginal canal. "It's very

intrusive, I know, but is it possible that was due to her relationship

with you?"

He bumbled around awkwardly trying to find the right words, but he

finally got the point across. He and Clarissa had used a condom on

Friday night.

"We met well, let's be frank we met at the hotel you mentioned on the

videotape you found. Her husband was at the hospital late." I noticed

he didn't use Townsend's name. "She was in good spirits, although a

little nervous. She said that on Saturday she was finally going to

clear herself from this problem she was having. I braced myself all

weekend for some news, wondering if I needed to sit down with my own

family. But then I woke up Monday to the news she was missing. I

still can't believe I'll never see her again."

"I can't believe you didn't come forward." The words must have leaped

from the most spiteful part of my brain, straight out the mouth, no

filter. I regretted saying them aloud immediately, but I didn't want

to feel sorry for this man. Whatever he said, he had betrayed not only

his wife and children but also Clarissa.

Instead of throwing me out of his house, Caffrey made me feel even

worse. "I suppose it's understandable that you judge me. Certainly

it's nothing I haven't done myself."

I got into the car trying to find some satisfaction in the facts I'd

confirmed: Clarissa was on the take, the nonoxynol was Caffrey s, and

it looked like Clarissa had gotten Melvin the job with Gunderson.

But then I realized that Caffrey had raised as many questions as he'd

answered. If the spermicide was from Friday, why was Clarissa's

sweater off when she was attacked? And if Clarissa was tired of being

tangled up with Gunderson, what was she planning to do on Saturday to

sever the ties?

Clarissa had gotten home from shopping around seven, but we'd been so

focused on Clarissa's whereabouts on Sunday, we'd never pressed

Townsend about whether anything had happened Saturday night. And I

couldn't talk to Townsend without going through Roger.

But I wasn't totally out of the game yet. Roger may have told me to

stay away from his client, but there might still be a way to find out

what he had to say.

Raymond Johnson picked up on the first ring.

"Hey, Raymond. Samantha Kincaid."

"Your ears burning?"

"No. What's up?"

"You've been quite the topic of conversation around here today. The

lieutenant's at City Hall now for the big powwow. I assume you know

about it."

Johnson must not have heard I was off the case yet. There was no point

telling him now, since it would only put him in a difficult situation.

"I think everything's under control."

"News to me," he said. "Last I heard, you were floating conspiracy

theories about Jackson being innocent."

"No, the defense did that. I helped convince Prescott to hold Jackson

over for trial. We need to make sure we can counter everything the

defense is saying, that's all. Duncan will work it out with your

lieutenant."

"I hope that's it, Kincaid, because we believe in this case, you

know."

"I realize that. We're on the same side here, Johnson. It's just a

matter of cleaning up some details."

"Just making sure. Now, you were actually calling me about something,

weren't you?"

"Yeah. The defense attorney was making noise this morning about

Townsend, but while everything's up in the air, his lawyer's not

letting us talk to him. Do you have a copy of his polygraph

examination?"

"Sure. We always get those if they're willing to turn it over. The

guy he used is top-notch. Retired FBI."

"I want to see what he asked. See if there's anything there about what

Clarissa did on Saturday, maybe in the background questions."

"Not that I remember," he said. "She went to Nordstrom with her

girlfriend."

"I know that. I just want to see the questions and answers, OK? I'll

be there in about fifteen minutes."

The polygrapher had included eleven items: eight dummies and the three

money questions. Just as Roger said, the three critical questions put

Townsend in the clear: Were you at OHSU on Sunday? Did you kill your

wife, Clarissa Easterbrook? Did you hire, solicit, order, or ask

anyone to kill your wife, Clarissa Easterbrook? Yes, no, no. Truthful

on all three.

For current purposes, I was interested in the dummies, hoping to find

something about whether Clarissa had left the house Saturday night or

whether they'd had visitors. Unfortunately, the questions weren't

helpful: name, birthday, address, the basics. Nothing detailed a

timeline.

If Townsend knew what Clarissa was up to with Gunderson, I wasn't

finding that out with this polygraph. If he weren't represented, I

could probably shake him up with the little I already knew, but I

wasn't anywhere close to having the goods it would take to rattle

Roger. I suppose that's why people hire lawyers.

I was going to have to live with the fact that I might not be able to

wrap this one up by myself. There were other people who could handle

the wrapping just fine. Russ Frist was at least as capable as I was,

and he'd make sure that my stunts with Szlipkowsky wouldn't ruin the

Jackson prosecution. I didn't have complete confidence that the bureau

would make the Gunderson investigation a priority, but Russ knew some

questions needed to be answered before the Jackson trial. Once those

answers started rolling in, I had to believe that someone would pay

attention Jessica Walters, or maybe the Attorney General's Office.

Maybe Duncan would even let me get involved again.

But for now, I thought as I pulled out of the Justice Center parking

lot, I was tired of beating my head against the wall. I had lingering

issues in my personal life to deal with, too.

Tension with my father was foreign to me, and I still hadn't figured

out a way to move past it. But he had extended the olive branch by

calling me this morning, and I owed it to him to return the gesture.

I don't know why I did it, but, perhaps for the first time in my life,

I knocked on the front door of the house I grew up in.

"Hey, look at you. What a surprise. Come on in. Did you lose your

key?"

"I couldn't find ... I just wasn't sure .. . well, you know."

He gave me a sad smile, and my eyes welled up looking into his. Then

he got teary-eyed too, and that did it. I burst out crying in front of

my father for the first time since I had walked in on Roger and then

driven straight to my parents' house.

Just as he had then, he sat me on his couch, put his arm around me, and

rocked me, telling me everything would be OK before I'd even told him

what was wrong. When I finally quieted down to the point of quiet

sniffles and deep breaths, he asked me what happened and why I wasn't

at work.

"Nothing," I said, wiping my cheeks with my sleeves, "it'll be fine. I

just want to be here right now if that's OK."

"It's more than OK. It's a treat. You hungry? I could make

something."

I still hadn't eaten lunch, but it wasn't even four o'clock. If I ate

dinner now, I'd be hungry again before bed, then I'd be up all night.

"That's all right," I said. "Can you stomach a couple hands of

cribbage?"

My mother had been the cribbage player, passing the habit down to me so

she'd have someone to play with other than my father, who never hid the

fact that he played only to make her happy.

After I soundly trounced him, he insisted that I begin to shuffle more

thoroughly. I was on my sixth waterfall when I finally brought up my

reason for being out of the office in the middle of the afternoon. I

didn't bog him down in the legal details, but I gave him the gist: I'd

persuaded the defense attorney to raise a stink about a bribe the

victim was taking, and now I'd been tossed off the case.

To his surprise, though, when he started in on Duncan, I

actually defended the decision. "I don't know, Dad. It might've been

for the best. For a first homicide case, it was probably a little too

much for me to handle on my own."

"You were doing the right thing, but it happened to lead you to the

doorstep of some people who don't want a hard-working prosecutor

looking into their business deals. Who knows? Duncan may have pulled

you off because he's in the pocket of this guy what did you say his

name was?"

"Gunderson, Dad. And Duncan can be political, but he's not on the

take."

"You'd be surprised, Samantha. The people who get into a position like

Duncan's most of them would sell their own mothers to get an advantage.

This is exactly what I was worried about. You challenged the wrong

people, and now they won't be happy until your credibility is run into

the ground."

Just then, my pager buzzed. I didn't recognize the number, so I

ignored it.

"No one's trying to ruin my credibility, Dad," I said, shutting off the

signal. "I got removed from one case, and it was because I blew it. I

got so wrapped up in the Gunderson angle that I forgot who the bad guy

was. I used Jackson's defense attorney to prove my hunch was right,

but in the process I handed him a defense theory that might get his

client acquitted."

Dad nodded to appease me, but I could see that he disagreed.

"I can tell something's on your mind, Dad. Go ahead and say it."

He chose his words carefully. "You said you forgot who the bad guy

was, but I don't see what's good about this Gunderson fellow. Even if

you're right and he didn't set up Jackson, that doesn't make him a good

guy."

Now it was my turn to sigh with exasperation. "All I meant was that he

wasn't as bad as Jackson." He looked at me skeptically.

"Oh, come on, Dad. Gunderson slipped a low-level city judge a few

bucks so he could develop some old building. Jackson killed a woman.

There's no comparison."

"But that's how these people get away with things, Sammy. There's

always someone out there who's scarier, who's more threatening. And

every time someone whose heart is in the right place someone like you

finally starts to go after the white-collar types, out comes a bogeyman

to prey on the public's darkest fears. As long as the world's afraid

to walk in their neighborhood at night because of Melvin Jackson, guys

like Gunderson can always say, "Hey, I'm not so bad. The police should

be going after that guy over there.""

"But Jackson is worse. If my probing around Gunderson means Jackson

gets off, it wasn't worth it."

Dad shook his head.

"What?"

"I just don't buy into the assumption that there has to be a trade-off.

That sounds like something Griffith came up with so he could sweep his

pal Gunderson out of the mess you were about to create for him."

"It doesn't have to be a trade-off, Dad. He said he'd make sure the

bureau looked into it."

"But who in the bureau's going to do that? I mean, you're always

talking about how good Chuck is at his job. Will he be the one to work

on it?"

"No," I conceded, "because it's not under MCT's jurisdiction."

"Right," he said. "It'll go to some overburdened detective who's got

his hands full of burgs and car thefts and whatever other property

crimes have been thrown at him. You won't stand a chance of making a

case stick against Gunderson."

This conversation was echoing some of the broader debates we'd had

about the allocation of law enforcement resources.

I knew how frustrated Dad was, for example, that some of the

highest-profile white-collar perps remained unindicted years after

their scandals erupted. And I knew he saw a link between corporate

practices that thwart the American dreams of everyday workers and the

desperation that causes people to rob, sell drugs, or even kill, like

Melvin Jackson. To Dad, economic crimes and street crimes were

inseparable, each feeding the continuation of the other.

"I don't get it, Dad. You originally begged me to stay away from this

case because I might wind up stepping on the toes of someone with

influence. But now it sounds like you want me to go after

Gunderson."

"The only reason I was worried was that I knew something like this

would happen if you started scrutinizing the wrong people. And, sure

enough "

"You told me so?" I said, with a small laugh.

"No," he said, also laughing. "I was worried that if something like

that were to happen, your office wouldn't back you. That's what I

meant when I said 'sure enough." So, yeah, someone needs to go after

Gunderson, but it should be someone who's not going to get hung out to

dry."

My pager buzzed again, the same number as before. Someone was being

terribly pushy, considering I didn't know them well enough to recognize

their phone number.

"Duncan said he'll get the bureau to look into it," I said. For an

attorney who makes her living persuading people I'm right, it was lame.

Even I didn't sound convinced, and, from Dad's expression, he clearly

wasn't either. "OK, so maybe it's going to fall through the cracks," I

conceded. "At this point, I can live with that."

For only the second time in my life, my father looked disappointed in

me. The expression had been there for just a moment,

but it was enough to bring me back to that day in second grade, when

the principal called him after I teased the poorest girl in school for

wearing the same jeans three days in a row.

"What, Dad? What do you expect me to do?"

"I want you to take care of yourself, Samantha. But, in the process,

don't tell yourself something you know isn't true."

"So you want me to be self-interested but mad about it? That's totally

messed up," I said, laughing.

He smiled, but his eyes were still serious. "You've always had a way

of putting things."

And he had always had a way of forcing me to acknowledge the truth. I

knew in my heart that Gunderson wouldn't be indicted, and I had tried

to comfort myself that an ending with Gunderson walking away would

still be just. It wouldn't.

I rose from the couch, kissing the top of his head.

"You're heading out?" he asked, surprised. "I thought you'd stay for

dinner."

"Not tonight. But don't worry. I'm good."

Before I could even take out my cell phone to call the impatient pager,

the device hummed again, this time to the number we used to dial into

the office voice mail system, followed by my extension. Apparently

someone wanted me to check my messages.

It was Russ Frist. "Don't ignore your pager again, Kincaid. Next time

it might be a murder call-out. I know you're officially off the case,

but I wanted to let you know that Duncan called me. He met with the

bigwigs all afternoon and laid out where we stand. The agreement is to

ask the defense to stipulate to a continuance while the Attorney

General's corporate affairs department investigates Gunderson. I'll

let you know if I hear anything else."

He left his home number in case I needed anything. "Oh .. . and I'm

assuming you're coming back to work tomorrow. I noticed you took the

pictures from your cork board, but maybe you're out buying new frames

for them with your time off."

I would indeed be in tomorrow, but I wasn't going to wait for the AG's

office to do something. I may have gotten kicked off of the Jackson

case, but I wasn't going to stand by while Duncan and the bureau found

a way to ignore whatever Gunderson and Clarissa had been up to. I hit

the 9 button on my keypad to save Russ's message, just in case I needed

him later.

Fifteen.

If I was going to get any answers, I needed more information so I could

ask the right questions. I drove straight to City Hall.

I had just missed closing time, and security wouldn't let me in. But I

got lucky. Clarence Loutrell actually answered when I called his

office.

"Judge Loutrell, it's Samantha Kincaid from the District Attorney's

Office."

"Oh, sure, from the other day. Yes, well, would you mind calling

tomorrow morning? My secretary left for the day. I picked up because

I was expecting my wife."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid it can't wait."

"Unless it's a real emergency, I'm afraid it's going to have to. I was

just about to head home for the evening. Promised to help at the house

with some things. You know."

Actually, I didn't, since I did just about everything myself. But

Loutrell didn't need to hear about my domestic issues.

"That's fine. I'll call tomorrow," I said. Too bad for him, he didn't

know I'd already checked with security. After five, all employees had

to exit through the Fourth Avenue doors. I planted myself on a bench

across the street in the park, hoping he meant it when he said he was

leaving soon.

As it turned out, he must have walked out right after we hung up. I

jaywalked across traffic to catch up with him at the corner, pulling

out a copy of Clarissa's memo from my briefcase while I walked. He

didn't hide his dismay when he saw me.

"I'm sorry, but I really do need to speak to you. I'll talk as you

walk to the car if I have to." I handed him the copy of the memo.

"Apparently Clarissa had a discussion with Dennis Coakley about an

appeal filed by Gunderson Development. She cared about it enough to

lock a copy of the file and this memo in a safe deposit box. I need to

know why she took such a special interest in the case, and I thought,

as chief administrative judge, you might have some idea."

I left out the fact that Nelly overheard him with Coakley arguing over

whether to tell me about it. Nelly said that Loutrell sounded like he

wanted to talk to me, so I hoped I could get what I needed without

diming Nelly up.

"I'm sorry, but if Clarissa had such a discussion with Dennis and I'm

neither confirming nor denying that she did the conversation would

clearly be privileged." He was walking so quickly I had to alter my

stride to a slow jog.

"And, I'm sorry, Judge Loutrell, but now Clarissa's dead."

"Attorney/client privilege survives the client's death." I got the

impression he was parroting back the words he'd heard from Coakley.

"It does, but unlike the City Attorney, you never represented Clarissa

Easterbrook. You're just her coworker. Even if her conversations with

Coakley were privileged, what you know is fair game if she came to you

about her concerns first."

He knew I was right about the law. On the other hand, he was still

thinking through what Coakley might say in response. One more push

would do it.

"If it makes a difference, I already know, but I need confirmation."

That one always worked on my junkie drug informants, and it was enough

at least to get him to stop walking. "Clarissa was biased on the

appeal. She ruled for Gunderson as a favor of some kind. That's why

she recused herself from a case filed by Grice Constuction. Grice was

complaining about unfairness in the urban rehabilitation project, and

Clarissa knew from personal experience that at least one company was

getting preferential treatment."

Still nothing. If the push didn't do it, maybe a shove would.

"I can have a grand jury subpoena at your house this evening, but I

really don't think that's going to be necessary."

I pictured him imagining the scene at home tonight if I followed

through on my threat and his wife were to learn that it was

preventable.

"All you need is confirmation?"

"Yep." I couldn't believe I was actually going to get it.

And, sure enough, I didn't. "Well, too bad," he said. "I can't

confirm something so completely ridiculous. She may have talked to

Coakley about the case, but you are entirely off base. My God, what

you're suggesting is offensive."

See how that works? In the course of denying the part of my theory

that surprised him, he had confirmed the rest of it.

"But she did talk to Coakley about the Gunderson case. Why?"

He looked at his watch, looked at me, then rolled his eyes. "Coakley

can be nuts about privilege for reasons I don't always understand. But

you're right. She came to me first. She said she had something she

needed to talk to me about. She'd ruled on a case a few months earlier

without realizing that the claimant had donated money to her husband's

hospital wing. If she'd known about the potential conflict at the time

the case was assigned to her, she should've recused herself. I told

her to talk to Coakley to see if he wanted to reopen the case. I won't

tell you that part of the conversation, since he thinks it's

privileged, but, let's just say that the Gunderson case wasn't

reopened, and Clarissa recused herself from the Grice matter because of

the potential appearance of a conflict."

"I get the impression that you don't share Coakley's concerns about

privilege."

Loutrell shrugged. "Dennis is Dennis. He sees potential city

liability around every corner, but he's well-intentioned. I actually

considered calling you last week about this. The media were

insinuating that something was going on between Clarissa and T. J.

Caffrey which I know nothing about, by the way and for some reason the

conversation with Clarissa stuck in my mind."

"I'm missing the connection," I said.

He shook his head quickly as if to shake the suggestion away. "Not a

connection, really. It was just that Clarissa seemed so serious about

the matter when she raised it with us, particularly when she was

talking about how important the hospital wing was to her husband. She

seemed unreasonably upset by the situation, considering how innocuous

it was. I think my imagination got the best of me, and I started

wondering if maybe the entire situation had something to do with the

state of her marriage. By the time Coakley spelled out his bogus

privilege concerns, it just didn't seem like anything worth bothering

you about."

People don't realize that a criminal case is rarely built on a single

piece of evidence, relying instead on tens and hundreds of clues in

context, each by itself insignificant. Too many helpful witnesses show

up late in the game, because they didn't want to bother the police with

insignificant information. In the meantime, the wackos flood the phone

lines with visions and premonitions.