The Last Alibi

55

Jason

Monday, July 8

I empty the martini glass and place it carefully down on the table. It was a bad idea. My body can’t handle the alcohol, and given the other things I’m putting in my body these days, I’m taking a risk even with one drink. For a moment, I think the vodka’s going to come right back up. Across from me, Joel Lightner is watching me very carefully.

“She didn’t kick you out,” he says to me.

“She did. She said the words.”

“She said the words, but she didn’t mean them.”

“You’re a freakin’ mind reader now. A man of many talents.” I gesture to the waitress for another round out of instinct, knowing that I won’t touch a drop of it.

“Shauna wouldn’t kick you out of the firm because you refused to help her with a trial,” Lightner informs me.

The waitress is quick with the next martini. “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s probably for the best. It’s probably time, y’know?”

“Time for what? Time for you to run your own law firm? You have any idea how much of a pain in the ass it is to administer something like that? Until I hired an office manager, I was miserable having my own agency. The payroll and the books and the human resources bullshit. I know you, Kolarich. You don’t want to run your own office. You want to try cases and battle it out in court. You want someone else handling the rent payments and balancing the books.”

That isn’t what I meant. I have no intention of having my own law firm, either.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I say, my thoughts clouding up. “Let’s talk about how you can’t figure out who ‘James Drinker’ is and why the hell he’s decided to single me out for the biggest mind-fucking of all time.”

“Hey, I’m not Superman. We ran the list of violent ex-cons released in the last year, I even went back eighteen months, and you didn’t prosecute any of them. Maybe if you could give me a complete list of everyone you prosecuted, but you can’t. The juvie stuff is sealed up, and there’s all sorts of misdemeanor casework that you can’t remember and I don’t have records of. He could be anybody.”

He’s right, of course. None of this is his fault. I’m just lashing out.

“Maybe this idea with Linda will work out,” says Lightner.

“I still don’t like the idea.” I was never keen on using Linda as bait. But Joel talked me into it. He said it was Linda’s idea. Linda Sparks is a former Marion Park cop, a martial arts expert with a license to carry a firearm, a firearm she knows how to use very well. And she has two of Lightner’s other investigators tailing her night and day. If “James” goes after her, he won’t get very far.

But that assumes a lot of things I don’t know. It assumes that “James” even followed me to that Greek restaurant in the first place, and that he would take the bait if he was there. But we sure made Linda an inviting target. She fits the profile, and I flirted with her openly, even giving her my business card, which would be irresistible to “James.” A dead woman with my business card in her purse? If “James” was there, he’s going to tail Linda, check out where she lives, scout out the whole thing. If he keeps to form, it will be a week or so before he makes a move. Could be longer than a week, could be shorter.

“Hey,” I say. “What about this signature of his? Remember you said the cops told you he left a signature at every crime?”

Joel takes a sip of his drink and smacks his lips. “I remember.”

“You can’t get me any more information on that? If I knew what that was-”

“Jason, no cop investigating a serial killer is going to tell someone like me what the offender’s signature is. That’s their one chit. They hold it back so they can differentiate between bogus confessions and real ones, helpful information and unhelpful, and so they can separate copycat crimes from the real offender. Nobody’s going to tell me that information, and I wouldn’t ask them to.”

“Well, can you guess?”

“Can I guess? Sure, I can guess. Um, he leaves a rose at each scene. No, he writes a love letter to each of them and stuffs it in their mouths. Maybe he removes their front teeth. Wait, wait, here we go, he jerks off into a cup-”

“Okay, I get it. So why am I talking to you?”

“Why are you talking to me? Maybe because I’m the only person on the face of this earth who can tolerate you. Besides Shauna, whom you’ve managed somehow to alienate. Don’t be an asshole. Call her up.”

I look at my martini, certain now that I won’t touch the second drink. I miss vodka, though. I miss the buzz and the late nights, the give-and-take with Lightner and with Shauna, when we could get her out with us. “Alexa tolerates me,” I say.

“Yeah, great. She must fuck you really well, kid, because you’ve disappeared since you met her. I mean, this has been a true honor tonight, just to have the pleasure of your company. And where is the lovely Alexa tonight? She let you off your leash. What’s the occasion?”

I don’t know why I put up with Lightner. “She grabbed a few things from my office. I didn’t feel like going back there and having it out with Shauna.”

“Well, she sure made friends with Linda,” he says. “What was that? I thought she was going to slap Linda across the face. She looked like she wanted to.”

I shrug. “She gets jealous. Wouldn’t you, if you had a catch like me?”

Lightner gets a good laugh out of that. “A catch like you? I believe this is not the first time I’ve mentioned that you look like shit, Kolarich. I mean, absolute dog shit. Comb your hair once in a while, guy. Eat a meal. Sleep a few hours. You know who you look like?”

“Brad Pitt?”

Joel’s phone, resting on the table next to a bowl of nuts, starts to vibrate. On the face of the phone, it says Shauna Tasker.

“Don’t answer it,” I say.

He answers it. “Hey, girl. I’ve got your law partner here and he’s brooding. No, that’s okay, go ahead. You sure? It’s no. . Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow. Hey, listen-you guys are going to work this out. Yes, you are. Yes, you are. Okay, tomorrow.” He clicks off the phone. “You’re an asshole,” he says to me. “Shauna’s a peach. Granted, she won’t sleep with me, which is a major character flaw, but otherwise she’s the best. Don’t be an idiot. Kiss and make up with her.”

“I’ll get right on that.” I fish out some peanuts, but think better of it.

“And just for my own curiosity,” says Joel, “why did you bail on that trial with her? That’s a heater of a case she’s handling. I thought you lived for that shit. The high stakes and conflict. That’s right up your alley. Why didn’t you work on it?”

I throw some money on the table and scoot out of the booth. “This has been a real treat,” I say. “Let me know when you figure out who ‘James Drinker’ is or if you get any leads on the surveillance. And definitely send me a bill for your services.”

“What are you doing? Don’t leave. Let’s get a steak.”

“I have to get home to paint my toenails,” I say.

“Jason.” Joel steps out of the booth, blocking my exit. “Sit down.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No bullshit,” he says, raising a hand. “What the hell’s wrong with you? This whole new. . I mean, everything. You look like you haven’t slept in days and you’re, what, thirty pounds lighter. Your clothes are hanging on you. You don’t cut your hair or shave. You part ways with the best friend you’ve ever had and you act like you don’t even want to be a lawyer anymore. Seriously, man. What’s-Are you-are you sick?” He leans in for the last question, lowering his voice. “Is there something I can-”

“I’m sick,” I say. “I’m sick of helping criminals stay out of prison so they can hurt more people. I’m sick of people expecting everything from me and then being disappointed when I don’t fit into their vision of how I’m supposed to act. Just-just leave me alone, okay? I appreciate the concern, but I’m totally fine and I don’t need anything. Got it?”

Joel looks away, that whole disappointed thing I’ve managed to bring out in so many people, his tongue rolling around his cheek. “Got it,” he says simply.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, cowboy. You’re totally fine and you don’t need anybody. We’re clear.”

“Good.” I nod at him and walk out of the restaurant.