don’t want to jinx your good deed for the day, but you’re gonna lose this case. We’ve got that murderous zealot dead to rights. And let me tell you, when the sentence comes down, it’s not going to be pretty. Judge Perkins has a reputation.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Then you know he won’t let Zakin off with a life sentence. That boy’s gonna fry.”
Ben squirmed in his seat. “Appreciate your sensitivity.”
“With all due respect, Ben, the smartest thing you could do is drive your rental car back to the airport and get the hell out of here. This town is on edge. Everyone’s afraid Green Rage will succeed in closing down the logging and they’ll all be out of jobs. Plus we’ve got a drug problem like we’ve never had before. One of those new designer drugs—about ten times more potent than crack—is all over town. We call it Venom because it’s deadly poison to the people who use it. Screws up their head. Tears them apart.”
“And this just happened?”
“In the last few months. It came out of nowhere, and the next thing we knew it was everywhere.”
“I’m sure that’s—”
“The point is, Magic Valley is a tinderbox, Kincaid, and you don’t want to be caught in the middle when the explosion comes.”
Ben pushed himself out of his chair. “I will expect you to send me any exculpatory evidence. And all your exhibits. And your witness list.”
She sighed. “You’ll get it. You’ll get it.” She slid out from behind her desk and sashayed across the office till she was standing even closer to him than before. “And then maybe, when this unpleasant mess is all over, you and I can relate to one another on a more … personal basis.”
Ben coughed. “What do you—”
She leaned closer. “Like I said, I’ve done some checking on you, Mr. Kincaid. You’re an impressive individual.” She touched his shirt, only for an instant, but more than long enough to send an electric charge coursing through Ben’s body. “I’d like to get to know you better.”
Ben took a step backward, bumping into the chair. “I’d better go,” he said, trying hard to modulate his voice. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
As he passed through the door, he caught a last fleeting glimpse of her, a look of sly amusement on her face, wiggling her fingers. “Stay in touch.”
Chapter 11
C OMPARED TO THE EXPANSIVE layout of the district attorney’s spread, the public defenders office was a hole-in-the-wall in a separate building half a mile from the courthouse. Ben supposed he should be pleased that a town this small even had a public defender’s office, but he couldn’t help wondering how an operation this size could possibly do battle against an operation like the one he had just visited.
The outer office was just as small as he had imagined it would be—four desks crowded together in a room probably intended for one. Everyone was so busy they didn’t even look up when he entered.
Ben approached the desk closest to the door, where a woman in her mid-thirties was attempting to organize pleadings in an oversized black notebook. He cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a woman named Christina McCall.”
The woman gazed blankly at him.
“She’s about so high”—he held his hand maybe four feet off the ground—“with lots of curly red hair—”
“Ah. She’s in the room in the back. The sucker’s office.”
“The, uh—excuse me?”
Her eyes had already returned to the pleadings. “This is a small office, as you may have noticed. Us four girls are all administrative. We don’t actually have any lawyers on staff. Can’t afford them. Judge Pickens appoints lawyers as necessary. We call ’em the suckers.”
Ben’s chin raised. “And so the room in the back—”
“They usually need a place to review files and prep and whatnot. ’Fraid that’s the best we have to offer.”
“They work in this cubbyhole all through the trial?”
“Trial? I suppose they would.” She
“I’ve heard.”
“Then you know he won’t let Zakin off with a life sentence. That boy’s gonna fry.”
Ben squirmed in his seat. “Appreciate your sensitivity.”
“With all due respect, Ben, the smartest thing you could do is drive your rental car back to the airport and get the hell out of here. This town is on edge. Everyone’s afraid Green Rage will succeed in closing down the logging and they’ll all be out of jobs. Plus we’ve got a drug problem like we’ve never had before. One of those new designer drugs—about ten times more potent than crack—is all over town. We call it Venom because it’s deadly poison to the people who use it. Screws up their head. Tears them apart.”
“And this just happened?”
“In the last few months. It came out of nowhere, and the next thing we knew it was everywhere.”
“I’m sure that’s—”
“The point is, Magic Valley is a tinderbox, Kincaid, and you don’t want to be caught in the middle when the explosion comes.”
Ben pushed himself out of his chair. “I will expect you to send me any exculpatory evidence. And all your exhibits. And your witness list.”
She sighed. “You’ll get it. You’ll get it.” She slid out from behind her desk and sashayed across the office till she was standing even closer to him than before. “And then maybe, when this unpleasant mess is all over, you and I can relate to one another on a more … personal basis.”
Ben coughed. “What do you—”
She leaned closer. “Like I said, I’ve done some checking on you, Mr. Kincaid. You’re an impressive individual.” She touched his shirt, only for an instant, but more than long enough to send an electric charge coursing through Ben’s body. “I’d like to get to know you better.”
Ben took a step backward, bumping into the chair. “I’d better go,” he said, trying hard to modulate his voice. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
As he passed through the door, he caught a last fleeting glimpse of her, a look of sly amusement on her face, wiggling her fingers. “Stay in touch.”
Chapter 11
C OMPARED TO THE EXPANSIVE layout of the district attorney’s spread, the public defenders office was a hole-in-the-wall in a separate building half a mile from the courthouse. Ben supposed he should be pleased that a town this small even had a public defender’s office, but he couldn’t help wondering how an operation this size could possibly do battle against an operation like the one he had just visited.
The outer office was just as small as he had imagined it would be—four desks crowded together in a room probably intended for one. Everyone was so busy they didn’t even look up when he entered.
Ben approached the desk closest to the door, where a woman in her mid-thirties was attempting to organize pleadings in an oversized black notebook. He cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a woman named Christina McCall.”
The woman gazed blankly at him.
“She’s about so high”—he held his hand maybe four feet off the ground—“with lots of curly red hair—”
“Ah. She’s in the room in the back. The sucker’s office.”
“The, uh—excuse me?”
Her eyes had already returned to the pleadings. “This is a small office, as you may have noticed. Us four girls are all administrative. We don’t actually have any lawyers on staff. Can’t afford them. Judge Pickens appoints lawyers as necessary. We call ’em the suckers.”
Ben’s chin raised. “And so the room in the back—”
“They usually need a place to review files and prep and whatnot. ’Fraid that’s the best we have to offer.”
“They work in this cubbyhole all through the trial?”
“Trial? I suppose they would.” She
Similar Books
