Executive Privilege by Phillip Margolin

night Laurie Erickson was kidnapped and murdered I was with somebody.”
    “So you’ve said, but I need a name and a way to contact the witness.”
    “Her name is Peggy Farmer.”
    Brad wrote the name down on his legal pad. “Do you know how I can find her?” he asked.
    “Yes, I do. She’s in the Deschutes National Forest about five miles from the parking lot of the Reynolds Campgound. On the evening the police insist I was kidnapping Laurie Erickson I was disemboweling Peggy.”
    Brad’s stomach shifted and he felt like he might throw up. Little noticed his discomfort and smiled.
    “She was camping with her boyfriend. They were deep in the woods; a very athletic couple. I followed them, eliminated her friend while he was sleeping, and played with Peggy until I grew bored. The confusion arises because no one has discovered the bodies. They’re listed as missing. There have been search parties, but I did a very good job of hiding them.”
    “Mr. Little,” Brad said, trying very hard to keep his voice steady, “if Miss Farmer is dead how can she help your alibi defense?”
    “You know about my pinkie collection?”
    Brad nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Bile was already rising in his throat.
    “If a forensic expert examined my collection he would find a pinkie belonging to Peggy, but he wouldn’t find one belonging to Laurie Erickson.”
    An image of a Mason jar filled with pinkies flashed in Brad’s mind and he felt faint.
    “Peggy’s roommate will tell you that Peggy and her boyfriend went camping Wednesday afternoon and were supposed to come home Friday night because they had a wedding to attend on Saturday. I worked Thursday and Friday. I called in sick on Wednesday. If I killed Peggy it would have to have been on Wednesday, and Laurie was snatched on Wednesday evening. I couldn’t have been in two places at once.”
    This was way more than Brad had bargained for. He was supposed to be reviewing contracts and checking property records, not sitting inches away from a lunatic with a pinkie collection.
    “I see this is a bit much for you,” Little said kindly. “You can ask the guard for some water.”
    “I’ll be fine,” Brad insisted though he felt anything but.
    “You don’t have to be brave, Mr. Miller. We all fall apart if our situation proves to be too much for us. Believe me, I’ve seen it firsthand.” Little got a wistful expression on his face. “Some of them cry and beg right away. Others curse and threaten. They try to be strong. But even the strong beg when the pain is too much.”
    “Okay,” Brad said as he tried to maintain his dignity. “I’m going to leave now.”
    “I’m sorry if I upset you. But I must remind you that you are my lawyer and you have a duty to give me a vigorous defense. Anything less and you could be disbarred.”
    “Look, Mr. Little, this is the firm’s case. I’m just working on it. I’ll file a brief for you on the issues raised at your hearing but that’s it.”
    “I don’t think so. I’ve given you a way to prove my innocence. If you don’t pursue it I’ll file a bar complaint then I’ll sue you and then I’ll go to the press. I’ll tell them you failed to help me because you were too frightened. How do you think that publicity will help your career?”
    “You wouldn’t get anywhere with a suit or a complaint.”
    “Maybe, but you’ll be front-page news because I am. No one wants a coward for a lawyer. Think over what I just told you then get back in touch and I’ll tell you how to find my lovely souvenirs.”
     
    Brad walked back to his car in a daze and had trouble concentrating on the road during the return trip to Portland. The visions in his head shifted back and forth between Clarence Little’s collection of severed pinkies and Peggy Farmer’s disemboweled corpse. His emotions swung between anger at Little for putting him in a bind, an irrational fear that the convict would escape from death row and torture him to death,