charges?"
But it's Wolfe who's done his research, who knows Jack's true weakness. His matter-of-fact voice reaches Jack's ears above the din of the others.
"Can you tell us, Mr. Hilliard, is it true the victim could be Jennifer Dodson's twin?"
Earl, who waits in the elevator, hears the last question. Once the doors close, sealing them in silence, he drops his game face. "You okay?"
"I'm okay." It's a lie, and Earl knows it, but they both pretend otherwise as the small cage whisks them to the top floor of the building.
The long walk down the corridor to Earl's corner office is only slightly less painful than the interrogation downstairs.
Secretaries stare over the tops of their cubicles at Jack, then quickly avert their eyes when he attempts to greet them.
Young associates traversing between offices nod and say, simply, "Mr.
Hilliard." He returns the gesture, but he hears them congregating after he passes, waiting until he disappears into their boss' office to start their gossip. His suspicions are confirmed when Earl stops at his secretary's desk. "Tell them to get their asses back to work or they'll be writing research memos for the next five years," he orders brusquely.
In Earl's office, the first thing Jack sees is the morning's newspaper resting on the coffee table in front of the leather couch.
He reads the large headline as he removes his coat. The bold black letters ask: ST.
LOUIS DA: GOLDEN BOY OR
SEXUAL PREDATOR? Underneath, a
subtitle reads: IS SEXUAL
MISBEHAVIOR ‘ALL IN A DAY’S
WORK’ FOR MODERN DAY
POLITICIANS?
He knew it would turn into this—the last time taught him that—and he knows it will get worse. Earls waves it off as he takes a seat behind his desk. "Yellow journalism. Ignore it."
That would be easier if it wasn't staring me in the face . Jack turns the paper over. To his relief, national news takes up the bottom half of the front page.
"First things first." Earl opens a small refrigerator behind his chair, pulls out a Michelob, and offers it to Jack. If someone had told him that the man who was his boss at the DA's office all those years now kept a refrigerator full of beer in his office, he wouldn't have believed it.
Earl winks, and Jack understands then that he's joking, trying to help Jack relax.
"It's a little early and I didn't get much sleep last night. I think I'd prefer coffee."
Jack pulls out the chair in front of the desk and falls into it. "But feel free to have one yourself."
Earl laughs. "I'm working," he says, replacing the beer and retrieving a can of Coke for himself. He picks up his phone and asks his secretary to bring a coffee for Jack.
"So am I," Jack says when Earl hangs up.
"We'll get to that, but there are few other things I want to talk to you about first." Earl swivels around once more to grab a book from the shelf next to the refrigerator. Jack recognizes it: the Missouri Rules of Professional Conduct.
Get to what? he thinks. His gut tightens as he remembers Harley's threat. You're gonna lose your ticket this time .
"I heard you chewed out the Chief,"
Earl says as he leafs through the pages.
Jack stares at him blankly. "When you got home from the jail."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. The press had camped out on my lawn. I could barely get into my garage."
Earl looks up from the book for a moment and nods slowly, as if he's absorbing Jack's answer. After knocking, Earl's secretary enters with the coffee.
Jack thanks her, but she won't look him in the eye, either. I'm not a rapist , he wants to shout at her.
Earl asks her to close the door behind her.
"How can that be?" he says. "He claims he gave you plenty of lead time to get home before logging the charges."
"He did. I wasn't ready to go home yet, though. I wasn't ready to deal with Claire." Jack sips the coffee but it's much too hot and burns his lip.
"Where'd you go?" As Earl talks, he continues to flip the pages.
"Nowhere, really. I drove around."
Earl looks up, his finger holding
But it's Wolfe who's done his research, who knows Jack's true weakness. His matter-of-fact voice reaches Jack's ears above the din of the others.
"Can you tell us, Mr. Hilliard, is it true the victim could be Jennifer Dodson's twin?"
Earl, who waits in the elevator, hears the last question. Once the doors close, sealing them in silence, he drops his game face. "You okay?"
"I'm okay." It's a lie, and Earl knows it, but they both pretend otherwise as the small cage whisks them to the top floor of the building.
The long walk down the corridor to Earl's corner office is only slightly less painful than the interrogation downstairs.
Secretaries stare over the tops of their cubicles at Jack, then quickly avert their eyes when he attempts to greet them.
Young associates traversing between offices nod and say, simply, "Mr.
Hilliard." He returns the gesture, but he hears them congregating after he passes, waiting until he disappears into their boss' office to start their gossip. His suspicions are confirmed when Earl stops at his secretary's desk. "Tell them to get their asses back to work or they'll be writing research memos for the next five years," he orders brusquely.
In Earl's office, the first thing Jack sees is the morning's newspaper resting on the coffee table in front of the leather couch.
He reads the large headline as he removes his coat. The bold black letters ask: ST.
LOUIS DA: GOLDEN BOY OR
SEXUAL PREDATOR? Underneath, a
subtitle reads: IS SEXUAL
MISBEHAVIOR ‘ALL IN A DAY’S
WORK’ FOR MODERN DAY
POLITICIANS?
He knew it would turn into this—the last time taught him that—and he knows it will get worse. Earls waves it off as he takes a seat behind his desk. "Yellow journalism. Ignore it."
That would be easier if it wasn't staring me in the face . Jack turns the paper over. To his relief, national news takes up the bottom half of the front page.
"First things first." Earl opens a small refrigerator behind his chair, pulls out a Michelob, and offers it to Jack. If someone had told him that the man who was his boss at the DA's office all those years now kept a refrigerator full of beer in his office, he wouldn't have believed it.
Earl winks, and Jack understands then that he's joking, trying to help Jack relax.
"It's a little early and I didn't get much sleep last night. I think I'd prefer coffee."
Jack pulls out the chair in front of the desk and falls into it. "But feel free to have one yourself."
Earl laughs. "I'm working," he says, replacing the beer and retrieving a can of Coke for himself. He picks up his phone and asks his secretary to bring a coffee for Jack.
"So am I," Jack says when Earl hangs up.
"We'll get to that, but there are few other things I want to talk to you about first." Earl swivels around once more to grab a book from the shelf next to the refrigerator. Jack recognizes it: the Missouri Rules of Professional Conduct.
Get to what? he thinks. His gut tightens as he remembers Harley's threat. You're gonna lose your ticket this time .
"I heard you chewed out the Chief,"
Earl says as he leafs through the pages.
Jack stares at him blankly. "When you got home from the jail."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. The press had camped out on my lawn. I could barely get into my garage."
Earl looks up from the book for a moment and nods slowly, as if he's absorbing Jack's answer. After knocking, Earl's secretary enters with the coffee.
Jack thanks her, but she won't look him in the eye, either. I'm not a rapist , he wants to shout at her.
Earl asks her to close the door behind her.
"How can that be?" he says. "He claims he gave you plenty of lead time to get home before logging the charges."
"He did. I wasn't ready to go home yet, though. I wasn't ready to deal with Claire." Jack sips the coffee but it's much too hot and burns his lip.
"Where'd you go?" As Earl talks, he continues to flip the pages.
"Nowhere, really. I drove around."
Earl looks up, his finger holding
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