Mystery Writers of America Presents the Prosecution Rests by Linda Fairstein Page A

the door. “Jack,” she says, then waits
     until I look at her. “You’ve got zilch. No deal.” She looks at Hall. “See that Mr. Cleary gets back to his cell.”
    ____
    A T MY ARRAIGNMENT , Beyer works his magic and gets me out on bail. It’s a miracle, but that’s why I’m paying him the big bucks. I have to wear
     a tracking bracelet on my ankle, but it beats sitting in jail. Stone objects, but the judge cuts her off and calls for the
     next case. After I’m released, I go home, make a couple of phone calls, and wait.
    Three hours later, I stroll into the Shamrock Bar. At this time of day, even the hard-core drinkers have other places to be,
     so it’s easy to spot Dexter Bass waiting in the booth in the far corner. With my arrest, his claim of self-defense rang true.
     His new attorney didn’t have any problem getting the charges dropped. Bass raises his glass when he notices me.
    “I didn’t think you’d come,” I tell him.
    “I’m a curious guy,” he says, a sly grin creasing his face. It quickly fades. “So, what’d you wanna talk about?”
    “How did you do it?”
    Bass sits up straighter. “Hold on there, Counselor. How’d I do what?”
    “Cut the crap,” I hiss. “I’m looking at life, maybe even the needle. The least you can do is tell me how you and Eve set me
     up.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bass finishes his drink and starts to leave. I grab his wrist, stalling his exit.
     I need to hear the truth, and to get it I’m gambling that his ego is bigger than mine.
    “C’mon, you can tell me. I’m pretty bright, but I know when I’ve been outsmarted. It was your idea, wasn’t it?”
    Bass jerks his hand free. “You wearing a wire?” I tell him no, but he isn’t convinced. “Follow me.”
    We head to the bathroom and Bass motions me inside. The smell stings my nose, and I watch where I step. Must be the maid’s
     day off. Bass locks the door.
    “Unbutton your shirt.”
    I undo the buttons and show him my bare chest. He spins me around and shoves me against the wall. He frisks me, leaving no
     place unchecked. I’ve had less thorough exams at my doctor’s office. Bass seems satisfied.
    “It was Eve’s idea,” he says.
    My stomach churns as Bass guides me through the double-cross. He and Eve worked a few scams in Vegas until he went to prison
     and she reinvented herself. When he got out, they hooked up again and looked for a patsy. I fit the bill. After I contacted
     Rupp, Eve had Bass take the photos of my meetings with him. Then Bass “bumped” into Rupp in the bar. Once everything was in
     place, he and Eve waited for me to murder her husband. And while I was busy killing Toscar, Eve snuck into Rupp’s office and
     planted the photographs.
    “How did my fingerprints get on the hammer? I wore gloves that night.”
    He gives me a smug grin. “It’s your hammer.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Eve took the hammer from your garage,” Bass explains. “She gave you your own hammer and said it was one I’d used. But I never
     touched it.”
    My cheeks burn. “What about Dan Dorsey?”
    Bass smirks. “What about him? I never met the guy. I visited Eve on the days Dorsey wasn’t scheduled to be there.”
    I step toward him. “Was it worth it?”
    Bass jabs his fingers in my chest. “Don’t go righteous on me, Counselor. You tried to frame me too.”
    “Aren’t you worried she’ll set you up?”
    “No. Lucky for me, Eve likes outlaws better than lawyers.”
    There isn’t much to say after that. Bass looks at his watch and tells me he has a plane to catch. He unlocks the bathroom
     door and walks out.
    The bartender is clearing the table where Bass was sitting. As I walk by, he puts his hand on my chest. I recognize him as
     one of the cops who searched my house.
    “Stone’s waiting for you across the street,” he says.
    I push through the back exit and cross the street to the pawnshop’s parking lot. I knock on the side door of