permanent, deserved, and excluded one from the better things in life.
Siberling ignored Nudger’s face. “Doreen told me you were trying to get in touch.”
“Doreen?” Nudger asked.
“The receptionist at Elbert and Stein. She’s an airhead; don’t judge the firm by Doreen.” He moved over and stood in the mottled stream of brightness from the dirt-streaked window.
Nudger was surprised by how young he looked. His face was sixteen, his eyes about fifty. Average it out and you’d probably have his true age. Blond Kelly appeared to be a well-kept half a century and displayed a certain brand of West End or Ladue snobbery in every line and gesture. The veininess and stretch marks beneath the tan of her legs were like the creases in old folding money. These two people didn’t seem to belong with each other; it was as if a computer dating service had decided to play a joke.
“I understand you’re interested in the Curtis Colt case,” Siberling said. Something flared in the wise eyes, eager points of light, like sharp and brilliant objects glimmering in murky depths. Themselves like the eyes of something dangerous.
“That’s right. I’ve been talking to the witnesses, doing some deeper digging.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been hired to try to establish enough doubt of Colt’s guilt to have the execution stayed.”
Siberling laughed and shook his head. He had pudgy features and a halo of sandy, curly hair; no one looked less like a cutthroat lawyer. “That’s crazy. Colt’s exhausted virtually all appeals. Nothing can save him.”
“Would the state execute him even if irrefutable proof were put forth that he was innocent?”
Siberling thought about that and laughed again, this time with a bit more humor. “No. Politically it would be impossible, even though legally the execution should be carried out as scheduled. And the state doesn’t want to kill an innocent man, Nudger. Especially one who might not stay in his grave.”
Nudger leaned back in his squealing chair. The motion brought a jolt of pain around his damaged rib. The pain angled all the way up to his armpit. He sat forward slowly. “Eeeeasy,” the chair said, like a concerned old pal. Nudger said, “It’s possible Curtis Colt was in another part of town when the shooting occurred.”
Kelly looked bored, then whispered to Siberling, loud enough for Nudger to hear. “We’d better get going if we’re going to get a court.”
“Are you a lawyer, too?” Nudger asked her.
She wasn’t one for puns. “I mean tennis court,” she said seriously, almost angrily.
“You have to prove the possible in a court of law,” Siberling said. “I already busted my gut trying to do that for Curtis Colt.”
Nudger wondered what a sharp and fiery young guy like Siberling was doing with Kelly. “Love,” he muttered.
“That’s a zero score in tennis,” Kelly observed. Maybe she was a punster.
“I can’t prove it,” Nudger told Siberling.
Kelly looked confused. “I’m going downstairs to wait,” she said. “The doughnut shop’s air-conditioned, anyway.”
“Oh, sorry,” Nudger said, and reached back and switched on the window unit behind the desk.
But even as it began its comforting hum, Kelly was heading for the door and a lower, cooler clime.
“Try a Dunker Delite,” Nudger advised her.
Siberling grinned. “She’s an odd piece. Married to a judge. I put up with her because she gives good head.”
“Reason enough, I guess,” Nudger said, trying to figure out Siberling, remembering what Hammersmith had said about the young lawyer being such an aggravation, about how he could sense and exploit weakness.
“You’re thinking I’m an asshole, Nudger, and maybe you’re right. In fact, you are right; I’m nasty. Maybe because of that I’m also a hell of a lawyer; I fight for my clients. And not just the clients who can pay. I fought hard for Curtis Colt, but there was nothing to use on a jury. The prosecution held every card,
Siberling ignored Nudger’s face. “Doreen told me you were trying to get in touch.”
“Doreen?” Nudger asked.
“The receptionist at Elbert and Stein. She’s an airhead; don’t judge the firm by Doreen.” He moved over and stood in the mottled stream of brightness from the dirt-streaked window.
Nudger was surprised by how young he looked. His face was sixteen, his eyes about fifty. Average it out and you’d probably have his true age. Blond Kelly appeared to be a well-kept half a century and displayed a certain brand of West End or Ladue snobbery in every line and gesture. The veininess and stretch marks beneath the tan of her legs were like the creases in old folding money. These two people didn’t seem to belong with each other; it was as if a computer dating service had decided to play a joke.
“I understand you’re interested in the Curtis Colt case,” Siberling said. Something flared in the wise eyes, eager points of light, like sharp and brilliant objects glimmering in murky depths. Themselves like the eyes of something dangerous.
“That’s right. I’ve been talking to the witnesses, doing some deeper digging.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been hired to try to establish enough doubt of Colt’s guilt to have the execution stayed.”
Siberling laughed and shook his head. He had pudgy features and a halo of sandy, curly hair; no one looked less like a cutthroat lawyer. “That’s crazy. Colt’s exhausted virtually all appeals. Nothing can save him.”
“Would the state execute him even if irrefutable proof were put forth that he was innocent?”
Siberling thought about that and laughed again, this time with a bit more humor. “No. Politically it would be impossible, even though legally the execution should be carried out as scheduled. And the state doesn’t want to kill an innocent man, Nudger. Especially one who might not stay in his grave.”
Nudger leaned back in his squealing chair. The motion brought a jolt of pain around his damaged rib. The pain angled all the way up to his armpit. He sat forward slowly. “Eeeeasy,” the chair said, like a concerned old pal. Nudger said, “It’s possible Curtis Colt was in another part of town when the shooting occurred.”
Kelly looked bored, then whispered to Siberling, loud enough for Nudger to hear. “We’d better get going if we’re going to get a court.”
“Are you a lawyer, too?” Nudger asked her.
She wasn’t one for puns. “I mean tennis court,” she said seriously, almost angrily.
“You have to prove the possible in a court of law,” Siberling said. “I already busted my gut trying to do that for Curtis Colt.”
Nudger wondered what a sharp and fiery young guy like Siberling was doing with Kelly. “Love,” he muttered.
“That’s a zero score in tennis,” Kelly observed. Maybe she was a punster.
“I can’t prove it,” Nudger told Siberling.
Kelly looked confused. “I’m going downstairs to wait,” she said. “The doughnut shop’s air-conditioned, anyway.”
“Oh, sorry,” Nudger said, and reached back and switched on the window unit behind the desk.
But even as it began its comforting hum, Kelly was heading for the door and a lower, cooler clime.
“Try a Dunker Delite,” Nudger advised her.
Siberling grinned. “She’s an odd piece. Married to a judge. I put up with her because she gives good head.”
“Reason enough, I guess,” Nudger said, trying to figure out Siberling, remembering what Hammersmith had said about the young lawyer being such an aggravation, about how he could sense and exploit weakness.
“You’re thinking I’m an asshole, Nudger, and maybe you’re right. In fact, you are right; I’m nasty. Maybe because of that I’m also a hell of a lawyer; I fight for my clients. And not just the clients who can pay. I fought hard for Curtis Colt, but there was nothing to use on a jury. The prosecution held every card,
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