Trial and Terror (9 page)

Rosie laughed. “Why would
he
frame SK? Don’t forget the physical evidence. It’s pretty damning.”

Levi idly fanned himself with one of the pictures. “Are you going to conduct an investigation? Because if you start poking around, looking for Strickland, then Raines will turn it around on you, claim SK mutilated Gundy’s body to divert suspicion from her. Plus, an investigation takes manpower; which, as you know, is in short supply around here. I would strongly advise you not to lift up this rock and see what’s crawling underneath. Your first murder case is no time to get fancy.”

Summer dumped her coffee dregs. “If I don’t, then we both know SK doesn’t stand a chance.”

Rosie stood up and readjusted her skirt. “Listen to Jon. He’s old, been around the block a few kajillion times.”

“Thanks,” Levi said.

“There’s more than enough work for you without you pretending to be some private dick,” Rosie continued.

“Then I’d better get started,” Summer said.

Rosie stood. “I can see I was a lot of help here. Summer, you are making one
muy
grande
mistake if you start an investigation.”

Summer turned off the coffee maker. “I’m trying to save this woman’s life.”

“Whatever you say.” Rosie left. Summer could heard her through the sheetrock walls, rustling around her office.

“What’s gotten into her?” Levi asked.

“I don’t know.” Summer really didn’t.

Levi shrugged. “Hormones.”

“I heard that,” Rosie shouted through the wall.

Summer laughed, the only light moment of the day. “Who’s the private detective on the case?” She picked up the photos and jammed them back into the file.

Levi talked into his cup. “New guy. His name’s Tai Sanborn.”

Rosie came flying out of her office as if she didn’t own footsteps. She filled Summer’s doorway again, breathing hard. “A cop?”

“
Ex
-cop,” Levi said. “On disability.”

Summer flipped the file on her desk. “You’re trying him out on a murder case?”

“I’m trying
you
out on a murder case,” Levi retorted, “and nobody’s complained.”

“What happened to Rothstein, Jon?”

“On maternity leave.”

“How about Sam Nell?”

“He quit. Got tired of too many hours for too little pay.”

“But why Tai Sanborn?”

“He’s the only P.I. around not pulling thirty-five cases,” Levi said. “He’s ex-homicide. Could be helpful.”

“And?”

“I had no choice. The 1990 Americans With Disabilities Act mandates we hire him. If I don’t assign him a case now, Raines promised me federal prosecutors would come a-calling.”

Summer chucked the coffee filter into the trash. “He’s probably a D.A. plant. Even if he isn’t, you know how fat and lazy ex-cops are. They leak information to their buddies on the force and don’t do what they’re told. I never met an ex-cop who even knew the expression ‘innocent until proven guilty.’ And the last thing I need on this case is some guy faking a back injury so—”

A man in patched, faded jeans, paisley shirt hanging out, had come up behind Rosie. He had crescent-shaped eyes, and dimples highlighted his smirk. He was too good-looking, too at ease, to have business here.

“I’m looking for Summer Neuwirth,” he said.

“You found her. And you are?”

He grinned. “Tai Sanborn. The fat, lazy ex-cop with the fake back injury.”

Chapter 9

Raines waited for Summer
outside the calendar magistrate’s office. His suit was wrinkly—she was sure he had slept in it—and so was he. The undersides of his eyes were cupped by bruise-colored circles. The trial hadn’t started and already both of them were stressing.

Raines spoke in hushed tones. “I have to inform you of a recent development in the Gundy case.”

“Sidney,” Summer said louder than usual, “you sound positively defensive.”

“Shhh.” Raines looked around in spy movie fashion. “I just want to make it clear that my office is prosecuting this case by the book. The police discovered some sophisticated surveillance equipment in Harold’s condo. Someone wired up the place real good, someone who knows his stuff, too, judging by the look of it. I’ll have the details messengered to your office.”

Summer’s heart hopscotched a beat. Now she was whispering. “Are you saying there may be video of Gundy’s murder?”

“All I know is the house was wired for sound and video, attached to a laptop computer concealed in the floor boards of the loft. We figure it was connected to a remote server, but there’s no way to find out where it’s located or who put it there. The police must have tripped an alarm because access was cut. No fingerprints on the equipment, no audio or video stored on the premises, no clues—”

“You have no idea who put it there?”

“I’ve checked with our department and the police.”

“And?”

“It’s not ours.”

“Could it be FBI, CIA, DEA?”

“Don’t know.”

“I assume you have the cops chasing down every electronics dealer in town.”

“You know I can’t comment on an investigation in progress.”

Summer coughed to stop herself from slapping the smirk off his face. “Beautiful, Sidney.”

“We’re as anxious to find out who did this as you are,” Raines retorted.

“Until you do, drop the charges against SK.”

“Dream on, Summer. It’ll bolster our case, no matter who put it there.”

Summer wagged a finger. “Only if it’s admissible. Which it won’t be unless you can show where it came from.”

Raines held the door open for Summer. “If we get access to video that shows SK murdered Gundy, no judge in the county would exclude it.”

Summer knew he was right. She stepped into the calendar magistrate’s office.

“But no matter what,” Raines continued, “we’re going murder one, death penalty all the way. We’ll throw in murder two and manslaughter just to round it out. But I guarantee your client’s going to fry.”

“I thought you ghouls relied on lethal injection these days,” Summer said. “Less messy.”

Raines rippled his slight shoulders. “I will grant you one favor, though. We’ll skip the resisting arrest and assault charges.” Actually, Raines was only doing himself a favor, since no prosecutor liked to muddle a murder case—and confuse a jury—with a series of lesser charges.

“Assault?”

“The bailiff.”

“Oh, right,” Summer said. “But of course you’d be opening the prosecution up to a charge of brutality.”

Raines popped a cough drop into his mouth and smiled.

The calendar magistrate checked a chart behind him and settled on Judge Wesley Kelly, whose docket was empty. Summer and Raines climbed the stairs to his courtroom, where she dropped off the paper work to exclude him with the clerk. All the way there and back, Raines pretended she didn’t exist, didn’t say another word to her.

The magistrate didn’t seem surprised when they returned. He consulted the chart, then assigned SK’s case to the next available judge: Morton Hightower.

Raines crunched the last bit of cough drop. “You should have seen this coming, Summer. You sure you’re ready for a murder trial?”

Chapter 10

Summer was having trouble
focusing on her work, Rosie’s distant behavior gnawing at her. Office life had never before been like this. From the moment they had met, Summer and Rosie had had a special chemistry. Levi had hired them at the same time, although this wasn’t what forged what Summer had always assumed would be an unshakable bond. It was the older women in the office, graying women in drab pantsuits who had been at the vanguard of the women’s movement—the first women public defenders in the state—who had pushed Summer and Rosie together and forced them to rely on each other.

Behind Summer’s and Rosie’s backs, these women, bitter and territorial, had taunted them, called them the “hair flippers” because of the long hair they constantly swept from their eyes. Levi also became the subject of derision: He was a life-support system for a penis, they chided. He liked hiring pretty girls: office furniture, not hardcore lawyers.

Summer was knocked out of her reverie by Tai, who entered without knocking, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down. “I ran down the police witnesses and all the other stuff you requested,” he said.

Summer looked up from paperwork. She couldn’t even remember what she had been reading. “That was fast. I just got them yesterday, after the judge was assigned.”

“That’s why you hired me.”

“I didn’t hire you.”

“Right,” he said. “I forgot. Who’s the judge on the case?”

“Hightower.”

Tai whistled. “He can get awful ornery.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“OK. Did you know that Hightower’s up for re-election?”

“Of course.”

“Did you know he’s going to face a primary challenge?”

“Nobody’s announced a run against him. He’s unbeatable, which is why he’s run unopposed three times.”

“It’s not public yet,” Tai responded. “And
you’re
the reason Hightower’s going to have to earn it this time. Getting that video-rape nut off.”

“Who’s running against him?”

Tai savored the moment. “Raines.”

Summer tried to contain her surprise. “No way.”

“He’s announcing in a couple days.”

“Raines has never expressed political ambitions.”

“Whatever.” Tai clasped his hands behind his neck, fanned his elbows out and yawned. “Want to know what I found out about Gundy, or talk about why you dislike me so much?”

His yawn was contagious, but Summer stopped herself. “I’d rather hear about Gundy.”

Tai held his cup near his mouth while he talked. “I ran down the same witnesses the cops did. The building super wasn’t around the night Gundy was offed, but saw SK around Gundy’s condo earlier in the day. She’s an oldie but a goodie, not too swift, doesn’t have great eyesight. She told the cops she could positively ID SK, but she doesn’t remember if she was wearing her glasses, so you might be able to impeach her.” He sipped, made a
blech
face. “Sugar?”

Summer reached into a drawer and flicked him a couple of packets.

“Milk?” he asked.

Summer pointed to her mini-fridge. Tai leaned over and opened the fridge. He dribbled the last of the milk into his coffee, then ripped open a packet of sugar, stirred, and slurped. “Then there’s Malcolm Byers,” he continued, “the guy delivering pizza to a neighbor. In the police report, he said he saw a woman with curly red hair run from Gundy’s apartment at 10:30 P.M., which fits with the estimated time of death. You’ve read the report?”

“Yeah.”

“Notice how he gives such detail, as though he watched her over and over again?”

“You think the cops led him on?”

He gave Summer a cheeky smile. “If they had, it wouldn’t have been so obvious.”

“Did he remember what kind of shoes she was wearing?” Summer asked.

“Black boots, same as the cops found.”

“That’s bad news.”

“Perhaps, but Byers is no Boy Scout. Got expelled from high school for stealing. One of his teachers said Byers had attention deficit disorder, although that’s with 20-20 hindsight. Back then, they just called it being an asshole. I checked his movie rental record. Lots of ninja flicks and hard-core porn.”

Summer eyed Tai warily. “You need a court order for that.”

“Can I help it I’m persuasive? Besides, now you know
you’ll
need a court order—if you want to use it against him.” Tai crossed his legs, sat back lazily. “Not bad for an ex-cop.”

“You forgot fat and lazy.”

Tai laughed. Nothing seemed to sting him. Summer had to admit he was good, which was almost worse than him being bad, since she didn’t trust him. She needed to get him working on something else until she could figure out what he was up to.

“And”—he stuffed the empty sugar packets into the milk carton, stood up, and tossed it behind the back into the trash, and missed—“I tracked down SK’s medical records.”

Angrily, Summer flung the carton back at him. “What made you think I wanted SK’s medical history? The law in this state requires me to turn over evidence harmful to my client to the D.A. You know, Discovery works both ways here.”

Tai grimaced, then shot the container into the trash. “Nothing but net,” he said. “How the hell am I supposed to turn up anything meaningful if I have to turn over the bad stuff too?”

“The boys who write the laws don’t want the defense turning up anything useful,” she said. “It could mean big trouble if Raines gets wind.”

Tai shrugged. “Want to know what I found out or not?”

Summer stood up and leaned over him, placing her hands on the arm supports of his chair, staring him in the eye. “Stop acting like a cop.”