The court reporter was not present when Peter and dge Kuffel w O'Shay walked into chambers, and Ju as puffing on a smelly cigar in violation of a no-smoking ordinance he stubbornly chose to ignore, so Peter knew the conference was off the record.
"For Christ's sake, Peter," the judge said, "let that woman off the jury."
"It's up to Becky to lay a foundation if she wants to kick her off," Peter answered stubbornly, dropping onto an overstuffed couch that stretched along a wall covered with diplomas, certificates of appreciation from community organizations and pictures of Kuffel holding up fish of various sizes.
"Be reasonable, Peter," O'Shay said. "Even if she gets on, she won't last a day. She's already a wreck and she hasn't even seen the autopsy pictures."
"You might be right," Peter answered with a condescending smile "but there's still no legal basis for excusing her. Being'nervous doesn't do it. Everyone on that jury is going to be nervous."
judge Kuffel shook his head disgust. Hale was right to fight O'Shay on this. Gary Harmon would be better off with Polinsky on the jury and O'Shay would have to give him a legal basis for kicking her off or the reluctant housewife would become one of Gary Harmon's judges.
"I have something I wanted to mention," O'Shay said. "Several weeks ago, we interviewed an inmate at the jail who claimed that the defendant confessed to him."
"Did you notify the defense?" the judge asked.
"Oh yes. Mr. Booth is awaiting trial on a serious drug charge and has a reason to try to ingratiate himself with our office, so I asked him for some corroboration for his story. We just got it."
O'Shay handed Peter and the judge a copy of a document.
"What the hell is this?" Peter asked, as soon as he scanned it.
"It's a report from the FBI laboratory in Washington, D.C. We sent them a hatchet we found in a storm drain on thewhitaker campus. It was right where Mr. Harmon told Kevin Booth he threw it after he hacked Sandra Whiley to death. The handle was wiped clean of fingerprints, but Sandra Whiley's blood and hair are on the blade." When Peter found his voice, he said, "I move to have this evidence suppressed. This is a clear violation of the discovery statutes. This should have been revealed to the defense as soon as it was discovered so we could have our own experts test the blood and hair."
O'Shay smiled sweetly atpeter. "I don't think we violated the discovery statutes. They only require the prosecution to reveal the existence of evidence we intend to introduce at trial. I had no intention of introducing this hatchet until I was certain it had some connection with this case and I did not become convinced until I read the FBI report. After all, Peter, Kevin Booth is a criminal.
We weren't sure he was telling the truth about your client's confession. Until now, that is."
"Move it, Booth," the guard commanded as Kevin Booth lathered up for the second time. "This ain't a resort." Booth thought of some choice retorts5 but he didn't dare make them to the six-fives two-hundred-and-fiftypound corrections officer who was lounging just outside the bars next to the shower. Inmates in the security block of the jail in Stark were allowed only two showers a week and these were precious moments for Booth.
rd cut off Booth's hot water A minute later, the guard doubled over laughing and and he screamed. The gua Booth choked back a "motherfucker" that surely would have led to some diabolical punishment.
"I warned you to move your ass. Now, finish up. We got other guests in this hotel."
Booth dodged in and out of the freezing water until all the soap was off. His clean clothes were in his cell at the other end of the security tank..He wrapped as much of his shivering body as he could in a towel that barely covered his Private parts and huddled his shoulders as he walked past the fags, psychos and snitches who shared the security block with him.
Booth hated his new situation. At least he had human beings to talk to in Whitaker. The security block was for prisoners who could not be allowed to live in the normal jai "I population: escape risks, homosexuals, ultraviolent prisoners and informants. Booth hated queers, was scared to death of psychos and considered himself different from the other snitches, but he was going to have to stay in this madhouse if he expected to live long enough to trade Gary Harmon's freedom for his own.
Booth's cell was long and narrow and contained a sink, a flush toilet and two bunks, but he was the sole occu i pant. As soon as the guard saw that his prisoner was inside, he closed the moving bars electronically. The guard never entered the security block unless there was an emergency.
He patrolled the long corridor on the other side of the bars occasionally, but when it was shower time, he stayed in his chair and used the controls to open and close the bars of each cell as each prisoner's turn to shower arrived.
"How you doin', Kevin?" a voice asked as Booth was getting into his underpants. Booth paused with one leg raised and looked through the bars. The prisoner who had spoken to him was a slender young man with pale skin and a blond crew cut. The only distinguishing mark on his body was a swastika tattoo on his right forearm.
Booth noticed the tattoo at the same time he noticed he milk container concealed under the prisoner's bath t I towel. The young man kept his easy smile as he tossed the contents of the milk container over Booth's naked body. Lighter fluid, Booth thought as a lighted match followed the liquid through the bars and transformed him into a human torch.
Peter ran as fast as he could along the jogging trails i in Wishing Well Park, pushing himself to exhaustion in the hope that his brain would be too busy working on his oxygen supply to concern itself with Gary Harmon. But Peter's brain would not cooperate and images of bloodencrusted hatchets dominated his thoughts.
The feds used a system for determining sentences that allowed judges almost no discretion. If he was convicted under the Federal Sentencing Guidelines, Kevin Booth would do a lot of federal time without the possibility of parole.
There was, however, a motion for reduction of sentence that the prosecutor could make if a defendant turned in someone. In cases like Booth's, this system created tremendous pressure to lie about the criminal involvement of an innocent person.
What troubled Peter was the possibility that Gary might be guilty. Gary would not state unequivocally that he did not kill Sandra Whiley. He claimed he drank so much that he did not have a clear memory for the hour or so when the murder was probably committed. Did he kill Whiley and repress the memory or was he simply lying? Peter could not believe Gary was capable of sustaining a lie for this long, but Peter had read about repressed memory. He had a hard time buying into the idea that someone could witness a murder or be sexually abused and have no memory of the event, but he knew it happened. Maybe a person with Gary's IQ was more susceptible to that kind of thing. If he had not killed Whiley, how was he able to tell Dennis Downes that the killer used a hatchet and how was he able to tell Kevin Booth where the murder weapon could be found?
There was no endorphin rush during his run and Peter reached his house depressed and exhausted. He had barely caught his breath when the phone rang.
"Mr. Hale?" a shaky voice asked.
"Gary? You sound upset. Has something happened?
Why are you calling?"
"I said I had to talk to you. I said I wanted to call my lawyer."
"That's good, Gary. You did just what I told you to do, if you were in trouble. Are you in trouble?"
"They say I burned up Kevin. I didn't burn him.
Please tell them I didn't burn him."
"Calm down, Gary. Who says you burned someone?"
"That lady lawyer and Sergeant Downes," Gary gulped in a voice close to tears.
"Are Sergeant Downes and Becky O'Shay with you?"
"Yeah.
"Put Ms. O'Shay on the phone."
There was dead air for a moment. Peter heard Gary saying something he could not make out. As soon as O'Shay took the phone, Peter said, "What's going on?
Why are you questioning Gary?"
"Kevin Booth was set on fire in his cell in the Stark O'Shay answered, her rage barely under control.
jail, "Unfortunately for your client, there was a fuck-UP.
Booth's still alive."
"You don't think Gary was involved, do you?" Peter asked incredulously. "He's not bright enough to plan something like that."
"We'll soon find out."
"How will you do that?"
"Sergeant Downes and I are going to question Gary."
"I can't let you do that. You two shouldn't be anywhere near Gary without my permission."
"This is a totally different crime, Peter. You don't represent Gary on this."
"The hell I don't," Peter said, losing his patience.
"Now, listen, Becky. I want you and Downes out of there."
"Don't tell me what to do," Becky answered angrily.
Peter did not want to upset O'Shay. He still had hopes of going out with her. But protecting Gary was crucial.
"Damn it, Becky. I'm Gary's lawyer. I can tell you what to do in this case."
"Why are you afraid to let Gary talk to us?"
"Are you nuts? You're prosecuting him. Downes arrested him. I don't want either of you within a mile of him. Now, get Gary back to his cell immediately and don't you dare ask him any questions. If I find you have, I'll move for a mistrial. You know what you're doing isn't ethical."
"I don't think you're in any position to discuss ethics, Hale."
"What ... what do you mean?"
"Do you think I believed for one moment that story about quitting Hale, Greaves to get out of the rat race?
I called a few friends in Portland. They knew all about the way you lied to judge Pruitt and lost that case for that crippled woman. You're pretty famous."
Peter felt sick. "Look, Becky he started, but O'Shay had already hung up.
Donna's doorbell rang at nine-thirty. She wondered who was calling so late. She smiled when she found Peter on her doorstep, but the smile faded as soon as she saw the expression on his face. Peter usually looked as if he had just stepped out of the pages of a menswear catalog, but tonight his suit was rumpled, his tie was askew and his hair was a mess.
"What's wrong?" she asked as she stepped aside to let him in.
"Everything. Where's Steve?"
"He's staying overnight in Salem. He has a business meeting there about Mountain View, tomorrow."
"Damn! That's right. I forgot." Xi "Is this about Gary? Has something happened?"
Peter nodded. "You know the inmate who's going to say Gary confessed?"
"Yes' "Another prisoner set him on fire this afternoon."
"They can't think Gary's involved."
"Becky and Downes tried to question Gary without me, but he remembered what I told him about demanding a call to his lawyer if any policeman tried to talk to him. I went down to the Jail and they backed off.
They're grasping at straws on the torching, but something else has come up.
That's what I really wanted to talk to Steve about."
"What happened?"
"They found the murder weapon and they've linked it to Gary."
"Oh no."
Donna's hand flew to her mouth. She looked stricken.
"Don't cry," Peter said when he saw Donna's shoulders start to shake. She tried to control herself, but she couldn't.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "It's just too much."
Peter didn't know what to do. He wanted to hold Donna, but he felt awkward. Donna was Steve's wife and this was Steve's house. He settled for handing her a handkerchief and stood red-faced while she dabbed at her eyes and tried to stop crying.
"It just seems like it's one thing after another." Then she was in Peter's arms, her body trembling as she sobbed into his shoulder. He let her lean against him, but he was afraid to hold her. He could smell Donna's hair and feel her breasts pushing against him. Peter held his breath and ended by giving her a few feeble pats on the back.
"I'm sorry," Donna managed, suddenly pulling away.
"Everything will be okay," he replied lamely.
"I've got to get ahold of myself," Donna answered, as she wiped at her eyes. Then she stopped and took Peter's hand.
"I want you to know I appreciate how hard you're working for Gary. He really trusts you."
Donna squeezed Peter's hand and held it for a moment before releasing it. Her hand felt warm and her proximity evoked in him a combination of embarrassment and sexual desire. Peter felt himself flush. They both looked down. Donna stepped back.
"Tell Steve what happened," Peter said. "I need to see him as soon as he gets back."
"I'll call him at his motel."
The Mancinis only lived a short distance from Peter and he had walked over.
It had cooled down since his run and the air was pleasant. It took a few blocks to shake off his sexual excitement and refocus on Gary's problem, but every so often Peter's thoughts would drift back to Donna.
Chapter EIGHTEEN.
"What did he say?" Earl Ridgely asked the man in the gray pinstripe suit.
"What did you expect, Mr. Ridgely?" Frank Ketchell answered. Ketchell, an investigator with the State Department of justice, was tall and gray-haired with a square jaw and bright blue eyes that wowed the ladies, but his good looks had not done him a bit of good with Elmer Maddox. After spending Saturday morning talking to the man who had set Kevin Booth on fire, Ketchell bad driven to Whitaker for this late afternoon meeting.
"Maddox thought the whole thing was a big joke. He kept cracking up when he described the way Booth hopped around and rolled on the floor while he was burning."
"Jesus," Becky O'Shay said, shaking her head with disgust.
"The only thing that upset Maddox was that the guard shoved him back in his cell before helping Booth.
They found a shiv when they searched him. I guess he was going to finish off Booth when the guard went into the cell to put out the fire."
"How did he expect to get away with this?" O'Shay asked in disbelief.
"I don't think it occurred to him. Like he said to me when I offered him a deal, "What are you gonna do if I don't cooperate? Give me more time?"