Winner Take All (46 page)

No way was he going to add more smoke by talking about Dale. Or taint the sparkling memory by mentioning his conversation with Kirsten. “Fine.”

“How are you enjoying our little show?”

“You played James well.”

“It’s what I do.”

“Where’s the subject?”

“Waiting in the interview room.”

Blain accompanied Marcus back to his tight little chamber. Together they inspected the prisoner through the one-way glass. Skyler Cummins was every inch the heavy. He had what Marcus classed as a biker’s build—two hundred pounds of muscle coated by another hundred pounds of flab. Fighter’s hands, broken nose, scar rising from his gray-brown beard. Another old wound ran around his neck, clipped off the bottom third of his right ear, then disappeared into his shoulder-length hair. Custom snarl.

Blain held the file so that Marcus could read over her shoulder. Skyler’s age was put at thirty-eight. His sheet was twelve pages long. “I believe we’ll leave the manacles on this one.”

“Maybe have the guard hang around as well.”

“We’ll see.” She flipped through the arrest warrant. “Says here our
Mr. Steadman clocked them both using just a lamp and his fists. Remind me never to get Dale mad.”

The deputy popped his head in. “Hamper Caisse just arrived.”

“He well cooked?”

The deputy grinned. “Snorting and breathing fire.”

“Show the man in.” Wilma pointed at Marcus. “You see anything out of the ordinary, call out the guards.”

“Don’t worry.”

As she closed him into the observation room, Marcus observed a furious Hamper Caisse come striding into the chamber on the glass’s other side. Hamper wore one of his custom courtroom suits and the expression of a man sorely put out. He glared at the prisoner. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Skyler Cummins rattled as he wheeled around to face his attorney. He was rigged in what sheriffs classed as traveling gear—yellow one-piece prison coverall, gray socks, plastic slip-on sandals. His cuffs and ankle bracelets were chained to his canvas belt. “Who’s the one they got tied up like a crazy man?”

The guard opened the door a second time, and Wilma Blain entered the room. “Stay close,” she told the deputy.

“With you all the way.” The deputy shut the door, then unlatched the faceplate and planted himself before the wire-mesh window.

Hamper Caisse offered Blain a furious sneer. “So you’ve finally decided to deal?”

“Oh, you thought this visit was for plea bargaining? I do apologize.” She crossed to the table’s other side, seated herself, then pointed to the chairs opposite her. “Have a seat, Mr. Cummins.”

The prisoner and his lawyer both remained standing. Wilma held Skyler’s gaze and kept her tone easy. “I’m sure the deputy would be happy to help you find your chair, sir.”

Skyler moved with the ease of long practice, cocking his leg and seating himself without using his manacled hands. And without unlocking his gaze. Wilma held the moment awhile, then said to Hamper, “I asked you down to inform you of new evidence that’s come to light. Thought you both would like to hear it straight from me before we go public.”

Hamper Caisse slipped into the other chair and told his client, “She’s bluffing.”

“Let’s get one thing straight up front, gentlemen. This was not a burglary. And we’re no longer treating it as such.”

“You don’t have a thing on my guys.”

Wilma actually laughed. “That’s a wild pitch, even for you.”

“What are you talking about? My guys—”

“Were caught inside Dale Steadman’s house.”

“My guys were brought in here under false pretenses. They didn’t steal a thing. The burglary charges won’t hold in court and you know it.”

“The original charges were B&E. Not burglary. They stick. We’ve just decided to up the ante a little to attempted kidnapping.”

“I want a moment to confer privately with my clients.”

“Oh, you want me to show in your
other
client?” She smirked for Skyler’s benefit. “Wait now, what am I saying. You don’t
have
another client.”

That stilled them both.

Wilma took quiet relish in playing her trump. “James Walker has fired you, Hamper.”

It was Skyler who responded first. “What?”

“That’s right. And he’s turning state’s evidence.” She plucked the page from her briefcase. “There in black and white. See right there at the bottom? Our man Studley’s signature.”

“This is sheer travesty,” Hamper declared. “She’s winding you up.”

“Like a clock, Mr. Cummins. With this rap sheet of yours, going down again means you’re looking at a whole new career path.”

“Don’t listen to her. It’s total rubbish, what she’s saying.”

Skyler rounded on his attorney. “What are you talking about, man? I know the score here.”

“And I’m the one who’s going to get you out!”

“Yeah? So how come I didn’t even make bail?”

Wilma Blain’s calm voice acted like a goad. “Listen to your jailhouse lawyer buddies, Mr. Cummins. They know a lifer in the making. You’re going to get to know them
real
well.”

Hamper shrilled at her, “You shut up!” To Skyler, “She’s paid to scare you.”

“What for? I’m already locked up!” Skyler addressed Wilma straight on. “You got something to say to me?”

“What are you talking to her for?” Hamper flipped his chair over as he bolted to his feet. “She’s the DA!”

Wilma replied to Skyler, “I think I might have something here that might interest you.”

The prisoner demanded, “You want to deal?”

“If we can do business here and now, absolutely.”

Hamper shouted, “I forbid this!”

They both ignored him. Wilma continued, “Basically, you’ve got two choices. I can have your charges reduced to misdemeanor, and you serve a year—”

“No time.”

“No chance, Mr. Cummins. We know what happened. But we don’t have the backer’s name and we don’t know who the third guy was. You get me? We know this was a capital offense in the making. Right now, we can lay the whole thing at your feet. If that happens, they’ll carry you out of Central Prison in a box.”

Gradually the yellow suit darkened with sweat. “And I’m telling you. No time.”

Hamper shrieked, “I
demand
to speak to my client privately!”

Wilma gave no sign she heard Hamper at all. “I don’t bluff, Mr. Cummins. And I don’t deal in fables. You keep up that line, we lay the whole case on you. I’ll retire to go play with my grandkids and you’ll still be inside, weeding your little garden patch and trying to remember what your last beer tasted like.” She smiled once more. “Forty years ago.”

“So?”

“So today we’ve got us a sale. From life down to twelve months. All I want is the guy who hired you to steal that baby.”

Hamper inserted himself into the discussion by hammering both fists on the table. “Quit talking directly to my client!”

Only the manacles kept Skyler from making a grab for Hamper’s throat. “I’m not doing life for nobody!”

“Don’t you understand what’s happening here? She’s trying to flip you!” To Wilma. “We need a week to think over your offer.”

“Why?” From Skyler. “So you can get me shanked?”

Hamper wheeled about and waved at the deputy through the faceplate. “Open this door!”

“Doesn’t his behavior strike you as a little strange, Mr. Cummins?” Wilma hurried her words to get it said before the guard unlocked the door. “Why is he so intent upon keeping you as his charge here? I’d suggest that it’s because
you’re not his client!
”

The door shuddered open. Hamper declared, “My client and I are outta here.”

Wilma asked Skyler, “Mr. Cummins, do you wish to return to your cell? Because if you leave this room, my deal is off the table.”

“You won’t get life!” This from Hamper. “We can go to the parole board!”

“What, in twenty years?” Skyler remained where he was. “That’s it? A couple of names and I’m done?”

“From your lips to my tape player.” Wilma planted her recorder on the table. “I want to hear you say why you were there, and who hired you.”

Hamper was sweating harder than the prisoner. “You know how much is at stake here?”

“Yeah,” Skyler replied, not even glancing his way. “The rest of my days.”

Hamper leaned back over the table and covered the tape recorder with both hands. “Don’t forget the money.”

Wilma showed surprise for the first time that day. “Excuse me?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, man, I haven’t seen a dime. You’re the one walking around in your thousand-dollar suit. I’m in here looking at life.”

Wilma again. “Did you say money?”

“I ain’t going down for nobody.” Skyler’s manacles rattled as he tried to take aim at Hamper. “You’re fired, man.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Point of law, counselor. He can.” Wilma withdrew another sheaf of pages from her briefcase. “Mr. Cummins, would you care to use my pen?”

He had to lift himself from the chair to hunch over the pages. Hamper had turned an ashen shade. “You’re finished, Skyler. Finito.”

Wilma looked at the attorney. “Would you mind lifting your hand from my machine and repeating those words about money for the record?”

Skyler finished signing and planted himself back in the chair. “You’re not Mafia, man. Matter of fact, you’re nothing but history.”

“Mr. Cummins, are you declaring this man is no longer your attorney?”

“Absolutely.”

Wilma lifted the pages and waved them like a battle flag. “Counselor,
I suggest you use what little free time you have left to find yourself a good lawyer.”

Marcus took that as his cue.

The last thing Marcus saw through the one-way glass was Hamper righting his chair and replanting himself. He used both hands to clamp himself down tight. “Until this man has new counsel, I insist on remaining to protect his rights.”

“No problem there.” Wilma Blain cheerily waved Marcus past the guard and into the interview room. “Matter of fact, I’ve got someone right here who will be happy to advise your
former
client.”

Hamper Caisse had a difficult time recognizing Marcus. Awareness came in stages—who he was, why he was there, how Hamper had been set up all along. Marcus saw the last realization come in a flash of panic-stricken rage. From sweating lawyer to cornered feral beast in the blink of an eye.

Hamper catapulted over his chair and launched himself into Marcus.

Marcus dropped his jaw to his collarbone to keep Hamper’s hands from locking around his throat. He launched a series of pent-up blows, going in low and hard. Hamper grunted when Marcus found the soft flab beneath his ribs. But Hamper’s fingers kept weaseling in, seeking a lock on his neck. Marcus saw the fear in Hamper’s gaze, the wild rage. And matched it with his own. A portion of his brain took note of Wilma shouting for more guards and the deputy grunting and cursing as he sought to unwind Hamper’s arms. Hamper screamed and blew spittle in his face. The prisoner had himself a good laugh over a bad man going down. When Hamper’s thumb came within reach, Marcus bit into the fleshy portion of his palm. Hamper’s scream hit a new note. Marcus put everything he had into three more punches, two into the man’s flabby gut and a strong right jab directly at the heart.

The fight left Hamper in a whoosh of putrid breath. Marcus spat out the sweaty mouthful and backed away. A second guard shoved himself into the overcrowded room. Black limbs the size of a pro wrestler’s pinned Hamper to a massive chest while the first guard cuffed him. Hamper struggled futilely and rasped, “I’ll
kill
you.”

“Deputy, why don’t you show our new guest to his suite.”

Hamper sought to hold himself in the room with a foot on the doorframe. “You’re dead, Glenwood.”

“Oh, I think your killing days are over.” Wilma waved them off. “Charge him with assault. I’ll be back directly to see what else we can cook up.”

The prisoner gave Marcus a yellowed grin. “You’re a lawyer?”

“Yes.” His jacket was ripped down one sleeve. Marcus took it off and used it to wipe his face. “Unless the DA wants to weigh in otherwise.”

“Not me, counselor.” Wilma looked almost as happy as the prisoner. “Now that I’ve seen that left of yours at work, I’d best keep you on my side.”

The prisoner turned to Wilma and declared, “I like this dude’s style.”

“I can serve only as a temporary adviser,” Marcus warned. “Potential conflict of interest means I can’t represent you.”

“That makes it in my book.” Wilma waited until the kicking and screaming diminished down the hallway. “Counselor, why don’t you join us for round two?”

W
ORKING THROUGH
S
KYLER
C
UMMINS
’ account took the better part of two hours. Marcus left the building utterly drained. Sometime while he was inside the day had passed into twilight. He glanced at his watch. Six-thirty. The day seemed far older. Ancient, in fact. Full of dirty secrets and stained motives and plans that cared little over who got mauled in the process. He turned on his phone and dialed Dale’s numbers. No answer. Yet another worrisome development.

His phone rang just as he was shoving it back into his pocket. When he answered, Kirsten breathlessly announced, “I caught the only nonstop from La Guardia to Wilmington. Can you believe it? I made it by a hair.”

“When do you get in?”

She caught his tone. “Tell me what’s the matter.”

“This,” he replied, “has been a really long day.”

“But a good one.”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“And it’s about to get even better.”

He clenched his eyes shut. Fatigue pummeled him with bruising force. “Kirsten, I’m pretty certain I know who was behind the kidnapping.”

“So do I.”

“But I don’t know why.”

“I do.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and told him about her meetings with Evelyn Lloyd and the oncologist.

Marcus rubbed his face hard, striving to force blood through his sluggish brain. “I have to go to the DA with this.”

“You can’t.”

“Kirsten—”

“Just listen to me, okay?” Swiftly she related the call from Goscha, and the conversation with Reiner.