Page 19 of The Instruments of Darkness

“She’s been charged, not convicted,” said Moxie, “and the TV cameras aren’t going anywhere. You’ll get your exposure, but without my client’s home address being advertised on every TV in the Northeast. If you put her in MCC to get stabbed by a junkie, you’re going to look bad at the bail hearing for deliberately endangering the safety of a prisoner when you had options, and placing her far from counsel.”

Becker stewed, but it was obvious that her better judgment would have to prevail over baser emotions. Moxie wasn’t some public defender she could browbeat into submission. He’d been handling murder cases back when Becker was still rigging elections to the student council.

“Fine,” she said. “Let Cumberland take her, but you just blew all my goodwill, and then some.”

She stalked off, but not before pausing in front of me.

“What the fuck are you smiling at?”

“I’m just naturally buoyant.”

“When the ship goes down, you’ll drown with the rest,” said Becker. “Let’s see how buoyant you are then.”

Moxie and I watched her depart. She was already making a call from her cell phone. I’d have bet good money she was about to speak with her boss, Nowak.

“That went well,” I said to Moxie. “You got your way twice already this evening, and Becker barely drew blood.”

“She’ll try to kill us on bail. That’s how she works.”

“You think Cuba will be far enough away for us?”

“Mars won’t be far enough.”

He walked to a window and looked down on Middle Street. The news vans had gathered outside, the crews waiting to grab footage of Colleen being taken to jail.

“When will you make your statement?” I said.

“As soon as she’s on her way. I have transcripts ready to hand out. I hate being misquoted.”

“And your every word a pearl. If you don’t need me, I’d like to get going before you make your speech.”

“Sure,” said Moxie. “It’s been a long day. I know you don’t like early starts, but I’d appreciate it if maybe you could come by the office before noon tomorrow. I’ll order in lunch, if you like.”

“Let’s see how things go. If I make it, coffee will be fine.”

“You’re going to fade away,” said Moxie, “and then none of your clothes will fit right.”

“You and me both.”

“Yeah, but I’m growing into mine. I plan ahead.”

“Well, that’s why they pay you the big bucks,” I said, and left him to consign Colleen Clark to the cells.

CHAPTER XII

As it happened, I didn’t escape from Middle Street unnoticed. The media were at both the front and the rear doors, and the camera lights came on as soon as I exited. Perhaps they’d already figured out that if Moxie Castin was representing Colleen Clark, I might be involved on the investigative side, but it was equally possible that Erin Becker’s people had made some calls in the hope of muddying the waters. I had overstepped the line in the past, so it wasn’t hard to guess the spin: if Colleen Clark was resorting to such dubious company to aid her defense, she really did have something to hide. The implication would have to be subtle to avoid trouble with a judge, but Becker was an operator. If anyone could carry it off, she could.

A couple of questions were shouted in my direction as I walked to my car, but I ignored them. Dealing with the media was Moxie’s job. I already had a long list of people I needed to approach, and the first name on it was that of Colleen’s husband, Stephen. But I’d also have to canvas her neighbors, and speak with her physician and therapist, since Colleen had given Moxie permission in writing to approach them and obtain any and all information pertinent to the case. Mostly, though, our job would be to confirm that the two professionals were aware of the extent and limitations of privilege, and make certain they contacted us in the event of being served with a subpoena by the prosecution.

Becker would move fast. She needed a speedy trial because a long delay wouldn’t help her election chances, or Nowak’s. Moxie, by contrast, would angle for as much time as he could get, but he couldn’t apply the same pressure to the system as the AG’s office. Colleen had agreed to be guided by Moxie, which was always beneficial, but she’d made it plain that she didn’t want the trial hanging over her head for too long, not unless a delay helped the investigation into her son’s disappearance: my territory. The more I considered it, the more her fate was coming to rest on my shoulders. Angel and Louis would have said it was my martyr complex manifesting itself. If so, they permanently occupied the crosses on either side of me, because whenever I glanced around, there they were.

I hadn’t eaten since Twitchy’s, and even then I’d left three quarters of a sandwich untouched. I drove down to Local 188 on Congress, parked on the street, and ordered a bowl of pasta and a glass of wine at the bar. A woman smiled at me, and I smiled back. She tried to strike up a conversation, but it never went beyond politeness on my part, and she soon found someone more sociable with whom to pass the evening.

And on a blank page of my notebook, I wrote a name: Mara Teller.

CHAPTER XIII

Far to the northwest, the wind whistled around Kit No. 174, and dead leaves skittered across the ground. Had anyone been present to witness it, they might have thought that a shadow passed across the window of one of the upper rooms, but as like as not, it was the reflection of a branch buffeted by the breeze.

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