Page 3 of The Instruments of Darkness

“I was the only one Colleen called. She wasn’t interested in the others.”

“Why is that?”

“Because of you,” said Moxie.

It was widely known that I did some work for Moxie. I occasionally accepted employment from other lawyers as well, but the difference with Moxie was that I both liked and trusted him, and had yet to refuse him my help.

“When will she be charged?” I said.

“Isles thinks they’ll come for her tomorrow. Becker’s people have quietly been laying the groundwork because Nowak doesn’t want any mistakes. They may offer Colleen a plea deal, but it won’t be generous, and there’ll be no room for negotiation. If they don’t get what they want, they’ll push for a speedy trial.”

“How does your client feel about that?”

“She won’t cop a plea,” said Moxie. “She says she didn’t harm her child.”

“Is this where I ask if you believe her?”

“It can be, and I’ll reply that I’m here to defend her, whatever she may or may not have done. Between us, I really don’t know for sure. My gut instinct is that she’s innocent, but I’d still be concerned about putting her on the stand. She’s not cold, exactly, but she is reserved. I think her reaction to pain is to internalize it before donning a mask to hide any stray feelings that might slip through.”

“What about her husband?”

“He’s convinced she did it, or he’s not convinced that she didn’t do it, which is nearly as bad.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Not yet, but she’s told me as much. Even if she hadn’t, his body language and attitude in front of the media would have given it away. They’re no longer living together, and Stephen Clark, or someone close to him, has been feeding details about their marriage to the press, although the scuttlebutt has dried up noticeably over the last few days.”

“Becker?” I said.

“That would be my view. She probably told Stephen to stop courting the peanut gallery in case the defense starts hollering about the Sixth Amendment, for all the good that would do.”

The Sixth Amendment guaranteed the right to a speedy and public trial, which theoretically included being defended from prejudicial information that might bias prospective jurors against the defendant, the media being more inclined to publish material leaked by the prosecution and law enforcement. In practice, sensationalized pre-trial descriptions of crimes and defendants, even the publication of legally excludable material, rarely led to a change of venue or affected the decisions of trial courts, but most legal professionals agreed that these factors could work against an impartial jury. If the case went to trial, the best Moxie could hope for would be to raise with the judge the issue of what had previously been said or published about his client, and use it on appeal in the event of a conviction.

“Erin Becker doesn’t like me,” I said. “Nowak isn’t a fan either.”

I’d learned from my contacts at the Special Investigations Unit, the Maine State Police’s licensing division, that renewed pressure had been applied to rescind my PI’s license. The source of that pressure was dual: the AG’s office and the Cumberland County DA. To its credit, the division hadn’t buckled so far, because I continued to fulfill the minimum requirements and my check always cleared. I had been forced to seek a new insurer for my obligatory general liability policy, but that was a consequence of bad publicity as much as anything else—or so I liked to believe. My new insurers had already been required to pay out for damage to the Braycott Arms, a dive hotel in town, in the course of a previous investigation. My broker told the insurers they were getting off lightly, although the words “so far” remained unspoken in the background.

“Neither Becker nor Nowak was liable to be helpful anyway,” said Moxie, “so don’t take it personally in the current instance. Anyway, your involvement may encourage them to behave properly. If they try to be clever, I have faith in your ability to spot it; and if they’ve missed something, you’ll find it.”

“I haven’t said that I’ll accept the job.”

“Haven’t you? I’m sure I heard differently. If you’re genuinely vacillating, take a ride by the Clark house and see what’s been done to it. I can give you the address.”

My earlier comments to Moxie were returning to haunt me. Whoever took Colleen Clark’s side was likely to suffer, if only in the short term, and sometimes I grew tired of looking at unfriendly faces. But a child was missing, and his mother was about to be dragged into the machinery of the law. It chewed people up, the innocent as well as the guilty, and called the result justice, but only a fool would accept that as true.

“I’ll take the address,” I said, “and the job.”

“There you go, repeating yourself.”

“What about the boy?”

“That blanket was drenched in his blood. It’s not inconceivable that he’s still alive, but it is improbable.” Moxie waved for the check. “Whatever the truth, we need to work on Colleen’s defense. If she didn’t do it—and like I said, my feeling is that she’s innocent—then someone has probably killed her son and is trying to destroy her into the bargain. That’s your territory, but it’ll have to sit alongside trial prep.”

The check arrived. Moxie paid in cash, and tipped generously.

“Does she have funds?”

“Colleen doesn’t have enough to pay for long-term legal representation, so her mother is picking up the tab. There’s still a mortgage on the house, and Colleen’s share from any sale won’t come to more than thirty or forty thousand. But her father was a gas executive, and left his wife in clover when he died. She doesn’t have a problem spending whatever is necessary to save her daughter, and perhaps find out what happened to her grandchild along the way.”

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