Page 60 of Defend Me

“You’re Siobhan Everton,” he says.

True to her word, Von keeps her mouth shut and only nods.

I wonder how long that will last.

“Von is representing me pro bono,” I say, hoping to ingratiate her to Stan a bit. “We wanted to ask about the gun I used back when I was in training.”

“Sure, I’ve got that in my records somewhere, let me just check.” Stan goes back behind his desk. “It was a Glock 22, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Same caliber as my duty weapon when I officially became a deputy.”

Stan types in his computer for a moment. “Yup, it’s here.”

“Can we see it?” I ask

“Sure. Why?”

“We think it’s the gun that was used to kill my mother,” Von says. She made it longer than I expected without talking—almost a full minute.

Stan cuts her a shocked look. “You think one of my guns was the murder weapon?”

“We do,” I interrupt.

Stan studies Von. “Marion was a good woman,” he says. “She was always stepping up to help the people in this town.”

“I know,” Von says.

“Unlike your father,” Stan growls.

“I know,” Von shoots back.

“I assume he’s financing this whole thing,” Stan says.

Von cocks her head. “I work for a living. Like Noah said, I’m representing him pro bono. I’m not my father’s puppet.”

That response seems to please Stan. He steps out from behind the desk and heads to the storage locker. We follow him. “You know, there’s many who could use legal help in these parts,” Stan says. “Those who can’t afford it. And who don’t have Noah’s connections.”

“Hm,” Von mutters noncommittally.

“Jake Stein over at the Crooked Screw is dealing with some belligerent drunk who slipped on his own spilled beer and now he’s suing Jake over it. It’s the little guy that always gets the short end of the stick, isn’t that right, Derek?”

Derek looks back and forth uncomfortably between Von and Stan. “Uh, yeah, that’s right.”

“I bet Jake would love to have some fancy city lawyer helping him out,” Stan says.

“I’d be happy to speak with him,” Von says smoothly. “How secure is this facility?”

Stan frowns and points to the front doors. “That’s reinforced glass. Two locks. I’ve got the keys.” He pulls a ring from his pocket. “And this here,” he points to the keypad next to the storage locker, “requires a six-digit code.”

“How many people have access to that?” I ask.

“My employees,” Stan says. “A couple of my longest, most trusted clients. And the sheriff, the undersheriff, and some top deputies.”

“Would you mind printing us out a list?” Von asks.

Stan raises an eyebrow and glances at Derek. “The sheriff okay with this?”

Derek flushes a blotchy red. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he says. “It’s in the interest of justice, Stan.”

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