"So that leaves Goose, Pete, and Benito and the Muertos."
"Goose's prints didn't match the ones on the kitchen counter."
"We need Pete's prints."
"I'll get them."
"So the prime suspects are the pro golfer who just won the U.S. Open, a Mexican drug cartel, and your ex-wife." Bobby unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it into his mouth. "Should've waited until after this case to quit smoking."
"I completed the asset searches on Trey and Rebecca," Karen said. "No surprises. Rebecca's got nothing except the Corvette. I got the subpoenas to Hank, he served them on Facebook and the cell phone carrier."
"Anything on the sister?" Bobby asked.
"No," Scott said. "But her lawyer, Melvyn Burke, he knows something."
"What?"
"I don't know. Terri won't waive the attorney-client privilege." To Karen: "What about the judge?"
"UT undergrad, dean's list, cheerleader. UT law school, graduated with honors. Private practice for ten years, then elected judge five years ago. No big cases."
"Until now. Pretrial motions?"
"I'm going to file a motion to exclude the crime scene photos as inflammatory. The D.A.'ll still get some in."
"Can we exclude evidence found at the house?"
"She called nine-one-one, invited them in, consented to a search. Even if she hadn't, it wasn't her house. And it was a crime scene, so that room was open to a search. But I'll still file a motion to suppress."
"What about the tox report? Did they have probable cause to draw her blood?"
"Probably not. I'll file a motion to exclude that, too."
There was an awkward moment of silence, then Scott said, "She's not an addict."
Scott gazed at Rebecca on the beach with the girls. She seemed like a girl herself, skipping through the surf, as if she were not soon to stand trial for murder.
"Has the possibility of life in prison registered yet?" Karen said.
Scott gestured down at the beach. "One day she's acting happy, talking about us getting back together… the next day she's on suicide watch. I don't get her."
"It's the cocaine," Bobby said.
"What cocaine?"
"Scotty, I represented users. I know the symptoms. Cycles of depression and euphoria, that's a cocaine user. She's using."
Scott shook his head. "She only used it a few times with Trey. She'd never use it around Boo. No way."
"Way." Bobby pointed to the beach. "Go down there and do a blood draw, I guarantee a tox screen would come back positive for cocaine."
"Where would she get it from? And how would she pay for it?"
"Scotty, you staying objective? About her?"
Think like a lawyer, not like a man.
"I found a polygraph guy," Karen said. "On Bolivar Peninsula, retired FBI. Is she willing to do it?"
Scott nodded.
"Are you worried?"
"She's not."
"It's the cocaine," Bobby said.
"Crack dealers," Pajamae said, "they killed this man down in the projects one day. Just walked up and shot him dead, right in front of everyone."
"Shit," Boo said. "I mean, damn. I mean, wow."
Scott had come upstairs to say goodnight to the girls. "Fear. They wanted to scare you."
"Well, Mr. Fenney, it worked."
"Why'd they kill the man?" Boo asked.
"He owed them money."
"Why didn't the dealers just hire a lawyer and sue him?"
"Boo, folks in the projects don't sue each other. Lawsuits are for white folks who don't have guns."
Boo nodded, as if Pajamae's statement made perfect sense.
"Nothing exciting like that ever happens in Highland Park. It's so boring."
"What do folks in Highland Park do for excitement?"
"Shop at Neiman Marcus mostly."
"Ain't no Neiman or Marcus in South Dallas."
"So what did you do for excitement down in the projects?"
"Walk outside."
Boo nodded then turned to Scott. "I saw something on TV this morning about Mother's boyfriend."
"Boo, I told you, when something about the case comes on, change the channel. There's a lot of stuff you don't need to know yet. "
"Stuff like her boyfriend used drugs?"
"Yes, stuff like that."
She hesitated, and Scott knew what her next question would be. She had to ask.
"Did mother use drugs, too?"
Before Rebecca had left them, whenever Boo had asked Scott tough questions like that, he had always answered like a lawyer: he had fudged the truth. But when he became her only parent, he had started answering her like a father instead. And so he answered her now. He lied.
"No."
An eleven-year-old girl needed to know the truth about sex but not that truth about her mother.
"Good." She seemed relieved. "So, if Mother doesn't go to that prison, is she coming home with us?"
"Do you want her back?"
"Did you come down here to get her back?"
"I came down here to defend your mother so she doesn't spend the rest of her life in prison for a crime she didn't commit."
"But you want to understand why she left us?"
"Yes."
"Because you blame yourself?"
"Yes."
"Which is why you won't ask Ms. Dawson out?"
"Yes."
Boo nodded. "I don't understand her either. Mother is a complicated person. But you two wouldn't get married again unless we all decide?"
"No. Never. We're a family. And a family makes decisions together."
"Good. Oh, A. Scott, there was a segment this morning about statins. I really think you should be on one. You're thirty-eight now."
"Boo, I know thirty-eight sounds really old to you, but it's not. I'm still a young man. I'm not going to die on you." He put a hand on each of their shoulders. "On either of you."
"You'd better not," Boo said.
Scott kissed them goodnight then went into his bedroom, which shared a bathroom with Carlos' and Louis's bedroom. They were downstairs watching TV, so he undressed and showered. He was still naked when he opened the door to his bedroom and saw Rebecca standing there. She too was naked. Incredibly naked. They stared at each other.
"You look good, Scott."
So did she.
"Let's finish what we started on the beach," she said. "A little man fun for Father's Day."
He wanted her. Desperately. But he resisted. Because he had to think like a lawyer and not lust like a man. Because she needed him as her lawyer more than he needed her as his lover. Because she couldn't be a bad influence and a good mother. So he turned, walked back into the bathroom, and shut the door; but he did think, That's an odd place for a tattoo.
TWENTY-EIGHT
"It's official. Medical Examiner ruled it a homicide."
The next morning, Galveston County Criminal District Attorney Rex Truitt handed the final autopsy report on Trey Rawlins across his desk to Scott. He passed it to Bobby. The Assistant D.A. sat in the corner like a kid in timeout.
"No change to the cause of death," the D.A. said. "Sharp force injury. The knife killed Trey, not the cocaine."
"Who told Renee about the cocaine?"
"Detective Wilson denied it, but lots of people saw that tox report."
"It's not right, Rex, for someone in your office-"
"I don't know it's coming from my office, Scott."
"It's coming from someone in law enforcement, and that's not right, leaking evidence to the press. That's depriving my client of a fair trial. Find your leak, Rex, and plug it, or I'm filing for a change of venue."
"That won't make Shelby happy."
"Keeping her happy isn't my job."
Bobby, always mindful of Scott's blood pressure, diverted the conversation.