“No.”
“Any idea who that cop might be?”
Ambrose stared straight ahead. “No.”
“But there’s a video camera in the evidence locker, so we could find out, right?”
Ambrose turned a scary shade of red and gave me a death glare. “I guess so.”
“Did you ever have the gun tested for prints or DNA?”
“No.”
“But being a good police officer, you handled it carefully so as not to wipe off any prints or DNA that might be there, right?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t really worried about that. It was in his glove box.” Ambrose’s face got so red I thought the top of his head would blow off.
The courtroom had gone dead silent.
I glanced at Rita, then turned to the judge. “I’d ask the court to order that the videotape of the evidence locker be produced and that this weapon be tested for prints and DNA. By a neutral agency, like the sheriff’s office.” I sat down. Your move, Rita.
The judge looked like he’d just taken a bite of rotten fish. He turned to the prosecutor. “People?”
This time, Rita didn’t bounce. She didn’t even stand. “I have no questions.”
Judge Raymond didn’t want to do it. I could see it was killing him. But he had no choice. “I’m going to issue those orders.” He glared at Rita. “It’s not my job to tell you how to do yours. But if I were you, I’d give my superiors the heads up that the judge will be ordering an investigation. They might want to do one of their own.” He glared at Ambrose. “And I’m ordering you to go back to the station forthwith and tell your captain what happened here.” He banged his gavel. “We’ll be in recess.”
Rita stomped out with Ambrose trailing behind her. Neither of them looked at me. They knew as well as I did that the lab wouldn’t find Deshawn’s anything on that gun. This case was history.
Deshawn started whooping and fist-bumping the minute we got outside the courtroom, but I held up a hand and gave him the facts of life. “Deshawn, listen to me: Ambrose went to a lot of trouble to set you up. That’s how bad they want you. You’ve had a target on your back for a long time, and it just got ten times bigger. You keep crime-ing, they’ll get you for sure. And next time you won’t have me.”
“I hear you. I really do. Starting now, I’m out of the life for good.”
I knew he meant it. Now. But I also knew that tomorrow, or the next day, Lil’ J or Big Blue or whoever would show up and say, “I just need [fill in the blank] just this one time,” and he’d go for it. As the saying goes, it was in Deshawn’s nature.
TWENTY-ONE
It was four o’clock by the time I got in to see Dale. There are only seven attorney “rooms”-really just cubicles-in each module, and they were all full when I got there. I had to wait a half hour for one to open up. Dale looked better today. His face didn’t sag as much, and there was more life in his eyes. He wasn’t all the way back to the man I’d met in my office, and he probably wouldn’t be as long as he was in here. But he was doing better. Which was a good thing, because I was going to have to get into it with him.
I picked up the phone. “Hey. They treating you okay so far?”
“Probably as okay as they can. They put me next to a juicehead who sleeps all day. And farts. But it could be a lot worse.” He looked in my eyes. “How are you doing? I’ve been worrying about you. You must be getting some serious flack for representing the monster who killed America’s sweetheart.”
I’d never had a client in custody ask how I was doing. Especially one who was facing a sentence of life without parole. “I’ve gotten some… interesting comments on my website and on Twitter. But it goes with the territory. Don’t worry about me; I can handle it.”
I told him about our interviews.
He remembered Nikki-who hadn’t been subtle about her irritation at not getting a rise out of him. “But what she told you was true. I was driving around the neighborhood. I thought the burglar was a local amateur who might decide to try it again.”
“That’ll work.”
“It’s the truth. I told you, I’m not like your other clients, Samantha. I’m not going to lie to you.”
I gave him a long look. “Holding out on me is exactly what my other clients would do. How come you didn’t tell me Chloe broke up with you that night?”
He blew out a breath. “Janet, right?”
I nodded. “And Chloe’s sister confirms it. During their last phone call, Chloe said she was planning to break up.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry. I guess I was worried that you’d make more of it than it really was. The truth is, we were both through with each other. She was getting back into the junk, and I couldn’t just stand by and watch her throw her life away.”
A jury would probably buy it, since the toxicology report backed him up. But it’d help if someone else could back up his claim that she was a regular user. “Did anyone else know she was using again?”
“I’d bet her sister knew. But I doubt she’ll tell you. In my experience, next of kin tends to clam up when it comes to things like that.” He gave me a searching look. “Speaking of family, how does yours feel about you taking this case?”
What a weird question. “Uh, my mom wasn’t thrilled.”
He flicked a piece of dust off the counter in front of him. “What about your dad?”
Even weirder. What was this about? “I think my stepdad’s okay with it.” Celeste would’ve made a point of telling me if he wasn’t.
He looked up at me and cocked his head. “What about your biological father? Is he in the picture?”
This was getting stranger by the second. “No. Never met him. Look, about the drug dealer-”
“What if you could? Meet him, I mean. Would you want to?”
What the…? “I don’t know. When I was a kid, I wanted to.” Actually, I’d dreamed of it day and night. Even now, the old feelings came rushing back. The pain of feeling alone, vulnerable, at everyone’s mercy, of wishing I had someone in my corner. Someone strong and fierce, who’d protect me… who’d make them all pay. I pulled myself back with effort. “Why do you care?”
“I know him.” He looked at me with soft eyes. “So do you.”
I stared at him. “What the fuck…?”
Dale took a deep breath. After a long moment, he said, “It’s me.” His eyes searched mine as he continued. “I’m your father.”
I heard the words, but they made no sense. It was as though he was speaking backward. When my brain managed to unscramble the sounds, I was sure I’d heard wrong. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”
He spoke gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blindside you like this. But I couldn’t seem to find the right time. I met you and then… everything happened so fast.”
“Couldn’t find the right time?” I felt a little dizzy, like the room had just tilted forty-five degrees. I shook my head slowly, thinking I must be dreaming. This couldn’t be real. I looked down at the pen in my left hand, poised over a legal pad. I looked around at the cubicles, at the observation window where a guard was standing-and watching me. I was definitely not dreaming. The words echoed again in my brain: I’m your father. How could it be?
I’d forgotten to breathe. Light-headed, I gulped for air. Finally, I looked at him. I took in the strong chin; the widow’s peak; the dark-brown, almost-black hair-all of it so like mine. And so unlike Celeste, with her blonde mane. Then I remembered seeing him sign the retainer agreement; he was left-handed-like I was. But I still couldn’t wrap my brain around it. I stammered, “H-how do you know? What makes you think…” I couldn’t manage all the questions that flooded through my mind.