“What’d I say?” Graham said.
“The part about Cassandra being Rivers’s girlfriend,” Casey said, smiling weakly at him. “It’s the defense lawyer in me, I can’t help it. I’m thinking if I’m Rivers’s attorney, I can use that.”
“I don’t follow,” Graham said, removing his hand from her shoulder and cracking open one of the water bottles Ralph kept the cup holders supplied with.
“If I’m his attorney,” she said. “I’m going to concede that it’s Rivers’s semen. So what? My client was the boyfriend. He had consensual sex, but he never killed her.”
Graham twisted up his face. “She was raped and murdered. The police report talks about torn tissue and bruising consistent with rape. He stabbed her ten times.”
Casey stared at him. “The killer could have used a condom.”
Graham scoffed. “That’s bullshit. Rapists don’t use condoms.”
“They could,” she said. “A smart one. Dwayne Hubbard isn’t dumb. He was an A student, despite a pretty desperate home life.”
Graham chuckled before quietly saying, “You’re not Rivers’s attorney, you’re Dwayne’s attorney. You work for the Project.”
“I know,” Casey said just as softly and patting his hand, “but it helps to know what cards the other players have, right? It might not be a straight flush, but it’s a pair of sixes, anyway.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Graham asked.
“We need the media to convict this guy for us,” Casey said. “And that makes your gas on the flames or your blood in the water all the more important. We need them so whipped up about Patricia Rivers bending the system for her son that Kollar won’t dare to buy into some lame condom theory.”
“You’ll be national headlines,” Graham said.
“Me?” Casey said. “I thought you were the one taking care of the media.”
“I’m the one lining it up behind the scenes,” Graham said. “You’re the one on camera. I told you from the start that was a big reason for me recruiting you. That’s why you get the big bucks.”
“Last I checked, I was doing this for free,” Casey said.
“One million dollars a year for two cases?” Graham said. “That’s not free.”
“The money is for the clinic.”
“Hey, it’s not up to me what you do with the money,” he said. “I just pay the bills.”
“Okay,” Casey said, nodding. “I can do that.”
“And you like it, too,” Graham said, offering half a grin.
“Well, I don’t mind,” Casey said. “Let’s just say that.”
When her cell phone rang, Casey checked the caller ID and recognized the number.
“Speaking of the media,” she said in a mutter.
“Who is it?” Graham asked.
Casey tried to sound casual. “Jake Carlson.”
35
WHERE THE HELL have you been?” Jake asked, adjusting his tie in the mirror and lightly touching the wound on the back of his swollen head, thinking it was time for some more pills but wanting to keep his edge for the interview. Dora already had the crew out at Myron Kissle’s old farmhouse, setting up the shot.
“You’re not with Graham, are you?” Jake said.
Casey hesitated, then said, “Robert and I are on our way back to Auburn right now. We’ve got some interesting news. Here, I’ll put him on.”
“Wait-” Jake said, wanting to tell her Graham was no good, even though he’d dropped the scent for the story of the corrupt judge, a story too good to pass up. His conviction wavered. If Graham was that bad, why was it that he, Jake Carlson, Pulitzer Prize winner, was onto Patricia Rivers and her son like a bum on a bologna sandwich?
Jake heard the rustle of the phone being handed over.
“Jake Carlson,” Graham said, his voice slick. “Have I got a deal for you, my friend.”
“A low-mileage minivan?”
“A story to put a little more hardware on your wall.”
“The box in the attic’s pretty much full.”
“So, play hardball with me.”
“I’m not playing anything,” Jake said. “I read your leak in the paper already. If you’ve got a story you’d like to share, please, let me know. I’m a journalist. Otherwise, I’m onto something pretty big myself.”
“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” Graham said.
“I’m comfortable with mine,” Jake said. “No need to whip it out.”
“You called me,” Graham said.
“Actually, I called Casey.”
“Okay, you called us, but I’ll tell you anyway,” Graham said. “We got a DNA match.”
“Hubbard killed her?”
“Not with Hubbard.”
“Wait, this whole thing was about testing the DNA from the hospital’s swabs against Hubbard,” Jake said. “What did I miss?”
“A whole chapter,” Graham said. “That white BMW? It belonged to Nelson Rivers.”
“I read all that in the Sunday paper,” Jake said.
“We found him.”
“Rivers?”
“He’s a dive captain down in Turks and Caicos,” Graham said. “Looks like shit, too. Guilty conscience will do that. So we got his DNA and tested it against those swabs. Hubbard came up negative, but with Rivers? We hit the jackpot, and I’m just trying to decide who gets the prize here.”
“And you’d love to give it to me,” Jake said.
“Sure.”
“But you’ve got to go with the biggest outlet who’ll commit to an in-depth story before you let the news outlets feed on it,” Jake said. “In the interest of the Freedom Project, which is what all this is really about.”
“Of course.”
“Of course. Right,” Jake said with a sigh of annoyance, his head beginning to pound. “So what’s the batting order? I’ll guess. Sixty Minutes, Twenty/Twenty, Primetime. Then you go to Larry King, and if you can’t get that, you’ll settle for O’Reilly Factor, but those two only if the morning shows don’t bite. American Sunday? Let’s see, we probably don’t quite make your top ten. Top twenty? Maybe, because you respect my work.”
Graham was silent.
“So I’ll go to my executive producer and get her to commit and you can use us to shop this thing,” Jake said. “Only I won’t, because I’ve got my own source that no one’s going to want to do a big story without. I’ve got someone so central to this whole thing that whatever anyone else does will look silly when they hear about my get, and people in TV don’t like to look silly, so let me talk to Casey so I can see if she’ll have dinner with me tonight.”
Jake could hear Graham breathing, could almost hear him thinking, before the billionaire said, “How about a win-win?”
“I’ve got my win lined up in about forty-five minutes,” Jake said, “why do I need you to win, too?”
“There are no guarantees for you or me,” Graham said. “If we work together, we can lock this thing down. I have contacts at your network.”
“No kidding,” Jake said.
“Meaning?”
“I don’t usually get orders from the ninth floor to do stories on benevolent billionaires,” Jake said. “Most people in the news know that’s an oxymoron. You fat cats always have a reason for giving.”
“Is it me you hate,” Graham asked pleasantly, “or just the fact that I’m rich?”
“I save my emotions for people who matter,” Jake said. “Trust me, my revulsion is purely clinical.”
Graham sighed and said, “Fine, neither of us is short on friends, so let’s talk business. Presuming whatever it is you’ve got has the attraction you say it does, and knowing we’ve got the inside angle on the rest, what if I make a call to my contacts and tell them they can have the exclusive for Twenty/Twenty, but only if they use you as a special correspondent? That way, the project gets maximum exposure and you get to ring the bell.”