“And now, traffic and transit on the eights,” the radio voice declared.
The cab hummed forward, miraculously dodging pedestrians who showed neither fear nor respect for oncoming vehicles. Incredibly, few were ever mowed down. Knowledge being power, that statistic only egged them on.
Watching traffic whiz by, she knew why the news report had grabbed her attention and not let go. The stabbing/strangulation MO reminded her of her final jury trial, the Clint Burrell Cruise serial-murder case.
33
Atlanta, Georgia
CLARENCE E. CARTER WAS NOW KNOWN AS THE JUDGE WHO HAD a heart, the fair-minded champion of the people, not too proud to listen to reason nor afraid to hold the justice system to the careful scrutiny allowed only by the bright light of the Georgia Supreme Court.
In other words, he’d reversed himself midstream.
Tipped back in his desk chair on a glorious morning, C.C. gazed out the window at the glittering city, basking.
He had let a serial killer walk free with a single vote and blamed it all on the State. It was the cops’ fault.
Now he was the centerfold in legal journals across the country. Suddenly, even the American Bar Association lauded him, despite his profusely and publicly ridiculing the ABA repeatedly in the past. He publicly declared it was headed up by liberals and law professors who had never been in the trenches and knew nothing about the real world, frequently describing them as bloated house pets who lounged in plush ivory towers.
Funny, he saw them in a whole new light now that they had invited him to a genuine Hawaiian luau in Hawaii next month, and would fly him and Tina first-class to present him with an ABA Certificate of Honor, shellacked to a high sheen and embedded in oak.
The Prosecuting Attorney’s Counsel had never shelled out like this.
And then there was last week’s invitation to an all-expense-paid trip for two to Italy, where the Criminal Defense Lawyers Association was planning to fete the Cruise reversal. Although he’d heard American Italian food was much better than real Italian.
Of course, not everyone applauded his vote.
His law clerk, Jim Talley, resigned. So much for his chances of landing a spot at Lange and Parker. For all C.C. knew, Talley was waiting tables at Cracker Barrel. But hey, if you can’t take the heat…
Meanwhile, C.C.’s longtime supporters, the pro-death penalty groups, were furiously licking their wounds over the reversal. They hoped this single reversal must be a freakish aberration on the part of a fry-’em-like-chicken-ask-questions-later kind of judge. The reasoning behind C.C.’s swing vote remained a mystery, though the legal community was rife with speculation as to the true cause of the vote change.
Outright disgust with C.C. was evenly matched by the jubilance of the anti-death penalty camp, hailing a new era wherein future Penalty votes would now be one vote in their favor.
Wrong.
C.C. knew in his heart this was a one-shot deal, and it was over.
He planned all along to “leave the dance with the one who brung him.” C.C. was brought to greatness by his die-hard support for the electric chair. He couldn’t and wouldn’t abandon Old Sparky on the cusp of his governorship. That would be bad luck.
Plus, liberals represented mostly poor, indigent clients strapped for cash. They could never fund his gubernatorial bid, much less a re-election campaign.
If he ever wanted to live in the Mansion, he had to make nice again with the “fry-babies,” C.C.’s pet name for pro-death penalty groups.
He took another sip from his flask and spun away from the window.
Time to call Floyd Moye Eugene.
34
New York City
“NOW HE’S JOINED ‘JDATE.’” KAREN BLEW HER NOSE INTO A Kleenex in Hailey’s office. Again. “It’s online dating for Jewish singles. And that’s on top of Adult Friend Finders, Yahoo Singles, and Match.com.”
“Is he Jewish?”
“No…and he’s not single, either! Well, technically, maybe, but…”
Hailey shook her head. For a half hour now, Karen had been filling her in on James’s latest. The man never ceased to amaze.
“And you should read the things he says on this JDate…all bullshit, of course.”
“Like what?”
“I checked out his profile and he’s got some nerve. The photo he posted of himself is half a picture somebody took of us one night at a party…and I’m cut out of the picture! He’s just standing there with a glass of wine in one hand and his other arm reaching out off the photo. It might actually be funny if it weren’t so…so…”
“Duplicitous?” Hailey supplied the word Karen was searching for.
“Exactly. Why is he doing this, Hailey?”
“He’s not my client, Karen. You are.”
“I know, I know. You always say that. But what’s your theory?”
They’d been over and over it. Maybe someday, it would stick. Maybe Karen wasn’t ready to let go, so she subconsciously remained in a perpetual state of limbo.
“My theory is that all the telephone foreplay and online flirtations make James feel like he’s still out there, a ‘player,’ a nice-looking package of man. It’s all about his insecurities. He prefers anonymity because there’s no fear of failure. We’ve been over this. You agreed just last week.”
“Remember that bootleg Viagra I told you about?” Karen avoided her avoidance.
Hailey nodded, almost afraid to hear. “What about it?”
“I told him about it, and I told him to use it. All the pills are still there, right where I left them in the bathroom cabinet. I secretly counted them so that I could make sure he wasn’t using them somewhere else. He wasn’t…at least, not according to my math.”
“Well…that’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s good he isn’t using them somewhere else…not so good that he’s not using them with me. And the thing is, all this online stuff of his-it’s not just about sex. Last week he e-mailed an Asian escort service and asked some hooker named Lotus if she’d like to go to dinner and a Broadway play. He wrote, ‘Before the tab starts running.’ Dinner and a play, can you believe that?”
“Taking Lotus the hooker to a Broadway play and Sardi’s after for dinner? No, I can’t,” Hailey said matter-of-factly.
“But Hailey, do you think he’d actually go through with it? I keep telling myself no, that it’s like all the other online chats and phone-sex services, that he never follows through. Or am I just fooling myself?” Teary-eyed, Karen plucked one of the last tissues from the bottom of the box and looked at Hailey, for reassurance and comforting.
“Karen, you’ve had the man followed by a private dick eight, is it ten times now? Phone and computer sex aside, if you’re asking whether I honestly think he goes any further than just fantasizing like a million other guys in America, I’d still say no. I’m willing to bet that so far, the worst he’s done is BS strippers in the clubs, and believe me, they’ve heard it all before. He never even takes one home. That we know of.”
“So that means…”
“So that means I’m sticking with the international-man-of-mystery theory.”
Karen burst into laughter and blew her nose. “Remember when Harry double-confirmed James never actually hooked up with that pharmaceutical sales rep?”
Hailey definitely did remember the emergency wee-hour call she’d received a few weeks ago when Karen found out James had a new phone number on speed dial. Karen matched it up with a number James stashed, hidden under “Chinese Take-out” in his BlackBerry.