wedgie.
“Sure,” he said.
Mays popped open two cans and put one in front of Jack. “Cheers,” he said, and then he guzzled down most of it. Jack half expected him to start burping out the entire Mays alphabet: fucking-A, fucking-B…
“I didn’t used to drink, you know,” said Mays.
Jack knew what he was saying. “I hear you.”
Mays had a little beer foam on his mustache. He took care of it with a backhand swipe of the wristband.
“Your client called me from jail the other night,” said Mays.
“I heard about that in court yesterday,” said Jack.
“Told me where he was when McKenna was murdered.”
Jack wasn’t sure how to respond, so he let Mays keep talking.
“I’ve been giving his story a lot of thought,” said Mays.
“I know it must sound hard to believe,” said Jack.
Mays locked eyes with him, and for a moment Jack wondered if he was going to reach over the counter and slug him. Finally, Mays stepped away, took a file from a stack of papers on the kitchen table, and laid it on the countertop in front of Jack.
“What’s this?” asked Jack.
“Payroll records for my company. It’s from three years ago, when Jamal worked for me.”
Jack opened the file and found his client’s name on the list of employees.
Mays said, “We had automatic deposit for Jamal’s paychecks to go to his bank every week.”
Jack glanced at the transaction dates on the ledger. “So is it a coincidence that he was off the payroll for the two pay periods before your daughter was murdered?”
“Jamal stopped showing up for work. So I stopped paying him. Tried calling him, got no answer. Went to his apartment. Nobody there. Called his mother in Minnesota. No idea where he was. She even filed a missing person report.”
Jack looked at him, confused. “All that actually supports Jamal’s claim that he was abducted before the crime.”
“I realize that,” he said.
Jack studied his expression. The guy was no easy read. “Why would you help me defend the man accused of killing your daughter?”
Mays drained the last of his beer, then crushed the empty aluminum can in his bare hand. “Jamal Wakefield was sitting in Gitmo for three years.”
“Well, nominally at least it was Khaled al-Jawar.”
“That’s exactly my problem,” said Mays. “Those fuckers knew they had Jamal. But no one told me. They just let me go on thinking for three years that the man who killed my daughter was still on the loose, never going to be brought to justice.”
“I can see where you’d be angry.”
“This isn’t about anger. I’m just saying they have a different agenda, and I understand that. They think Jamal’s a terrorist, and they want to keep him locked up.”
“The Justice Department did take an unusual position in court yesterday,” said Jack.
“What do you mean?”
“Normally, when a criminal defendant wants access to classified information, the feds make him jump through all the hoops under the Confidential Information Protection Act. The government doesn’t care how long it takes. But in Jamal’s case, they’re suddenly all concerned about the swift administration of justice.”
“You see what I’m saying?” said Mays. “It doesn’t really matter if he killed McKenna. So long as he ends up behind bars, it works out either way for them.”
“But it matters for you.”
“I just want the truth. I think you do, too, which is why you’re on the fence about taking this case to trial.”
“Who told you that I was on the fence?”
He shook his head, as if Jack were naive. “My supercomputers can search eight billion files in an instant, tell me where you lived when you were in college, and pull up the Social Security number of every man, woman, and child who ever lived in the same zip code. Give me another minute and I can do the same thing for two hundred seventy million other folks, and not a single one will have the slightest idea that he was being checked out. Then, if you like, we can compile a complete personal dossier for every high-school graduate who earns six figures, smokes Marlboros, uses the name of his childhood pet as his preferred online password, and has a landlord named Bob.”
Jack hesitated, but he knew Mays wasn’t kidding. “You can’t click a mouse and know how I feel about a case.”
“No, I’m not quite there… yet,” Mays said with a smile. Then he turned serious. “But I do know this: You wouldn’t be anywhere near this case if something wasn’t telling you that Jamal is innocent.”
Jack didn’t respond.
“Vince Paulo is a friend of mine,” said Mays. “I know he’s one of your personal heroes. And why shouldn’t he be? He was the lead hostage negotiator who stopped a raving lunatic from killing your best friend.”
Jack couldn’t deny the facts.
Mays said, “You’d have to be one incredibly cold and ungrateful son of a bitch to defend the guy who blinded him.”
“It’s a tough one,” said Jack.
“Damn right it is. But we both know one thing.”
“What?”
“If Jamal is innocent, that means the man who murdered my daughter and took Paulo’s eyesight is still out there, a free man. That’s why you’re on this case, isn’t it?”
“I’m not comfortable having this conversation,” said Jack.
Mays grabbed him by the wrist, his move lightning quick. “I couldn’t care less about your comfort.”
“Let go of my arm.”
Mays squeezed harder, his bicep bulging. “I need to know if they’ve got the wrong guy. I have the right to know.”
“Mr. Mays, let go of my arm.”
“Tell me the truth. Would you be in this case if you really thought Jamal did it?”
They were locked in a stare down. Mays’ eyes were like lasers, but it was the kind of question Jack would never answer.
“I’m giving you one last chance,” said Jack. “Let go of my arm. Now.”
Mays had the grip of a mountain climber, not a computer genius. His eyes narrowed with anger and then, finally, he released Jack.
“Get out of my house,” said Mays.
Jack flexed his wrist, got the blood flowing, then walked straight to the foyer and opened the front door.
“Swyteck,” Mays called out, his voice booming down the hallway.
Jack stopped in the open doorway, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t even glance back.
“Defend him if you want,” said Mays. “But if he’s guilty and you get him off, I’ll kill you. That’s not a threat. That’s just the way it is.”
Jack stepped out. Behind him the door closed with an echo that traveled beyond the bare walls of the big, empty house.
Chapter Twelve
P.O., no, no!”
Jack recognized his grandfather’s shouting the moment he entered the Alzheimer’s wing. It was coming from
