'Are we even going after Dupre for Travis's murder? The evidence is skimpy. We don't have him anywhere near the scene . . . .'
'You've got that earring, you've got him arguing with Travis the day before the senator was murdered. Besides, it doesn't matter how much evidence we have in Travis's case. We'll piggyback the trials. Go after Dupre for Hayes first. That case is a walk in the park. Dupre was locked in with Wendell. We've got an eyewitness. The little prick brought the murder weapon with him to the conference. Proving intent and deliberation will be a snap.'
'If it's that easy you don't need me for Hayes. A rookie DA could get a death sentence for a violent pimp under these circumstances.'
'It's not that simple, Tim.' Stamm leaned forward. 'I've received a few calls from some very influential people. They told me that you've been offered a shot at Harold Travis's seat.'
Kerrigan stifled a curse. He should have seen this coming.
'These cases will put you in the spotlight for months and, as you just told me, Wendell's case is open and shut--so simple that a rookie DA could get a death sentence. You couldn't ask for a better way to get exposure. You'll have national coverage.'
Kerrigan wanted to turn down the case but what excuse would he give Jack? He couldn't tell him about Ally Bennett.
'Can we resolve the case with a plea?' Kerrigan asked. 'There's no defense in Wendell's case. His lawyer is going to offer a plea in exchange for a life sentence.'
Stamm shook his head. 'We don't plead this one. That little punk killed a United States senator. Then he had the audacity to murder one of the state's most prominent attorneys in our own fucking jail. I'm sorry, Tim, but my mind's made up. This son of a bitch invaded our home. He's going to death row and you're going to take him there.'
Maria Lopez walked into Tim's office as soon as he returned from his meeting with Jack Stamm. Many of the other deputies had left, and the sky outside Tim's window was edging toward gray.
'Do you have a minute?' Maria asked.
'Sure.'
'There's a rumor that you've been tapped to prosecute Jon Dupre.'
'It's not a rumor,' Kerrigan sighed. 'I'm it.'
Maria focused all of her energy on Kerrigan.
'I want to second-chair. I want a chance to help put him away.'
'I don't know . . .'
'Who knows more about Dupre than me? I'll be able to tell you who'll make a good witness in the penalty phase, where to find everything you need to show future dangerousness.' She tapped her temple. 'It's all up here, ready to go. Anyone else will need to spend hours finding out what I can tell you right now.'
What Maria said was true, but she had no experience in trying a death-penalty case. On the other hand, her passion would help her put in the sixteen-hour days, seven days a week, that were standard operating procedure when you were asking the state to execute a human being.
'Alright,' he said. 'You've got it. You're second chair.'
Lopez grinned. 'You won't regret this, boss. We'll get Dupre, I promise you. We'll put him down.'
Tim Kerrigan called Hugh Curtin a little after seven. Hugh was an unmarried workaholic and Tim knew that he'd meet him for a drink anytime, anywhere, if he didn't have a date with one of his many girlfriends. They agreed to meet at the Hardball, a workingman's bar near the baseball stadium, because the patrons minded their own business and the odds of running into someone they knew were mighty low.
Tim waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark before scanning the bar for his friend. It only took a few seconds to spot Hugh in a booth toward the rear. Hugh poured Kerrigan a tall one from a large pitcher as soon as he saw him. Tim slid into the booth and downed half of it. As soon as he put down the mug, Curtin topped it off.
'So,' Curtin said, 'are you going to explain why you're interfering with my twenty-eighth viewing of Predator, starring my all-time favorite action hero, Jesse 'The Body' Ventura?'
'I need your advice.'
'Of course you do.'
Curtin emptied the pitcher and signaled for another. In college, Tim had seen 'Huge' chug a pitcher with no ill effects.
'I had my monthly dinner with my father at the Westmont.'
'And survived.'
Tim nodded. 'We didn't dine alone. He invited Burton Rommel and Harvey Grant.' He paused. 'The party wants me to run for Harold Travis's seat in the next election.'
Curtin paused with his mug halfway to his lips. 'You're kidding!'
'Don't you think I could do it?' Kerrigan asked anxiously.
'Of course you could do it. Look at the morons who've served in Congress. It's just a shock. Fuck, if you became a senator I'd have to be civil to you. You could have the IRS audit my goddamn taxes.'
Kerrigan smiled.
'The real question is, should you do it? There's a ton of prestige that goes with the position, and the chance to do a lot of good for a lot of people. But being a senator is a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. You'd never be home. Megan would miss you. You'd miss a lot of her growing up. Still, the chance to be a United States senator . . . It's a
