'No more shit.'
'Good.' She sat back down and finished her second martini.
'Let me ask you something,' he said. 'If you were on a jury panel and they asked if you if you were in favour of the death penalty, what would you say?'
'That's moot.'
'Hell it is. Think about it for a minute.' He turned back to his Coke. They were silent for a full minute before she answered.
'I'd say I'm not sure whether I am or not, but I wouldn't let that influence my judgement. It's the evidence that counts.'
'Good. And would you go into court if you had doubts about the defendant's guilt?'
'God, you sound like Martin. He asked me the same thing the other night.'
'It's what prosecutors fear more than anything else - convicting an innocent man.'
'Or woman.' She held a finger up to the waiter and dipped it towards her glass.
'Or woman. Point is, if you got 'em — and you've got Darby - then what's the dif? You do your job. How would you feel, knowing what you know about Darby, if he beat the rap? Suppose he walked?'
'Won't happen,' she said defensively.
'I mean, supposing someone else was trying him and they blew the case?'
She thought for a moment, then decided to ignore the question. She suddenly changed the subject. 'Then there's Edith Stoddard,' she said.
'What about her?'
'Something's wrong there, Flaherty. She doesn't even want to put up a fight.'
'That's her option. Not much to fight about. According to your preliminary report, she bought the gun, spent two weeks learning to use it, and then popped him -twice. One would've been enough. The second shot was malicious. That's murder one, hot-shot. She's good as cooked.'
'You'd send her to the chair?'
'Pretty open and shut. She obviously planned to waste him for at least two weeks. No sudden impulse, no temporary insanity, no imminent danger. She got pissed, planned it, and whacked him.'
'She's so pitiful. There's something real… sad… about her.'
'What's sad is she's looking twenty thousand volts in the eye. These things are not supposed to get personal, Shana.'
'Well it
'Maybe you should let somebody else handle it.'
'Not on your life, Irish. I'll do it and do it right.'
'Hell, I wouldn't worry about it. Venable's handling the case. She hasn't tried a criminal case in ten years.'
Parver finished her third martini and slid the glass to the edge of the table. Think it's going to be cakewalk, do you? Let me tell you, she's good. Ten years or not, she's good.' She stopped and leaned across the table and said cautiously, 'I think Marty's got a thing with her.'
'Get outta here,' he said with mock surprise, remembering the flowers on Venable's dining-room table.
Parver nodded emphatically and winked.
'Will wonders never cease,' he said, and laughed.
The waiter brought her a new drink and took the empty away.
'That's your fourth martini,' Flaherty said. 'And I happen to know the bartender has a very heavy hand.
'It's none of my business, but I don't think you understand about martinis.'
'Well, I may just get a li'l drunk tonight, Flaherty.' She paused, took a sip, and then said, 'Y'know, that's an awful long name. Flaharty. That's almost three syl'bles. I'm going to call you Flay. Anyway, Flay, can you handle it, if I get a little snockered?'
He smiled at her. 'I've never been drunk,' he said, somewhat sheepishly.
