three, four years. This way, if Rainey bites, we take Darby out for twenty years.'
'I still think I can win this case.'
'You did win, Shana. Putting Darby away for twenty years without parole, that's as sweet a deal as we can ask for. Look, you just came off a case, you've got the Stoddard thing to deal with, and by tomorrow you'll probably have two more on your desk. Forget Darby, we've got him. Let's hope Rainey sees through him.'
'We just gave Rainey our whole case!' she said. 'And why didn't we let the sheriff arrest that punk?'
'We didn't give him a damn thing he wouldn't get the first day of discovery. And giving him the option to bring his man in shows good faith on our part.'
'Think the money'll have an effect on him?'
'It's a wild card. He took Darby at his word, which is natural, any lawyer will give his client the benefit of the doubt. Now he's faced with the possibility his client conned him from the front end. Paul Rainey doesn't want to feel he's been suckered by a client he doesn't even like. If he's convinced Darby lied to him, then he's faced with either defending a man he knows is guilty and not getting paid for it or getting him the best deal he can.'
'I don't think he'll buy it,' she said.
'Maybe. What really got to him, what got his attention, was Poppy Palmer running. That and the warrant. My guess is, he'll come back with a counter-offer.'
'And…?'
'We made him the best offer we're going to. If Rainey doesn't take it, Darby's all yours.'
'Good!' Parver said staunchly. 'I hope Rainey thumbs his nose at us. It will serve him right.'
'If he does, we better find Poppy Palmer,' Vail said. 'She'll put the nail in his coffin.'
Trial transcripts, autopsy reports, photographs, old police reports, and copies of book pages were all spread out on Martin Vail's large table. Naomi, Flaherty, and Harvey St Claire stood in front of the big desk, studying what St Claire called his 'exhibits.' Naomi and Dermott Flaherty stared mutely at the display, occasionally picking up a report or a photo and studying it, then slowly replacing it, obviously stunned by what St Claire had laid out on the table.
'You make a good case, Harve. You ought to be a lawyer,' Flaherty said.
'I don't make a very good impression in a courtroom. 'Cept in the witness stand. Hold m'own pretty good under oath.'
'What's Abel say?' Naomi asked.
'He's concerned,' said St Claire.
'For Abel, that's verging on panic,' Flaherty said with a chuckle.
'Am I wrong about this?' St Claire asked. 'Am I just being paranoid?'
'Paranoid! I hardly think so,' said Naomi. 'Why the hell didn't we know about this sooner?'
' 'Cause Gideon don't want the world't'know about it,' said St Claire. 'From what I gather, the town is run by old Fundamentalist farts. I imagine they all look like Abraham or Moses or John Brown. They don't want the world't'think Satanists are loose in their holy little village.'
'Don't they care who did it?'
'Doesn't seem so. Been about six months, ain't happened again. Guess maybe they decided to shut it outta their minds. Pray it away on Sunday mornings.'
'And they just wrote off Linda Balfour?'
'One way a puttin' it,' said St Claire.
'The first question that pops into my mind is, Who? And the second is, Why?' said Flaherty.
'Well, I can tell you who it ain't. Ain't Aaron Stampler.' St Claire dropped a wad of chewing tobacco in his silver cup. 'He's still locked up in max security at Daisyville.'
'That's Daisyland,' Naomi corrected him.
