“Steve, let's go,” Victoria said.
“No, you don't get it, Vic. My old man thought this prick was the real deal. But my instincts were better. My gut was right. Old Herbert was wrong. Do you know how happy that makes me?”
“I'm so pleased you're resolving your father-son issues,” Zinkavich said dryly. “Now, may I assume you're turning down my proposal?”
“You bet your fat ass I am.”
“Fine. Frankly, I would prefer to see you go down hard, which you will. You'll be indicted for aggravated assault, criminal trespass, and kidnapping in Calhoun County. You'll lose your license, your nephew, and what's left of your reputation.”
“Some people are ashamed of their hypocrisy, Fink, but you wear yours like a medal.”
“If there's nothing else, Mr. Zinkavich,” Victoria said, “we'll see you in Juvenile Court next Monday.”
“We?” Zinkavich said.
“I'll be representing Mr. Solomon.”
Steve gave her a look. What happened to “I've never handled a guardianship case”?
“Have you ever tried a juvie case?” Zinkavich asked.
“I'm a trial lawyer, an all-purpose utility player,” she said, echoing Steve's words. “I can play any position, and I'm not afraid of any case or any lawyer.”
Steve felt a strange brew of emotions. Gratitude to Victoria and despair about Bobby. She was coming aboard, but was it a sinking ship? If she had any idea how to win the case, he'd love to hear it, because he had nothing. The two of them would be trying the murder case every day, the guardianship every night, and as far as he could tell, they'd be getting their asses kicked in both.
There was something else strange going on, he thought. Victoria was starting to sound like him, and he was starting to think like her.
“Aligning yourself with Solomon can do you great damage, Ms. Lord,” Zinkavich said.
“Thanks for the career advice,” she said.
“You'll never be a success in this town if people think of you as Solomon's lawyer, or even worse, his partner.”
“I don't care what people think,” she said. “I won't compromise my ideals to achieve someone else's definition of success.” Then she turned to Steve and smiled. “Right, partner?”
Steve's To-Do List
1. Thank Victoria. (Don't overdo it.)
2. Discredit Kranchick. HOW????
3. Neutralize Thigpen. HOW????
4. Zinkavich's rebuttal witness. WHO????
5. Interview Barksdale's divorce lawyer.
6. Buy prosciutto (from Parma).
7. Confront Katrina with her own words: “Two people is one too many for a murder.”
8. Pay Cece. (Postdate check.)
9. Tell Bobby you love him (every day).
10. Tell Victoria how you feel about her.
Thirty-three
A REAL ROMANTIC
“Did you get the report back from the photogrammetry expert?” Victoria said into her cell phone.
“Called yesterday,” Steve said into his. “Told me the shadow was blurry and crossed two planes.”
“Meaning?”
“Without triangular points, he couldn't do the trig equation.”
“So no height and weight?”
“He can't even say for sure it's a person.”
“So Katrina wasn't signaling someone to come into the bedroom.”
“More like Pincher can't prove she was,” Steve said.
It was the day after their meetings with Pincher and Zinkavich, and they were in separate cars, driving toward the mainland in adjacent lanes on the MacArthur Causeway.
Victoria had spent the morning combing through evidence files and Steve had been on the phone, inquiring about downtown office space. A real office in a high-rise, not the mildewed second floor of a second-rate modeling agency.
Office space for Solomon amp; Lord, Attorneys-at-Law.
As if they had already won the Barksdale trial and had collected a big fee.
As if she were going to practice law with him when the case was over.
Never seeming to consider the consequences if they lost. Or worse, if they lost and were humiliated in the process. Steve the Slasher and Victoria the Rookie. Already, a smart-ass Miami Herald columnist had dissed them: “Those South Beach defense lawyers might just have too much sand in their shoes and too few bullets in their briefs to handle a high-profile murder trial.”
If disaster struck, Steve could always go back to his penny-ante cases. But what could she do?
Real estate closings for Bruce, that's what.
With so much work to do and too little time to do it, they were splitting up for the day. Steve would interview Charles Barksdale's divorce lawyer, and Victoria would confront Katrina with the dirty laundry Pincher had been sniffing.
“Thanks for stepping up to the plate on Bobby's case,” Steve said.
“You've thanked me ten times.”
“Without you, I don't know what I'd do.”
“Eleven.”
The morning was cool and crisp, the bay flat and still. One of the Norwegian cruise ships was headed out Government Cut on their left, a family of gulls circling above the stern. As their cars passed Parrot Jungle, Steve blurted out: “I'm sorry I was such a jerk when we met.”
“You're thinking about Mr. Ruffles, aren't you? But let me remind you that you never paid my dry-cleaning bill,” she added.
The Miami Herald building loomed ahead. Steve would exit the causeway there and head down Biscayne Boulevard to Flagler Street, a murderers' row of lawyers' offices. Victoria would swing south on the expressway to Dixie Highway, then take LeJeune to Old Cutler Road and Katrina's bayfront home.
“Thanks to you,” Steve said, “maybe we've got a chance in Bobby's case.”
“Twelve.”
“I'm really depending on you for strategy. I'm clueless how we're gonna discredit Kranchick, much less what to do with Thigpen.”
“We'll work on it together.”
Just what he wanted to hear.
“How much do you know about Kranchick's autism project?” Her voice faded in and out over the cell.
“Not much,” Steve said. “She told me about some behavioral and drug therapy. Megavitamins and magnesium, that sort of thing.”
“In her report to the court, she called it a pilot project.”
“Yeah?”
“Last night, I looked it up on every medical database I could find. Not much there except some preliminary papers that are pretty vague.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Did you notice the foreign hospitals on Kranchick's CV?” Victoria said.
