'Yes. You've met him.'
I nodded.
'Fine law officer.'
I nodded.
'How about the other kid,' I said, 'Grant. He get any kind of deal for fingering Clark?'
'I don't represent him,' Leeland said.
'Who does?'
'Firm in Boston-Batson and Doyle.'
'Who's the attorney?' I said.
'Alex Taglio.'
'You and he talked?'
'We have,' Leelund said. 'We don't entirely agree.'
'What's his plan?'
'I'm afraid that's confidential among attorneys.'
'Sure,' I said. 'How's the kid doing?'
'He seems very withdrawn,' Leeland said.
'I can see why he might,' I said. 'I'll need to talk with him.'
'He really doesn't have much to say,' Leeland said.
'Maybe he will,' I said, 'if he talks to someone who can at least entertain the possibility that he's innocent.'
'I'd prefer not,' Leeland said.
'You won't set up a meeting?'
'His parents have requested that he see only them and me,' Leeland said.
'They think he's guilty, too,' I said.
'They have taken him at his word,' Leeland said.
'Trust is a wonderful thing,' I said.
Chapter 7
RITA AND I browsed the food stands that lined both walls in Quincy Market in midafternoon, selected our lunches, and I paid for them. We took our food to the rotunda and sat among the tourists and suburban teenagers to dine.
'We may be the only residents of this city in the building,' I said.
'I know it's not hip,' Rita said. 'But I kind of like it here. It's very lively, and there's lots of stuff to see.'
'Yeah,' I said.
There were old people-almost certainly retired, they had the look-and white kids from Littleton and Plymouth wearing three-hundred-dollar sneakers and sloganed T-shirts and hats at odd angles, trying hard to look ghetto. There were harried-looking young men and women with strollers. There was a scattering of suits, mostly young, and noticeable numbers of solemn Asian tourists.
'There's not much to know,' Rita said, 'about Richard Leeland. Comes from money. Yale Law School. Joined his father's law firm. His father also comes from money. Nobody has to work very hard. Father's semiretired. Richard does the heavy lifting.'
'Which is?' I said.
'Real estate closings, wills, that stuff,' Rita said. 'No criminal experience. You know who the prosecutor is?'
'Francis Cleary,' I said.
'Oh, Jesus,' Rita said. 'He'll eat your guy alive.'
'He's good?'
'Not only good but zealous. He started life as a Jesuit priest, then left and became a lawyer. He's the chief AD in Bethel County.'
'Not driven by greed,' I said.
Rita smiled. She had a slice of pizza, from the pointed end of which she took a small bite.
When she had chewed it and swallowed, she said, 'He believes in good and evil.'
'One of those,' I said.
'One of those.'
'He says there's no insanity defense.'
