Accused

'He's got twice as much love now that you're in his life.'

'Oh.'

'Pajamae!'

She looked over to Mr. Fenney and Miss Fenney and Boo playing in the surf. Mr. Fenney was waving her over. Louis nudged her.

'Go on over to your father, girl.'

What was he doing here?

Had he made a mistake when he agreed to represent Rebecca? He had no doubt there was a good explanation for her fingerprints being on the murder weapon, but there was no good explanation for her using cocaine. How would he explain that to the jury? Juries don't like that kind of evidence in a murder case. They like a clean and sober defendant-and no direct evidence tying the defendant to the crime-in order to acquit. They have to believe beyond all reasonable doubt that the defendant is innocent. An American jury's greatest fear is not convicting an innocent person but acquitting a guilty person. Being ridiculed in the press for abdicating their responsibility-their duty-to put people in prison. Why would the police have arrested her and the D.A. have charged her and the grand jury have indicted her if she weren't guilty? A presumption of guilt burdens every juror's mind when he or she takes a seat in the jury box on the first day of trial-which was now only twenty-nine days away. Would he be able to overcome that presumption and prove his ex-wife innocent? Would he be able to prove that Pete Puckett-or perhaps the Muertos — had killed Trey Rawlins? Or had A. Scott Fenney taken on the biggest lost cause of his career? And sacrificed his career? Again.

He realized he was staring at Rebecca and Boo was standing next to him. He looked down at her. Her eyes went from him to Rebecca and back to him. She grinned.

'Are you having a Cialis moment?'

Two hours later, the sun was low, the girls were inside, Miss Fenney was doing her yoga on the beach, and Carlos had talked Louis into going out on the surfboards.

'Miss Fenney, she's a fine-looking woman. And flexible.'

'Don't go there, Carlos.'

They had paddled out-way out. Louis and Carlos were bobbing on surfboards in the Gulf of Mexico, Carlos looking like he should be the lifeguard at a maximum security prison pool with his black hair slicked back, his dark sunglasses, his tattoos on his muscular arms-and Louis feeling scared. He gazed around at the sea of brown water that surrounded him. It was vast and it was deep and it was filled with creatures that belonged in the water-unlike him. He was a three-hundred-thirty-pound black man who belonged on dry land.

'Louis, you think you ever gonna be a daddy?'

'I hope so. You?'

'Hell, I might already be one. We got machismo, we don't need no Viagra or Cialis.'

'Figure you'll get married and have a normal family, like Mr. Fenney?'

Carlos laughed. 'Normal?' He waved a hand at the beach. 'Ain't nothing normal going on over there, the boss defending his ex-wife. That's abnormal. And no, I don't figure either one of us is ever gonna get married.'

'You're handsome.'

'Why, thank you, Louis, you're kind of cute yourself… in a big way.'

'Why not? We're good men-a few priors maybe, but no violent crimes.'

'No convictions.'

'I stand corrected.'

' 'Cause women, Louis, they don't want good men, they want rich men. And I don't figure on ever being rich. Hence, I ain't never gonna have a wife.'

' Hence? '

'I heard the boss say it. Sounds good.'

Louis nodded. 'It does. So you're saying we're gonna be alone all our lives?'

' 'Fraid so, bro.'

'Damn.'

'But think of the bright side.'

'What's that?'

'You ever get a chance to cheat with a fine-looking woman like Miss Fenney, you can cheat without getting caught.'

'But it ain't cheating if you don't have a wife.'

'Exactly my point.'

'Your point don't make no sense.'

'My point is, you'll always be a free man.'

'And alone.'

'That, too.'

'You done with your point?'

'Yep.'

'Okay. Now that you got me out here, what the hell am I supposed to do?'

'Wait for a good wave, then lie down and paddle like the devil himself is after your ass. Once we get going, we just stand up on the board and ride that mother all the way to shore.'

'Just like that?'

'Yep.'

'What if we fall off? Figure that could kill us?'

Carlos laughed. 'Hell, Louis, it ain't falling off that's gonna kill you-it's the sharks eating you.'

' Sharks? You see a shark?'

Five hundred yards due north, Scott, Karen, and Bobby were on the back deck. Bobby said, 'Tell me they're not really going to try that.'

They did. A big wave-for Galveston Beach-rose behind Carlos and Louis. They lay down on the boards and started paddling. When the wave was almost upon them, they squatted on the boards then… stood.

'I'll be damned. They're surfing.'

They waved their arms wildly trying to maintain their balance on the boards, and they did-for about five seconds. Then the wave overcame them and sent them and their boards flying. They went under… and stayed under. Scott stood. Just when he was about to run down to the beach and play lifeguard, their boards surfaced, then Carlos popped up, followed by Louis. The waves rolled them ashore. They coughed sea water then struggled to their feet and looked at each other; then they smiled and high-fived. 'Now that's what I'm talkin' about!' Carlos shouted.

'They're nuts,' Karen said.

'Hank Herrin,' Bobby said.

Karen stared at him with an incredulous expression. 'And you are too if you think I'm naming our son Hank.'

'I'm seeing a home run hitter.'

'I'm seeing a guy with tattoos wearing a wife-beater T-shirt and spitting tobacco juice out the window of his pickup truck.'

Bobby shrugged then turned to Scott. 'I checked in with the answering service. The network morning shows called. They all want an interview with you and the Guilty Groupie.'

'That's not gonna happen.' Scott sat back down. 'Okay, guys, we're on the clock. Four weeks till trial. Where do we stand?'

'Our strategy,' Bobby said, 'is to (a), explain why her prints are on the murder weapon, and (b), find out who killed Trey. Anything on (a)?'

'No. What about (b)?'

'The suspect list keeps getting longer,' Karen said. She tapped on her laptop. 'So far we have the construction workers, Goose, Brett McBride, Donnie Parker, Vic Hager, Pete Puckett, and Benito Estrada and the Muertos.'

'Brett, Donnie, and Vic have alibis for that night, but anyone with a motive stays on the list. And I don't rate the construction workers very high, but I asked Carlos to go back to work there, see if he can get some information