“He talks about quitting all the time,” Cady, the twenty-five-year-old who had almost five years in so far, said. “But I don’t believe him anymore. He’s probably going to make detective pretty soon, and then, you just watch, he’ll outlast all of us.”
“And I can relate to that, too,” Joe said.
“So, let me guess,” Stiversen speculated. “You’re wouldn’t be here about Dale’s case, now would you?”
“It’s for sure that no one’s ever going to accuse you of being a dumb cop,” Joe responded with a chuckle.
“I can’t believe you’re trying to help Dale’s killer,” Cady declared.
“Well, you know how it is -- we don’t always get to pick and choose our clients,” Joe reminded him. Working this case had definitely not been his idea. “And between us, I can tell you Lily’s not too happy about it, either.”
“Your boss may be good,” Cady conceded. “But she’s not good enough to get Lightfoot out of this one. We got means, we got motive, and we got opportunity -- not to mention the murder weapon. In other words, we got him dead to rights.”
“All documented?”
“You bet,” Stiversen declared. “Fingerprints, GSR, DNA -- the works.”
Joe nodded. “And how about results from the breathalyzer?”
The two police officers looked at each other. “Well, we got results, but we didn’t get to test him until a while after we brought him in,” Stiversen said reluctantly.
“How long a while?”
His former colleague sighed. “Five hours,” he had to admit.
“Five hours?” Joe exclaimed. “What the hell happened?”
“Look, you got to appreciate, things were a little crazy around here,” Stiversen replied. “It’s not every day we lose one of our own, you know.”
“Okay, so when you did get around to it, what were the results?”
Cady shrugged. “The results showed he wasn’t drunk. In fact, his reading was zero.”
“Zero?” Joe was frankly surprised.
“That’s right,” Stiversen said. “And we took him right in for a blood alcohol test after that, just to make sure. It came up the same.”
“And that was how many hours after you figure the murder went down?” Joe asked.
“According to the M.E., twelve hours or so,” he was told.
“So, we have no way of knowing if the guy was sober or drunk at the time of the murder,” Joe said. “And if Lily can come up with any evidence of the latter, she could put one giant hole in a murder-one case.”
“Yeah, well, if it comes to that,” Stiversen replied, taking the cue, “I don’t think either one of us would be able to testify one way or the other when we arrested him.”
“I sure wouldn’t be able to,” Cady confirmed.
“Anything else I should know about?” Joe inquired.
“We’ll keep you posted,” Cady told him.
The former cop nodded. “Appreciate it.”
“You know we wouldn’t do this for anyone else but you,” Stiversen said, almost under his breath. “I mean -- talk about an investigation that’s still ongoing.”
“I know,” Joe said. “And I appreciate that, too.”
“Hell, you’re a better cop than most of us will ever be, and you know it,” Stiversen told him. “That’s why we’ll continue to talk to you. If there are any holes in this case that need to be plugged, we want you to find them. Make our work easier.”
“Happy to oblige,” Joe said with a smile.
. . .
This time, Lily met with Jason Lightfoot in one of the Jackson County Jail’s interview rooms, a small space with wide barred windows, gray walls, and a metal table and two-chair unit that was bolted to both the wall and the floor.
Jason sat across from her. His hands and feet were shackled and then fastened to a waist chain for added security. He was shaking so hard the chains rattled.
“What’s the matter?” Lily asked.
“Nothin’,” he told her. “I get the shakes from time to time is all.”
“Are your ribs bothering you?”
He shrugged. “That stuff the doc gave me seems to be workin’ okay.”
“Well, I have good news,” Lily said. “The prosecutor might be willing to take the death penalty off the table if you plead out.”
Jason blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you stand up in court, you admit to killing Detective Scott, and then you tell how and why you did it. And after that, the judge will sentence you to spend between thirty years and the rest of your life in prison.”
The Indian stared at her for a full minute. “Thirty years?” he croaked finally. “Maybe the rest of my life?”
“That’s right. It saves the county the cost of a trial. And it saves you from having a noose put around your neck.”
But instead of the look of relief she expected, Lily got a stubborn squaring of his jaw. “Sorry,” he said, “but I don’t think I can do that.”
“Look, Mr. Lightfoot, I’m your attorney,” she told him. “I’m not only here to represent you, I’m here to advise you. That means I’m here to lay out your options, and then tell you which I think is your best one.”
“And you think my best option is to live the rest of my life caged up like an animal?” He shuddered. “I’d rather be dead.”
“Well, if we go to trial, that’s quite likely how you’ll end up.”
“Look Lady Lawyer, I can’t stand up in front of a judge and say how or why I killed that cop,” Jason declared. “’Cause I don’t know how or why I killed him. All I know is I was asleep in my box, mindin’ my own business, just like always, when these two cops come along and kick me awake, and then start tellin’ me all about what they think I did.”
“I doubt that story will play very well with a jury,” she told him.
“I thought you were supposed to be on my side,” he said, glaring at her. “If you ain’t, then maybe I should be thinkin’ about gettin’ myself another lawyer.”
“I am on your side,” she snapped. “And whether you like it or not,
