past the crowd, burning a path through them with his pale blue eyes. So pale they almost seemed colorless. Yet, set in that long V-shaped face, framed by the premature white hair, they were strangely compelling.
How many times had she traced the rocky slopes of his face with her Staedtler 3H, shaded the hollows under his cheeks, struggled to get the cruelty in those thick, full lips? How could she convey the arrogant tilt of his head, the sneer that flashed across his face like the shadow of a passing bird? And hadn't she once or twice even thought it was a handsome face, in a fascist sort of way? She winced at such thoughts. Why does the moth fly so close to the flame, until singed and exhausted it lies, beating useless wings against a table top? Oh, Christ, here I go again, she sighed. Save it for your diary, babe, it's safer.
Not that Eric Ravensmith was much better. He was a good family man, at least according to a character witness, the Chairman of the History Department where he taught. 'Well thought of was the phrase Dr. Leopold had used. But what about the black scabs on Joshua Sempleton's face. The cast on his wrist. The kid's testimony of how he was dragged across the kitchen floor, how coolly Ravensmith had popped open the dishwasher looking for something to torture the boy with. Finding a damn cheese grater, for Christ's sake. And the whole court was buzzing with something that had happened only minutes before today's session. A shooting of some sort. Ravensmith blasting away in a crowded corridor, killing a man, wounding a dozen bystanders. She noticed for the first time a smudge of dried blood on his pants leg.
Still, the two men stared at each other. Silent, yet intense. Like two sophisticated computers exchanging information. Both their faces remained rigid, expression less, except for the corner of Fallows' mouth. It twitched slightly, finally stretching into a tight, grim smile. The triumphant grin of a jackal about to bury its face into the innards of a slaughtered deer. She shuddered, pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders.
'I'm Tracy,' she said finally, offering her hand. 'Tracy Ammes.'
Eric hesitated, his eyes still fixed. Then he shifted his head slightly, almost a nod. A nod of resolution, Tracy thought. Resolving what?
'Nice to meet you.' He turned to face her, shook her hand.
'I appreciate the help. I'm a little clumsy sometimes.'
'Perhaps, but not this time. I saw that guy blindside you.'
'Well, Steve's motto is Do Unto Others Until Thou Art Rewarded With a Network Anchor Job.' She'd never been this close to him before, never really seen how wicked that scar was, the way it sprouted up out of his collar, wound around his jaw like a jungle river, then pooled against his cheek in that strange pattern. It must hurt, she thought.
'It doesn't,' Eric said.
'Pardon me?'
'It doesn't hurt. The scar.'
She felt her face flush. 'I didn't mean to, uh-'
'Stare?'
She nodded. 'I'm so embarrassed.'
'Don't be,' he laughed, the sound coming out oddly out of tone, as if he hadn't done it for a while.
'How did you know what I was thinking?'
'It's what everybody wonders when they see it. They think it must hurt. It doesn't though, no feeling at all. Kind of nice in a way.'
Tracy could see he was just killing time with her until Luther Nichols finished arguing with Flip Bendix, the D.A.'s special assistant. Ravensmith's eyes kept drifting toward the closed door through which the cops had just hustled Dirk Fallows. He looked almost as if he could see through the door and was following Fallows down the hall.
'Heard you had some excitement earlier,' Tracy said.
'Some.'
She nodded again, not anxious to pursue it. After all, she wasn't a reporter. She was an artist. Let the glory boys do their own damn job.
'Let's go, Eric,' Luther Nichols said, bustling by them. 'We have to talk.'
'I don't think so,' Eric replied calmly, but with an unmistakable edge. 'Everything's been said. The case is dismissed. Fallows will be out on the street. On my street.'
'We're looking into possibly pressing charges against the Sempleton kid for-'
'Sempleton? Forget him. He'll be dead by the end of the day. Don't bother looking for the body.'
'What do you mean?' Luther said.
'I mean he talked. He broke under torture. Brought Fallows' name into it. Dirk won't let that go. Bad discipline.'
'Maybe we can put some men on them. Try to catch him in the act.'
'Forget it. They can shake anybody you put on. Let it go.'
'Well, there're still the two who attacked you. Sam DeSoto and Gordon Maag. Maybe we can tie Fallows in there.'
'Sure. Maybe.'
Luther looked at Tracy as if noticing her for the first time, 'Hi, Tracy.'
'Hi, Luther. Sorry about the loss.'
Luther shrugged. 'We'll get him. Eventually.'
Eric snorted, started walking away.
'Hold up, Eric. We still have to talk.'
'About what?'
Luther looked around the room. Most of the people had left, except the bailiff, Eric and Luther. And Tracy. 'Let's talk in my office.'
'Don't clam up on my account,' Tracy said. 'I was just leaving. Nice meeting you, Mr. Ravensmith. See you, Luther.' She hurried past them and out the doors, glancing over her shoulder at Eric before disappearing down the hall.
'What did you tell her?' Luther asked,
'What's to tell?'
Luther sighed. 'Yeah, you're right. Let's get out of here. I've got a bottle in my office.'
'Why?'
'Why do I have a bottle in my office?'
'Why do we have to talk?'
'We have to discuss the charges.'
'What's the big deal? They killed your guard and they tried to kill me. Murder and attempted murder.'
'I don't mean the charges against them. I mean the ones against you.'
Luther twisted off the cap of the Diet 7-Up. The resulting hiss sounded like escaping steam. He poured a glass for Eric.
'When you said you had a bottle in your office, I expected something a little more dynamic.'
'Can't drink alcohol. Bad stomach. Besides, you don't drink anyway. I haven't seen you touch a single drop of booze since I've known you.'
Eric sipped the soft drink without answering.
Luther continued. 'And I noticed a couple other things. Like you've been spending more and more time working out at Goodman's gym. Sparring with some of his fighters.'
'I'm just keeping in shape.'
'More like getting back into shape. Not that you weren't already the envy of every man in that courtroom. Except maybe Dirk Fallows.' Luther perched on the edge of his desk and sipped his drink, his eyes studying Eric's impassive face. 'That guy must do push-ups in his sleep. There isn't a square inch on him that doesn't look hard and mean.'
'What's your point, Luther?'
'I want you to stay clean, that's my goddamn point. You've gone back into basic training again, as if you were still with the Night Shift in Nam. I have a feeling that you think you're going to take up where the law left off. Search and destroy. Target: Dirk Fallows. Am I right?'
'No.'
