Trial and Error

away. Steve helped nab one of the others, though Pincher made it sound more like an accident.

“Wade Grisby, the owner of the place, shot the third terrorist,” Pincher said. “Killed him. Clear case of self- defense.”

“Meaning the Grand Jury will indict the guy Solomon caught,” Judge Barash chimed in. “Thank God I don’t have to preside over that can of worms.”

“Felony murder,” Victoria said.

Pincher nodded. “You got it.”

One of the quirks in the law. If you and your buddy rob a convenience store, and the owner kills your buddy, you’re guilty of felony murder because your crime-robbery-precipitated the shooting. Makes no difference that the victim is your partner in crime and maybe deserved it.

“What’s all this have to do with me?” Victoria asked.

“Bad guy’s a dumb ass, and I gotta pass,” Pincher said.

Victoria’s look posed a question that Pincher quickly answered. “His name’s Gerald Nash, and that sucker’s my sister’s boy.”

“You’re conflicted out,” she said.

“Me and my whole office.”

“But what’s that got to do with me?” she repeated. Her eyes flicked from Pincher to the judge and back again. “You’re not saying you want me to prosecute?”

Pincher cracked his knuckles. “You’re the right woman for the job.”

“I’m ready to administer the oath,” Judge Barash announced. “Got the Bible right here.”

Double-teaming me. What’s going on?

Victoria looked straight at Pincher. “I don’t get it. All the lawyers in Miami, you choose me to prosecute your nephew? You don’t even like me.”

“I don’t like Solomon. Got no problem with you.”

“You fired me.”

“Had to set an example. You caused a mistrial, embarrassed my office.”

Not as much as the whole episode had embarrassed her, Victoria thought. It was her first encounter with Steve-the-Shark Solomon, defense lawyer. She was prosecuting a bird-smuggler, and Steve called a white-feathered cockatoo to testify. Victoria had lost her cool, and Steve gleefully baited her into a mistrial. Not only that, but the bird crapped on the sleeve of her Gucci jacket.

“You’ve matured since then,” Pincher continued. “And I’ve always felt a little guilty about canning you.”

“Uh-huh.” Not buying it.

“You’ll get lots of press, make a name for yourself, bring in some paying clients.” Pincher gave her a sharp smile and cracked his knuckles again. “Let someone else rep the sleepwalkers who rob liquor stores.”

“If I lose, people will say you appointed me to cut your nephew a break.”

“I despise the little bastard. A self-righteous prick just like his old man. And you won’t lose. Gerald broke into Cetacean Park. His accomplice was killed. Close the book. He’s on the hook.”

In her brief tenure as a prosecutor, Victoria had never handled a murder trial. But Pincher couldn’t be tanking the case. The political fallout would be brutal. And he was right. State v. Nash was a slam dunk. Pincher was right about something else, too. A high-profile case was just what Solomon amp; Lord needed. And even better, she could work on her own. Solo, without Steve hovering over her, second-guessing every tactical decision.

So, despite the uneasy feeling of not knowing precisely what was going on, Victoria turned to the judge and said, “Where’s that Bible, Your Honor?”

SOLOMON’S LAWS

2. The best way to hustle a case is to pretend you don’t want the work.

Nine

Tupidity In The First Degree

Gerald Nash-aka Darth Vader, aka Pincher’s nephew-gave Steve a wiseass grin. “Why do you think I called you?”

“Let’s see,” Steve said. “You’re in jail. I’m a defense lawyer. I don’t know. Why?”

“So you’re not surprised?”

“I’ve been trying cases ten years. I’m only surprised when clients tell the truth.”

They were sitting in a brightly lit yet grim interview room at the Miami-Dade County jail. The scuffed walls were painted pea-soup green and the furniture-scarred wooden table, straight-backed chairs-was the stuff of one- room schoolhouses. The place smelled of metal, lubricants, and sweat. Heavy doors clanked and buzzers sounded from inside the old hellhole.

“So why do you want to represent me?” Nash challenged Steve.

In the light, Nash bore some resemblance to Pincher. Lighter skinned than his uncle, but the same pugnacious jaw. A similarity in personalities, too. Just like the State Attorney, Nash projected arrogance and self- righteousness.

“Who says I want to represent you?” Steve fired back. “I like Wade Grisby, and you just screwed up his business.”

“He treats the dolphins as if he owns them.”

“He does own them. He caught them or bought them or bred them. Now he feeds them and trains them.”

“Sounds like a slave owner in the Old South.”

“Disabled kids swim with the dolphins for therapy, and Grisby doesn’t charge them a dime. The way I see it, he’s helping humanity, and you’re a worthless punk.”

“His park is nothing more than a chlorinated prison.”

“Bullshit. The dolphins get all-you-can-eat sushi. They have medical care. They love the people there.”

“You have no idea what dolphins feel.”

“And you do?”

“Have you ever run your hand over a dolphin’s belly, all wet and slippery?”

Nash said it with such a rhapsodic look, he might have been stroking Angelina Jolie’s ass.

“They’re gorgeous animals, anatomically perfect,” Nash continued. “They can swim twenty-five miles an hour and dive to a thousand feet. But you know what’s best about them?”

“They’re not sharks?”

“They live at peace in a harmonious society.”

“I wonder if the fish they eat would agree.”

“Did you know bottleneck dolphins have their own language?”

“Yeah, my nephew told me. He thinks he understands them. He also thinks you should be shot. He’s gonna be pissed if I represent you.”

“Why?”

“The dolphins you released are his pals.”

“Then he should be thrilled. Dolphins in captivity grow obese. They fill up with the junk food the stupid tourists throw them. They don’t hunt. They don’t dive. They need to be free.”

“You know what you are, Nash? A true believer. A self-appointed savior. And that makes you really dangerous.”

“This the way you get your cases, Solomon? Insult the client?”

“I don’t need the work, Nash.”

Technically, that was true, Steve thought. He could be working, pro bono, on any number of cases for Lexy and Rexy, the twin bimbo models, who spent as much time litigating as posing. For the umpteenth time, Lexy had