complete a supplemental report to document the addition. I pocketed
two photocopies of the supplemental, one for the file and one for some
mischief-making.
Slip was waiting at the bar at Higgin's, looking at his watch. 'You
starting to think I was standing you up?' 'There are a couple of
people in your office who find that sort of thing humorous,' he said.
'And do I strike you as one of them?'
'Nope. That's why I waited.'
We ordered our drinks at the bar and found a quiet table in the corner.
Higgin's looks exactly like the kind of bar where you'd expect lawyers
to meet after work to talk cases. Dark wood, brass fixtures, the
works.
'So how've you been, Sam? I haven't seen you much since you handed my
ass to me in trial about a year ago.'
I wrinkled my nose. 'I don't remember it being quite that bad.'
'So tell me the truth. How many times have you pulled that 'Don't take
it out on my case that I'm young' shit?'
'Only with you, Slip. Had to do something to level the playing field
against your cords and tennies.'
I have this thing I do to counteract the shtick that some of the older
attorneys have developed over the years. In my final closing, I give
the jury my best doe-eyed look, even turning slightly pigeon-toed if I
can get away with it. Then I say something like, 'I might not have as
much trial experience as the defense attorney, but don't take it out on
this case. The evidence is there, etc. etc.' It gets the jury back
on track, and is a lot more subtle than saying, 'I'm not as slimy as
the rest of these guys.'
In my last trial with Slip, he'd gone after my cops on a reverse drug
buy. I suppose it's the only tack for a defense attorney to take when
his client insists on putting his word against an undercover officer's.
When little innocent me got done with the jury, they saw things the way
they really were.
'Well, it's a cute trick, Kincaid. I wanted to haul out your power
resume and hold it up against my University of Oregon degree.'
'As much as I enjoy your company, Slip, I assume we're not here to
reminisce. What's up?'
'The Jackson case, of course.'
'What about it?'
No attorney ever wants to be the first to say plea. It's a sign you
don't have faith in your case. I'd sit here all night if I had to, but
Slip was the one who'd asked for this meeting.
'It's fishy.'
Now that was not what I was expecting.
I plucked a ten from my wallet and put it on the table as I stood to
leave. I had planned on giving Slip the report from the property room
to make sure Clarissa's secret key didn't get lost among the discovery,
but now that I knew his agenda, it was time to go. That old saying
about family describes how I feel about my cases: Only I can bad-mouth
them. I got enough argument from defense attorneys during the workday;
I wasn't about to spend my Friday night on this.
'Please stay, Sam. I thought you knew me well enough, but ask around
the courthouse if you have to; I don't bullshit. Posture one too many
times, and you can never get a prosecutor to listen to you again.'
That was his reputation.
'Hear me out,' he said. 'I know it rarely happens, but I really am
starting to think this guy's being set up. And it's a good set-up.
He's poor, and he's black, and your victim is incredibly
sympathetic.'
I was still standing with my briefcase, but I hadn't walked away.
'Honestly, I'm scared shitless I'm going to lose this case and never be
able to sleep again.'
I think I had been fearing the same thing. I sat down again, and he
started his pitch.
'What's bothering me most is how neatly it all adds up. What's a guy
who lives hand-to-mouth doing getting a phone call one day on a fancy
new development job?'
'Easy,' I said. 'Developers are greedy and will try to save money
wherever they can. What do they care who does the landscaping?'
There was too much evidence against Jackson for that one nagging point
to prove a setup, especially since Grace had explained it wasn't
particularly unusual for developers to use day labor. I told Slip he'd
need to explain away the most incriminating pieces before I could take
