'I know. Honestly? I think the reason I haven't talked to him since
then is that I don't want to see that look on his face again. It's
like he was ashamed of something. Seeing that was absolutely horrible.
I thought I was going to lose it.'
The phone rang, saving me from having to talk anymore about my father.
I kissed Chuck on the cheek on my way to the kitchen to answer it.
It was Slip.
'Sorry it took me awhile to get back to you. I spent my entire day
down at Inverness trying to see Melvin. And people wonder why defense
attorneys hardly speak to their clients.'
'So, what'd you find out?'
'Well, I showed him the two pictures you gave me. He's never seen the
old guy, but the younger one might be the worker who saw him take the
paint.'
'How good was the ID? And no puffing. You know I'm out on a limb.'
'The truth? It could've been stronger. But it was probably just as
good as any cross-racial ID your cops get before they firm it up for
the courtroom.'
Jackson hadn't ruled Minkins out. If he was high up enough with
Gunderson to have hired Jackson, he could also be in on the setup. If,
of course, there was a setup.
'Anything else?'
'My investigator's got some computer whiz working on the floppy disc.
I'm going to feel like a total idiot if I wind up paying this guy out
of my own pocket, and the disc turns out to be the family grocery list.
And speaking of total idiots, that's what I felt like when Jackson
asked me why I was showing him those pictures and I couldn't say
anything. Now that I spent my Sunday with the other jailhouse
groupies, why don't you let me in on the secret.'
'Hold on a second.' I made it look like I needed something from my
desk and went upstairs so Chuck wouldn't overhear. 'Got anything up
your sleeve for court tomorrow?'
He laughed. 'Yeah, my piece of shit watch. Prescott's obviously
inclined to find PC, and I don't have squat. The best I can hope for
is to buy more time.'
More time was what we both needed. Getting anyone to take a second
look at the case against Jackson was hard enough as things stood. If
Prescott found probable cause without at least a bend in the road, it
would be impossible.
'I'll tell you who the men in the pictures are if you'll do something
for me. I've got an idea that might help both of us.'
Twelve.
I was finishing some last minute prep in my office Monday morning when
Jessica Walters walked in.
'Hey, there. Thought I'd stop in and see how you're holding up after a
week in here with the boys.'
'Crazier by the day, but I'm sticking it out.'
'Good for you. You want to grab some coffee?'
I held up my Starbucks commuter cup. 'Already went, but definitely
some other time. I'm getting ready to go back in on the Jackson
prelim.'
The legal pad I'd been using on Sunday was at the edge of my desk, the
top page barely legible from all the black ink. Walters saw it and
laughed. 'A woman after my own heart. Do those notes actually mean
anything to you?'
I laughed too. 'No. But maybe if you scribble enough, it's like a
giant Rorschach.' I held the pad up to her. 'Tell me, Ms. Walters,
what do you see in this one?'
She squinted at it, exaggeratedy furrowing her brow. 'Let me see.' But
then her expression turned serious. 'Grice? You have a case on
someone named Grice?'
'No, just a name that came up in an investigation.'
'It's not Max Grice, is it?'
'Actually, I don't know the first name.' I hadn't written it in my
notes, and I hadn't called Nelly yet to try to get another look at the
file.
'Oh-kay?' She said it slowly, inviting an explanation for why I
wouldn't know the first name of someone involved in one of my cases.
'Why? Who's Max Grice?'
'A major pain in my ass is who Max Grice is. Some schlep per
