Paul Levine - Kill All the Lawyers

A second later, Victoria was alongside, running a hand through Bobby's hair. He stretched his neck like a cat that wanted to be petted. A second after that, Janice was there, too.

"Bitch went outside," Janice reported. "How's my boy?"

Bobby shrugged. His arms tightened around Steve's neck.

"Stevie, can I have my son, please?"

"Yes."

"Because you've got no right to keep him away from-" Startled, she stopped. "Did you say yes?"

Steve put the boy down. "We gotta all be on the same team, Jan."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Take Bobby to bed and we'll talk."

Puzzled, Janice draped a meaty arm around the boy and walked him toward his bedroom.

"What's happened, Steve?" Victoria asked.

He could barely get out the words. "Kreeger. He's got Maria. He's going to rape her and kill her. And frame Bobby. All to punish me."

Victoria blinked twice. Then she swiftly recovered. "I'll talk to Eva. You call the police."

Just then, a woman's scream. Steve recognized it immediately. It was the third time he'd heard it that morning.

Steve and Victoria raced outside. Eva was standing next to Bobby's bike. The zipper on the vinyl bag attached to the seat was open. Eva clutched something to her chest. A moment later, when Steve realized what it was, a feeling of dread spread through him like a poisonous tide.

"Where is she!" Eva ran toward Steve, flailing at him. "Goddammit!" Her voice broke between spasms of sobs. "What did he do to her?"

Punches landed on his chest, his shoulder, his arms. One wayward blow glanced off his temple. Steve made no effort to ward off the punches. He was already in such pain, it simply didn't hurt to be hit by a petite woman, her face wet with tears, a small pink brassiere wrapped around her fist.

The cop had a familiar face.

A mini-Afro. A name tag that said "Teele." A skeptical look.

Sure, the guy who arrested me at the radio station. The second time.

Bad break, Steve thought. They were standing in Steve's driveway just after seven A.M. Janice was inside, sacked out on the sofa. Bobby was asleep in his bedroom, Victoria sitting watch alongside. Myron and Eva were back in their house on Loquat, giving statements to Teele's partner, Rodriguez.

"Dr. Kreeger is canoeing on the Suwannee," Teele said.

"Canoe-ing on the Su-wan-nee?" Steve used his best derisive tone, dragging out the words. "That is the worst fucking alibi I've ever heard, and my clients have used some doozies."

Teele lowered his voice into serious cop mode. "You're saying Dr. Bill kidnapped this girl and planted evidence to incriminate your nephew, but you've got no proof. Now, I listen to Dr. Bill's radio show. ."

Oh, great. A fan.

". . and I think he makes some good points. As for the girl, she could be sleeping in somebody's backyard, and any minute she'll come riding up the street on her bike."

Cops usually assumed the worst because they see the worst. But this guy was an optimist, Steve thought. "So you reached Kreeger on his cell?"

"Couldn't get him. He's up the river past Hatchbend, where there's no service."

Up the river past Hatchbend? Jeez, I'm in Mayberry with Deputy Barney Fife.

"What the hell's he doing up there?" Steve demanded.

"Fishing for largemouth bass, the way we hear it."

"Lemme guess. The woman living at Kreeger's house gave you this cock-and-bass story."

Teele checked his little cop pad. "Mary Amanda Lamm. That's correct."

"Kreeger brainwashed her. She'd say anything he wanted her to."

"Was she lying when she said both you and your nephew are patients of Dr. Kreeger?"

"Not patients, exactly."

The cop made a note on the pad. "So you're not under court order to see Dr. Kreeger?"

"Okay, technically true, but-"

"For sexual deviancy."

"No!"

The cop used his pen to scratch his scalp through the mini-Afro. "I pulled the report, Solomon. The boy's a peeper. And Ms. Lamm claims she came out of the shower one day and found you lurking in her bathroom."

"Bedroom," Steve corrected, a lawyer slicing the bologna too thin. "I was lurking in her bedroom. But that's got nothing to do with the court ordering me to see Kreeger."

"Right. That would be for your violent streak."

"Look, Teele, Maria's missing. The clock's ticking. By the time you guys get off your butts, she could be dead."

"I hope not, sir. For your sake. Because your nephew was the last person to see the girl. By his own admission, he made unwelcome advances to her while inebriated, and her brassiere was found in his belongings. The way I see it, the only evidence points straight at him."

Victoria was the first one out of the Mustang when Steve pulled to a stop in front of Kreeger's home. The morning had turned windy and gray and smelled of rain. They'd left Bobby with Janice, but Cece was on the way there to chaperone.

On the drive to the Gables, Victoria had asked Steve if he had a plan.

"Amanda's going to tell us where Kreeger is," he said flatly.

"And betray her lover?"

"There's a glimmer of something good inside her. We just have to tap into that."

Victoria wasn't so sure. "And how do we do that?"

"Good cop, bad cop."

"I assume I'm the good cop."

"Which means you go first. If you don't get anywhere, I'll take over."

Victoria remained skeptical but kept quiet. No use in chipping away at Steve's confidence.

Amanda answered the door, for once wearing clothes. Two articles of clothing, to be exact: a red tank top and tight white short-shorts. No bra and clearly no panties, judging from the outline of her taco. No makeup. Hair tied in pigtails. A twenty-yearold trying to look fourteen.

She smiled and said, "Goody, more visitors. Hey, Ms. Lord, did you get that bikini wax yet?"

Victoria shot a look at Steve, who shrugged as if to say sorry.

"Cutie here really admired my landing strip." Amanda gave Steve a flirtatious tilt of the chin.

"Cut the bullshit, Amanda," Steve said. "We've got to talk."

She ignored him, focused on Victoria. "I offered Cutie a closer look, but he said he'd have to think about it."

"How unusual," Victoria replied. " Cutie so seldom thinks before acting."

One minute later, they were all inside. A nondescript living room with a sofa and two facing chairs. An old fireplace. A floor of Dade County pine. A coffee table with a bowl of slightly overripe fruit. No personal items, other than the oil painting of Kreeger on a power boat.

"Amanda, we really need your help," Victoria said, her tone pleasant.

"Like I told the cops, Uncle Bill's canoeing upstate."

"We don't think so." Still soft, still pleasant. "We think he kidnapped a twelve-year-old girl. We're afraid what he'll do to her if we don't stop him."

"That's silly," Amanda said, sounding like a preteen herself. She picked up a green apple from the bowl, tucked both legs under herself, and started munching.

Amanda didn't seem overly concerned, Victoria thought. A missing girl. Her lover accused. And here she was, nibbling away on a Granny Smith. Was it possible, Victoria wondered, that Amanda was as much a sociopath as Kreeger?

"Uncle Bill's a lover, not a killer," Amanda added with a sly smile. "And I ought to know."

"Dammit, Amanda!" Steve said, breaking in before he was supposed to. "Kreeger killed a guy named Jim Beshears. He killed a boat captain named Oscar De la Fuente. And he killed your mother."

"Now I know you're lying," Amanda said. "I'm the one who killed the witch."

She said it with a certain amount of glee that Victoria found unsettling. "You were thirteen, Amanda. Kreeger was giving you drugs when he seduced you. Your memory can't be trusted."