Robert Tanenbaum - Malice

All conversations stopped when Karp entered the courtroom with Mikey O'Toole and Richie Meyers on Monday morning. He looked over at the gaggle of ACAA reps, including some members of the panel who had railroaded his client, as well as Zusskin and Larkin. They were all eyeing him like alley rats keeping track of the terrier prowling through their hood.

Karp considered whether he should feel sorry for them. But in less time than it took him to blink his eyes, he'd reached his decision. Hell no, he thought, they made this bed of nails. Lie in it.

The Sunday Idaho Statesman had blared the headlines all across the front page, announcing the raid on the Unified Church in Payette County that had uncovered the clandestine grave of a murder victim from the University of Northwest Idaho. Of course, the real news was the subsequent arrests of Kip Huttington, Clyde Barnhill, Rufus Porter, Benjamin Hamm, and several members of an Aryan gang in connection with the murder of Maria Santacristina. Police were still searching for John Porter, who they "wanted to question" in connection with the raid.

Another nearly as breathless sidebar story reported that a Basque terrorist wanted by Spain for a bombing more than twenty years earlier had been killed in a shootout with the Payette County SWAT team at the Unified Church compound. Jose Luis Arregi Katarain had been identified by fingerprints sent to Interpol by Sheriff Steve Ireland.

"We believe that he may have been training members of neo-Nazi terrorist organizations," Ireland said at a press conference. "He fought like a man possessed, but my boys got him in the end. Afraid he's pretty shot up. Not a pretty sight."

Later, when he was called by reporters and told that some of the other white supremacists arrested at the compound denied the presence of Katarain, Ireland scoffed. "Well, what the hell do you expect them to say. 'Oh, hello, we've been playing army with Osama Frickin' bin Lay-den'? They may not have even known his real name."

Of course, Karp knew the real story. He'd turned in early Saturday night feeling a little run-down and fighting a splitting headache that radiated from the back of his neck. The pain had finally subsided when he heard the door of his hotel room open and a minute later felt a warm female body slip beneath the covers and snuggle up against him.

"Is that you, Lisa?" he mumbled.

A second later he was begging for mercy as Marlene literally had him by the shorthairs. "Shall I just yank them out?" she hissed.

"No, no," he cried. "I promise, it's over between Lisa and me. Ow! Ow! Okay, uncle. I knew all along you were my lovely wife, Marlene."

"That's better, lover boy," Marlene purred.

"So what brings you to Boise so late, my dear? I was expecting you in the morning."

"Carnal desires," she replied. "And maybe to deliver a little good news for my best boyfriend." He'd already heard the report about finding Maria Santacristina; now she filled him in on that after-noon's confrontation with Huttington and Barnhill. "One of the conditions for not seeking the death penalty is that Huttington answer truthfully at any court case he is required to attend, including yours on Monday morning."

"Oh, most beauteous and intelligent siren, this is wonderful news beyond all hope," Karp waxed.

"Now, that's more like it," Marlene said, giggling and allowing her hands to wander.

"I'll say," he replied.

On Sunday, Karp had interviewed a pale and quivering Kip Huttington, who'd been placed on suicide watch in the Boise city jail. They went over Huttington's testimony, which left him staring blankly at the table in front of him as one tear after another splashed down. Karp did not feel sorry for him one bit, either.

The next stop had been to see Rufus Porter, who started to play tough guy again-saying his dad would get him a lawyer "and get my co-urst confession tossed out"-until Marlene dropped his Valknut medallion on the table. "Recognize this, Rufus?" she asked. "We have plenty of bits and pieces, including that tattoo under your biceps, which comes in loud and clear in the photograph Hamm took. Not to mention the feds want to talk to you about some weapons violations with your fingerprints all over them. Ever hear what fed pens are like? State joints are kindergartens by comparison. Now, do you still want to play games?"

Porter's lip started to tremble, and then he started to blubber. "No, what do you want to know?"

Karp looked around the courtroom and saw Coach J. C. Anderson sitting in back, only this time he was sitting on the plaintiff's side. The coach nodded and he returned the acknowledgment. Marlene was sitting in the front row with Fulton, Lucy, Ned, and a young woman Karp did not recognize as he walked up to say hello.

"Oh, there you are," his wife said, and then touched the young woman lightly on her shoulder. "Butch, I'd like you to meet Maly Laska."

Laska appeared nervous, but her handshake was firm. "Nice to meet you," she said, then looked at Marlene. "Boy, when your wife says she's going to do something, she doesn't hold back, does she?"

Karp smiled, thinking of the many ways that applied to Marlene Ciampi. "No, she doesn't," he said. "Thanks for coming… And thanks for what you did-that took courage."

Laska blushed and mumbled something about it not being a big deal. Karp excused himself and joined his co-counsel and client at the plaintiff's table, ignoring requests by several members of the press who'd followed him down the aisle.

Unlike during the first days of trial, when it was still just a civil lawsuit by a small university baseball coach for what the press had essentially boiled down to wrongful termination, the courtroom was now packed with reporters. They smelled blood and were schooling in preparation for a feeding frenzy.

Karp rose with everyone else when Judge Sam Allen strode into the courtroom, wondering if this was how the Indian war chief Crazy Horse felt when told about Custer entering the Valley of the Little Big Horn. Bring 'em on.

The massacre commenced when Zusskin called James Larkin to the stand, though like Custer, neither the lawyer nor the investigator seemed to sense the impending disaster. Instead, Zusskin reviewed the abbreviated transcript and then asked Larkin why it was only nine pages long.

"Well, my job was to ask only a few pertinent questions and get the answers," Larkin said. "You have to remember, this wasn't for a court hearing, where it's my understanding that both parties receive all of the information. I sometimes interview hundreds of people, and if I transcribed every four-hour conversation and kept every tape, we'd never get anywhere. Think of it as, I was the person asking the questions for the ACAA panel and then reporting the answers. Nothing more."

"And what were those questions, Mr. Larkin?" Zusskin asked.

Larkin held up his big hands and ticked off the questions one fat finger at a time. "Did Coach O'Toole know about the party? Did he contact the escort service and pay for the…um, entertainment? Did he pay for alcohol that he knew would be consumed by the two recruits, who were underage? And did he attempt to interfere with my investigation by telling Mason and Dalton not to cooperate or to lie?"

"And those questions were answered in the nine pages of the transcript you provided, in accordance with the rules and regulations of the ACAA, to the hearing panel?"

"Yes."

"Was there anything else that was substantive or relevant that perhaps you should have included?"

"No, not that I can think of. The interviews weren't all that long because, as I said, I was really only after those specific answers to my specific questions."

"So if Mr. Mason and Mr. Dalton testified in this courtroom that your transcript was missing statements in which they denied that Coach O'Toole did these things, your answer would be?"