Blake Pierce - A Trace of Murder

Before Keri could study the room further, Jackson Cave walked in. She stood up quickly. He was just as she remembered him from their last meeting. His coal black hair was slicked back like Gordon Gekko in Wall Street . His blindingly white teeth filled out a mouth twisted into a fake, plastic smile. His tan skin gleamed underneath his navy Michael Kors suit. And his penetrating blue eyes glinted with a fierceness that reminded her of an eagle hunting prey.

And then, in a flash, she knew her course of action. Jackson Cave, with his personal photos with power players and his immaculate grooming and attire, was a man who cared about how he was perceived. He made his living off winning people over—politicians, juries, the media. And Keri knew he wanted to win her over too. It was his nature.

I have to undermine that goal. I have to come at him hard and fast, upend his expectations, keep him off balance. The only way I’m going to poke through his armor and get him to slip up is if I jab him in enough places. Maybe then he’ll say something inadvertently that could lead me to crack the cipher.

If she could get him upset, or even just annoyed, maybe he’d make a mistake and inadvertently reveal something important. Considering she already despised the man, it wasn’t a big lift. She just had to amp it up and look for cracks in his perfect façade. She didn’t know exactly what those cracks might be, but if she stayed alert, she was sure she’d find something.

“Detective Keri Locke,” he said as he swept past her to his side of the desk, “what an unexpected surprise. It was only a few weeks ago that we chatting in the fresh mountain air. And now you’ve consented to visit me here in the concrete jungle. To what do I owe the honor?”

Before speaking, Keri took a step toward one of the photos of Cave with a local dignitary so that her back was to him. She did it partly to show that she was in charge of the meeting, partly to get under his skin by refusing to look at him directly, and partly because her ribs were starting to ache again and she didn’t want him to see her gritting her teeth in discomfort.

“Sorry to bother you, counselor. I know you must be busy, preparing to defend an accomplice to child abduction.”

“Alleged, Detective. Alleged accomplice.”

She ignored his comment and continued.

“I came down here to ask you a question. Why is it, with so many powerful corporate clients at your disposal, you insist on representing the dregs of society?”

She glanced casually over her shoulder as if she didn’t have a care in the world but focused intently on Cave’s eyes, looking for any sign of distress. He offered none. Clearly, he was used to these kinds of put-downs.

“Everybody deserves quality representation, Detective. It’s in the constitution—sixth amendment. Look it up.”

“I’m aware of that, Mr. Cave,” she said, returning her attention to the wall of photos. “But you could represent any kind of defendant and yet you seem drawn to those who engage in violent behavior toward women and children. Why is that?”

“Something for me to work out with my therapist, I suppose.” He sounded relaxed, completely unruffled.

This isn’t working. He’s too practiced at batting away attacks about his clients. I have to poke somewhere else.

“That’s a cute quip, Mr. Cave. I’ll bet it’s one you use when defending your work to folks like him,” she said, pointing at the city councilman in the photo she’d been looking at. She turned quickly to see his reaction and saw that he still seemed unfazed.

“Is this what you came here for, Detective—to try to guilt-trip me? How boring…and disappointing. I expected more of you.”

“Sorry to disappoint. But I can’t help wonder why these people aren’t more reluctant to be seen with you. After all, isn’t that the CEO of a major rape crisis center in that picture with you?” she asked, pointing to an older woman almost melting into Cave as he wrapped his arm around her.

“Lovely lady,” he said, unperturbed. “Nice gams too.”

“And this gentleman, the monsignor,” Keri continued. “I’m wondering if he had to go to confession after meeting with you. Or at least take a Silkwood shower.”

She was surprised that Cave didn’t come back at her with another blasé reply. In fact, she noticed that he’d visibly tensed. The plastic smile still covered his face. But for the briefest of seconds she saw something in those blue eyes she couldn’t quite identify.

He regrouped quickly, regaining his normal expression, and stepped around to her side of the desk.

“This has been wonderfully fun,” he said, “but unfortunately, I still have a lot of work to do tonight. And unless you’re here for some reason other than to attack my personal character, I’m going to have to end our little get-together.”

He pushed a buzzer and the woman who had brought Keri in immediately appeared to take her away.

“This way please, ma’am,” she said politely but firmly. “They can validate you at the front desk.”

As she walked out the door, Cave called after her with an almost musical lilt in his voice.

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