P. Parrish - Thicker Than Water

“You sure you can do this?” she asked.

“What?”

“Work the other side of the fence?”

Louis hesitated.

“If you take this job,” Susan said, “you’ve got to operate under the assumption that Jack Cade is innocent.”

“He killed once before. Hard for me to forget that.”

“He served his time,” Susan said.

“Twenty years isn’t near enough justice.”

“That’s your cop brain talking, Kincaid. Cops have their own warped idea of justice and how it should be served up.”

“That’s because they see firsthand the damage these assholes do.”

“Cops seem to forget they don’t work for the prosecutor.”

Louis leaned against the door jamb. “If you believe that, why are you hiring me?

She cocked her head. “I’m not sure. I get the feeling you operate with a different kind of compass. One that keeps you from crossing certain lines.”

“You don’t know me, counselor.”

“I know what happened to you. I know why you’re not the most popular guy in O’Sullivan’s.”

Her eyes were steady on his, and he felt his chest tighten. He took a quick drink of beer to stay cool.

“Who told you?”

“A deputy I know. Then I went and did some research, read some old newspaper articles. I know that you killed a cop to protect a kid, a punk kid no one cared about.”

Louis looked past her, out at the swaying dark palms, lost in a wave of images he had thought were long buried. A blue uniform in the snow. A gun, cold in his hand.

“It was a long time ago,” Louis said.

“It cost you a lot.”

When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Do you ever think what would’ve happened to you if you hadn’t done what you did?”

He didn’t like talking about this. He hadn’t talked to anyone about it, except Sam Dodie. But something made him answer.

“I don’t think I could’ve put on a uniform again, for one thing.”

“You haven’t.”

He shrugged. “I will, when the time’s right.”

Susan was silent.

Louis sighed, then looked at her. “Look, I’ve got to be honest here. I don’t like dirtbags like Cade. I don’t like lawyers either. But I’m a good investigator and that’s what you’ll get.”

“What about Kitty Jagger?”

“What about her?”

“Can you forget that Cade was convicted of killing her?”

Louis hesitated. “Let’s put it this way-I won’t let it get to me.”

“Then I think we can do business.”

Susan extended her hand. Louis shook it without returning her smile.

“Christ, Kincaid, you look like you’re making a deal with the devil,” Susan said.

Louis finished off his beer in one gulp. “Maybe I am, counselor.”

Louis sat in the hard wooden chair, waiting for Jack Cade. His gaze wandered around the visitation room. Standing near the back was a deputy, his green uniform crisp but his eyes limp with boredom. The florescent light flickered as the rattle of a fan suddenly filled the room. Louis could feel a spray of cold air from the vent above him.

He watched the plain black and white clock on the wall over the deputy’s head. The thin red second hand made its way slowly around the stained face.

To Louis’s left was a heavyset black woman in a brightly patterned cotton dress. She was speaking in a soft foreign accent to a weary-looking man on the other side of the dirty plexiglass. The man’s eyes locked briefly on Louis’s.

He had been behind bars himself once. It was brief, but he had never forgotten the soul-numbing feel of it. How did men stand it for decades? He looked away from the man’s gaze.

The back door opened and a deputy escorted Jack Cade in, shoving him down into the chair across from Louis. Cade didn’t even shrug off the deputy’s hand. Just took it, like he was used to it or it no longer mattered.

Cade was cuffed and he settled into the chair uneasily. His hair was hanging in eyes, and he tossed his head slightly to throw it back. He peered at Louis through the scarred plexiglass.

“I see Miz Outlaw took my advice,” Cade said.

“Let me tell you something, Cade. You have nothing to gain by pissing off Susan Outlaw or me.”

“Well, you’re here, ain’t you?”

“For the time being. You pull anything like that again, I walk. And you better hope she doesn’t walk with me.”

Cade didn’t look at him. The prisoner next to them was starting to talk excitedly, his accent so heavy Louis couldn’t understand what he was saying. Cade was staring at him.

“Did you hear me, Cade?”

“Why would I care if the bitch walks?”

Louis leaned close to the plexiglass. “Because she’s probably the only person in Lee County who thinks you didn’t kill Duvall. How’s that grab you?”

Cade’s eyes slid back to Louis. “You don’t?”

Louis didn’t answer.

“How the hell can you help me if you think I’m guilty?”

“Convince me otherwise.”

Cade looked away again. He was picking at his cuticles, scratching at them with the hard, dark nails of his other hand.

The prisoner in the next cubicle raised his voice, his speech slipping now into a foreign language that sounded like slurred French.

“Talk to me, Cade,” Louis said.

Cade was staring at the black man and his girlfriend.

“Cade,” Louis said sharply.

Cade shook his head slowly. “Fucking foreigners. Can’t even get away from them in jail.”

He finally let his eyes drift back to Louis. “Haitians. Washing up on the beach like goddamn fish. They ought to toss them off a boat in the Bermuda Triangle and see if they can swim home past the sharks.”

Cade was waiting for Louis’s reaction. But Louis wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing his disgust.

“Tell me about the night Duvall was killed,” Louis said. “Why did you go back to his office that night?”

“I didn’t.”

“They’ve got a witness who ID’ed you.”

“A homeless drunk.” Cade smiled.

“Why were you going to sue Duvall?”

“I told you.”

“You said he was incompetent. How?”

“I never said he was incompetent. Incompetent means somebody doesn’t know what they’re doing. Duvall knew exactly what he was doing.”

The Haitian prisoner was getting more agitated. His girlfriend was crying. Cade’s eyes lasered onto the couple.

“What do you mean?” Louis asked.

“Duvall sold me out.”

“How?”

Cade shook his head.

“Cade, look at me.”

Cade shifted, his breathing turning hard. “It’s fucking over. I got no way to get anything back now. My life is down the drain because of Duvall and I got no way to get anything back because the sonofabitch is dead!”

The guard was eyeing Cade.

“You’ve got to calm down here, Cade,” Louis said.

“Shit. .”

“You’ve got-”

Cade leaned into the plexiglass. “Don’t tell me what I gotta do,” he said. He took a deep breath and leaned back, running a hand over his hair.

“My kid was here yesterday,” Cade said. “He’s lost most the yards on his routes,” Cade said. “Folks are telling him they don’t want their lawns paying for his scumbag father’s defense.”

Louis let out a long breath. “Look, Cade. .”

“That sonofabitch lawyer took away my life and now he’s taking away my kid’s. He owes me.” Cade leaned forward, his eyes glistening. “You hear me? He owes me!”

Louis was quiet for a moment. He decided to play his card.

“You couldn’t have sued Duvall anyway,” he said.

Cade looked up at him.

“Statute of limitations on legal malpractice is two years in this state,” Louis said.