John Lutz - Ride the lightning

Clayton was a fashionable near-suburb of St. Louis; Candy Ann, still in her yellow-and-brown waitress outfit, drew stares as Nudger walked with her into the spiffy pale stone building where Elbert and Stein had their offices.

It was still hot outside. The lobby was surprisingly cool, and Candy Ann glanced over at Nudger and managed a tentative smile, as if maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all. He hoped she was right. The news media would have hold of her when her deposition was made public. That had been explained to her, but still she was willing to do this for Curtis Colt. In fact, once her mind had been made up about giving Siberling a statement, she'd become eager to get it done, get it behind her. Like a trip to a dentist who'd never heard of Novocain.

When the elevator had disgorged a dozen executive types into the lobby, Nudger and Candy Ann stepped inside and sent it zooming back up to the twelfth floor.

The Elbert and Stein offices were plush, carpeted in royal blue with matching ceiling-to-floor draperies. The furniture in the reception room was dark mahogany. Doreen, the balky receptionist, sat at a desk embellished with a vase of long-stemmed roses and a nameplate. She was a heavyset blond woman in her mid-thirties, with a creamy and flawless complexion that was striking in its perfect, fleshy expanse. Probably there wasn't a single imperfection on her entire generous body. She was attractive in a lush sort of way that went with the office.

When Nudger introduced himself, she smiled and said, "Ah, the feisty one."

"Been called worse," Nudger said.

"Bet you have." She stood up. Despite her bulk, her tailored dark business suit fit her well, hung gracefully on her in the way of expensive material. "Mr. Siberling's waiting for you," she said. She shot another wide and beautiful smile at Nudger and led the way. Candy Ann had gotten tentative again. She hung back as they walked down a carpeted hall, and Nudger had to wait for her to catch up.

Doreen ushered them into a large conference room dominated by a long, polished table not quite large enough for Ping-Pong. The royal-blue and mahogany motif had been carried in here, too. Doreen worked a pully device that drew the heavy blue draperies closed, blocking out the slanted bright evening sun, then switched on a brass floor lamp. The net effect, despite the room's size, was a cozy atmosphere; it was the sort of place where secrets were revealed in confidence.

Siberling came in then, along with an elderly woman with gray hair and a bored expression. He was wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit with a vest and carrying a fat leather briefcase. He was all lawyer today. Well, not quite. When he saw Candy Ann, a very unlawyerlike gleam entered his eyes. This was how Caesar had looked at Cleopatra, how Henry VIII had gazed upon leg of lamb.

The woman, who was taller than Siberling, gave a professional nod when he introduced her as Mrs. Kraft. "And you've met Doreen," Siberling said.

Doreen looked wide and pretty and said nothing as Nudger introduced Candy Ann. Siberling was obviously impressed. Nudger thought for an uneasy moment that the cocky little lawyer might actually kiss Candy Ann's hand.

They all sat at the mahogany table, Mrs. Kraft before a gray steno machine that had been set up at one end. Doreen stepped out for a moment and came back with a young paralegal named Jason, who would, along with her, sign as witness to Candy Ann's deposition. Jason was a skinny, acne-cursed kid just into his twenties who looked as if he'd rather be out somewhere with his buddies filling up on junk food.

"You sure all this is gonna help Curtis?" Candy Ann asked nervously.

"I'm sure it might," Siberling said gently, smiling a predator's saccharine grin meant to paralyze his prey. "Only might. I won't make any promises to you I can't keep, Candy Ann. And that's a promise."

Doreen appeared about to be ill, but she said nothing.

Candy Ann smiled back at Siberling and settled into her chair, confident that she had an ally here besides Nudger. The numbers were shifting in her favor. Doreen and Mrs. Kraft were women, therefore natural allies. Young Jason the paralegal was virtually a minor and didn't seem to count. He sat quietly as if that was fine with him, if only he could get out of there soon and watch some MTV.

"Just tell us your story in your own words," Siberling coaxed, "and Mrs. Kraft will record them. Then I'll ask you a few questions. Don't be afraid. Just be truthful. There's never any reason to be afraid of the truth."

Nudger was beginning to understand why Siberling was a good lawyer. If he was too obvious for Doreen, or for most people, his act was working on Candy Ann. And it was Candy Ann he was playing to; he wasn't interested in ratings.

Candy Ann told her story slowly, in a soft voice. About how Curtis hadn't come back to her trailer the night of the liquor-store holdup, and how she'd read in the morning paper that he'd been arrested and charged with murder. She wasn't surprised when she learned Curtis was involved in a robbery. He never went into detail when he told her his business, where he went at night, where the money came from, but she knew. She also knew he wasn't a killer. She knew that gut-deep.

Jason was sitting forward, suddenly interested. This was better than most of the dry, corporate legalese he was used to witnessing. This was maybe even better than whatever he had planned for that night.

The day after the murder, a man named Leonard, whom Candy Ann had seen a few times with Curtis, came to her and told her that Curtis was innocent, and that he wanted her to stay away from the authorities. As far as the law was concerned, she didn't exist, and Curtis wouldn't tell them about her. He wanted her to know he loved her, and he wanted to keep her clean, Leonard had said. How Leonard had gotten this message from Curtis he didn't say. But he knew things about Curtis. And about Candy Ann. The message was for real.

Candy Ann had stayed away from the law, waiting for the trial, then suffering through it and reading about its outcome. After Curtis had been sentenced to death, she didn't know what to do. She searched for Curtis' partner Tom, looked for him so diligently and persistently that finally, probably to keep her from drawing attention to him, Tom came to her.

It was Tom who told her what really happened that night, that Curtis and he had been miles away from the liquor store when the old woman was killed. Curtis had never told her Tom's real name (here Siberling did look dubious, but Candy Ann didn't catch it) and she'd never asked Tom. It was something you didn't ask a man like Tom. Tom was scared; he didn't want to join Curtis on Death Row. So he told Candy Ann to continue to lie low, and that he'd check in with her every once in a while by phone to see how she was doing. Then he gave her some money, half of the loot he and Curtis had accumulated from their night of crime, and went back into hiding.

Candy Ann, knowing Curtis' innocence, couldn't let things lie. She decided to talk to some of the witnesses, who had to be wrong about what had happened at the liquor store, to try to get them to reconsider their testimony. But after talking to Randy Gantner, she knew she wouldn't be very effective, so she decided to hire a professional. A private investigator. Nudger.

It was Mr. Nudger, she said, who had talked her into finally telling her story, the true story, in a last attempt to save Curtis' life.

When Candy Ann was finished talking, Siberling leaned back in his chair. He looked thoughtful in the way of a man contemplating a just-dealt poker hand. Nudger could see he was pleased by her statement. It smacked of truth.

"That was fine, hon," Siberling said, reaching across the table and patting her arm.

Doreen looked at Nudger, her expression blank. The young paralegal was gaping at Siberling reverently, as he had been occasionally since he'd entered the conference room. He looked like the kind of boy Candy Ann should be dating instead of sitting here taking a desperate chance on the truth about a hard-edged holdup artist.