Ridley Pearson - Killer Weekend

“You been smoking contraband from the evidence room, Sheriff? You better watch out for that.”

Walt went absolutely still. He let a minute pass. Then another. To both men it seemed much, much longer.

Then he took a deep breath, let out a long sigh, and let his true emotions color his voice. “You picked the wrong car, asshole.” He waved the bag containing the contact lens in the man’s face. “Danny Cutter wasn’t driving the Toyota, Patrick was. Danny’s the one Mr. Holms wanted framed for this. Not Patrick. We were all over Danny until we found the contact lens. This contact lens. The one on which they developed a latent print. The blue stuff: That’s what the fuming does-turns any oils from fingerprints blue. But Patrick didn’t kill her-we can account for every second of his existence. And Danny never drove the Toyota. Duh! You should never have gone along with trying to frame Danny. You’ve got to learn when to say no to the boss.”

Guyot had lost all his color and found it impossible to sit still. His upper lip held a sheen of nervous sweat, and his eyes could no longer risk finding Walt’s.

“He’s in the other room, right now, hearing about this same evidence. He’s being offered a deal, a plea bargain. Now, who do you think is the better deal maker, you or Stuart Holms? Who do you think is going to come out on the short side of this one? When you found that contact lens, you should have just thrown it out. Those are your prints on it, right? We’ll be comparing them in the morning. They sure as hell aren’t his. Hers, if you’re lucky-but I don’t think you’re all that lucky, Emil. And forget about him ever springing you for this. You go down in this state for capital murder, they throw away the key. Welcome to the Wild West.”

The man was breathing hard. Like a runner at the end of a race. All that pent-up anger and frustration straining at the edges of his eyes and pursing his lips to where they’d gone white.

“Never follow the wishes of a jealous husband,” Walt said. He thought of Brandon and Gail.

He waved in one of his deputies to keep an eye on the man, but stopped at the door and jiggled the bag holding the contact lens and the other one holding the plaster cast. “You think either of these is going to implicate Stuart Holms? No. And he knows that. He was counting on that. That, and the power of your greed. He knows all about greed, Stuart Holms. All he needs is for your greed to buy your silence through the trial. Then he’s home free, and you’re the one in the orange suit.”

F iona ran off a series of photographs as Stuart Holms, Emil Guyot, and Milav Trevalian were walked out of the Sheriff’s Office in orange jumpsuits and wearing manacles. Some stragglers from the First Rights gathering, including Bartholomew, were contained across the street by the new city hall, chanting and waving their fists. Walt couldn’t make out their slogan.

Several of the national reporters had remained in town for the 3 P.M. news conference conducted by the assistant United States attorney. There would likely be even more press by the time the convoy reached Boise, a good two-hour drive.

“He confessed about two minutes after Holms’s attorneys arrived,” Walt told Fiona. “This was around three A.M. They walked right past him and went in to talk to Holms, and Guyot had a total meltdown. Lousy customer service, it’ll get you every time.”

“But you said Holms will get off?”

“I said guys like him always get off. Who knows?”

“His poor wife.”

Walt had a couple of things to say to that, but he kept them to himself. Tommy Brandon was one of the deputies helping to get the two into the waiting vehicles-the suspects were being driven down separately in their own Suburbans. The feds had bigger budgets. Dryer and his men were part of the escort. None of the three would have any further contact with one another until the various trials. If there were trials.

“And Trevalian?” she asked.

“A lot of this is still up in the air. We caught Trevalian shortly after my own people tried to arrest me outside of Liz Shaler’s. He’s no newcomer to this. He thought he knew the location of the person who’d hired him, and he parlayed that into a quick deal with the AUSA.” He answered her bewildered look, “Assistant U.S. attorney-and was promised a maximum of eight years if he cooperated, which he then did. He led us to Stuart Holms.

“He and Guyot,” he continued, “will both do time. Either one could benefit from further plea-bargaining. There are a lot of stories to tell.”

“I’d like to hear your story. The one you wouldn’t tell me,” she said.

He wondered about asking her out for dinner. Not a kiss-at-the-door kind of dinner, just food shared across the same table. The spark was there for a minute, but then it faded behind an aching fatigue that warned he might not wake up for days.

Brandon caught them standing together, maybe caught a glint of the spark Walt had felt, because he looked quickly away when Walt busted him for staring.

As he walked past them, he spoke to Fiona. “He tell you about the contact lens? Frickin’ piece of genius.” And he continued into the office.

“Genius, huh?” Fiona said, trying to make Walt look at her.

“At some point I’m likely to wake up,” Walt said, watching the Suburbans pull out, one by one. “And when I do, I’m going to be dying for a cup of coffee.” Start small, he was thinking. Work your way up to lunch.

“So call me,” she said.

“I will.”

“I hope you will, but fear you won’t.”

He drove home alone. Took a shower alone. Sat down on the bed alone with plans to call Mark Aker about the dog’s condition, and wanting to follow up on Kevin’s legal status. He looked forward to the girls being home and getting back some semblance of life. The phone rang, and he nearly didn’t answer it, but something compelled him to-he had a hell of a time saying no.

“Walt?” Liz Shaler’s distinctive New England voice.

“Your Honor?”

“You weren’t going to call me that, remember? Forgive me for taking so long to call.”

“Hardly necessary.”

“You did it again, Walt. Saved me. I hope this isn’t becoming a habit. I’m going to have to knight you, or something.”

He could only think of clichés, and he didn’t want to use one. While he tried to come up with just the right choice of words, she interrupted.

“I attended that conference for all the wrong reasons. Welcome to politics. And I listened to the wrong people. Most importantly, I ignored the few warnings you gave me, and I feel like a complete ass for doing so. I told you I was going to put my faith in you, and then I did the opposite, didn’t I? The good news is, maybe I learned something here, and if I did, it’s thanks to you, and that’s all I really called to say: thank you.”

He was too tired to play games with her. “I could say something like ‘Just doing my job, Your Honor,’ but it sounds so ridiculous that I’m trying not to. But that is the truth, more or less. I was just doing what I do. I like doing it. And I like you, Your Honor-Liz-so I’m especially glad it worked out. That sounds equally stupid, doesn’t it? Sorry about that.”

“No. Not at all. It’s touching. Listen, I know a little bit about the differences between your father and you-it’s a small valley-but if you ever have anything like an inkling to take your work to the federal level, I could pave the way, make the transition both smooth and rewarding for you. And if I happen to win this election…Let’s not lose touch in any case.”

“If you win this election and make Sun Valley your winter White House, you’re going to give me a whole bunch of problems. Maybe I’ll vote for the other guy.”