John Sandford - Rules of Prey

"That's enough," said McCarthy. "You're prejudicing the case."

"No I'm not. I'm just prejudicing your job in it. And I won't mention that again. I'm just-"

McCarthy stepped between Lucas and Smithe, his back to Lucas, and leaned toward Smithe. "Listen. If you don't want me to represent you, that's fine. But I'm telling you as your lawyer, right now, you don't want to talk-"

"I want to listen. That's all," Smithe said. "You can sit here and listen with me or you can take a hike and I'll get another attorney."

McCarthy stood back and shook his head. "I warned you."

Lucas moved around to where Smithe could see him again.

"If you've got an alibi, especially a good alibi, for any of the times of the killings, you better bring it out now," Lucas said urgently. "That's my message. If you've got an alibi, you could let us go to trial and maybe humiliate us, but you'd have a hard time working again. There'd always be a question. And there'd always be a record. You get stopped by a highway patrolman in New York and he calls in to the National Crime Information Center, he'll get back a sheet that says you were once arrested for serial murder. And then there's the other possibility."

"What?"

"That you'll be convicted even if you're innocent. There's always a chance that even with a good alibi, the jury'd find you guilty. It happens. You know it. The jury figures, what the hell, if he wasn't guilty, the cops wouldn't have arrested him. McCarthy here can tell you that."

Smithe tipped his head toward McCarthy again. "He told me that as soon as I started dealing in alibis, you'd have guys out on the street trying to knock them down.'

Lucas leaned on the interrogation table. "He's absolutely right. We would. And if we can't, I guarantee you'd be back on the street and nothing happens. Nothing. You haven't been booked yet. You never would be. Right now, we've got a good enough case to pick you up, maybe take it to trial. I don't know what these guys have been telling you, but I can tell you that we can put you with two of the victims and a third guy who is critical to the case, and there's some physical evidence. But a good alibi would knock the stuffing out of it."

Smithe went pale. "There can't be. Physical evidence. I mean…"

"You don't know what it is," Lucas said. "But we have it. Now. I suggest you and Mr. McCarthy go whisper in the hallway for a couple of minutes and come back."

"Yeah, we'll do that," McCarthy said.

They were back in five minutes.

"We're done talking," McCarthy announced, looking satisfied with himself.

Lucas looked at Smithe. "You're making a bad mistake."

"He said-" Smithe started, but McCarthy grabbed him by the arm and shook his head no.

"You're playing the weak sister," McCarthy said to Lucas. "From what you've said, there're only two possibilities: You've got no case and you're desperate to make one. In which case you won't book him. Or you've got a case, in which case you'll book him no matter what we say and use what he says against him."

"McCarthy, a fellow out in the hall called you a dickhead," Lucas said wearily. "He was right. You can't even see the third possibility, which is why we're all sweating bullets."

"Which is?"

"Which is we got a good case that feels bad to a few of us. We just want to know. We've got pretty close to exact times on two of the attacks, real close on a third. If Mr. Smithe was out of town, if he was talking to clients, if he was in the office all day, he'd be in the clear. How can it hurt to tell us now, before we book-"

"You're just afraid to book because of what will happen if you're wrong."

"Goddamn right. The department will look like shit. And Smithe, not incidentally, will take it right in the shorts, no offense."

"Now, what the fuck does that mean?"

"He knows I'm gay," Smithe said.

"That's a prejudicial remark if I ever-"

"Fuck it," said one of the interrogators. "I don't want to hear any more."

He stalked out of the room and a minute later Daniel stepped in.

"No deal?" he asked Lucas.

Lucas shrugged.

"No deal," said McCarthy.

"Take him upstairs and book him," Daniel told the remaining interrogator.

"Wait a minute," said Smithe.

"Book him," Daniel snarled. He stormed out of the room.

"Good work, McCarthy, you just built your client a cross," Lucas said.

McCarthy showed his teeth in what wasn't quite a smile. "Go piss up a rope," he said. They left in a group-Smithe, McCarthy, and the interrogation cop. As they went, the cop turned to Lucas.

"You know the difference between a skunk dead on the highway and a lawyer dead on the highway?"

"No, what?"

McCarthy turned his head.

"There's skid marks in front of the skunk," the cop said. Lucas laughed and McCarthy bared his teeth again.

"Look at them down there, like lice on a dog," Anderson said gloomily, exploring his gums with a ragged plastic toothpick. On the street below, television cameramen, reporters, and technicians were swarming around the remote-broadcast trucks parked outside City Hall.

"Yeah. Looks like Lester is going to have a full house," Lucas said. Jennifer's head bobbed through the swarm, headed toward the entry below them. "Got to run," Lucas said.

He caught her just inside the entrance, dragged her protesting through the halls to his office, pushed her into the desk chair, and closed the door.

"You tipped Kennedy about the gay. You told me you wouldn't."

"I didn't tip him, Lucas, honest to Christ."

"Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit," Lucas stormed. "You guys have washed each other's hands before, I've seen you do it. As soon as Daniel told me that Kennedy had the tip, I knew it was from you."

"So what are you going to do about it, Lucas? Huh?" She was angry now. "This is what I do for a living. It's not a fuckin' hobby."

"Great goddamn way to make a living." "Better than renting yourself out as a stormtrooper." Lucas put his fists on his hips and leaned close to her face. She didn't back off even a fraction of an inch. "You know what you did to get a break on a story? You pushed the department into booking an innocent man, which will probably kill the guy. He's in the welfare department surrounded by women and they'll never trust him again, no matter what anybody says. He's a suspect, all right, but I don't think he did it. I was trying to get them to go easy, but your fuckin' tip pushed them into picking him up."

"If they don't think he did it, they shouldn't pick him up."

Lucas slapped himself on the forehead. "Jesus. You think all the questions are easy? Smithe might be guilty. He might not be guilty. I might be wrong about him, and if I am and if I talked the department into letting him go, he might go right back on the street and butcher some other woman. But I might be right and we're destroying the guy, while the real killer is planning to rip somebody else. All we needed was a little time, and you snooped on a private conversation out of my house."

"And?"

Lucas turned cool. "I've got to make some basic decisions about whether to talk to you at all."

"I didn't really need to hear that phone call at your place," Jennifer said. "I would have gotten it anyway. I've got sources here you wouldn't believe. I don't need you, Lucas. I might just tell you to go fuck yourself."

"I'll take the risk. I can't put up with spying. I am considering-considering-calling a lawyer and having him call your general manager to tell him how you got the information and threatening to file suit against the station for theft of proprietary information."

"Lucas-"

"Get out of here."

"Lucas…" She suddenly burst into tears and Lucas backed a few steps away.

"I'm sorry," he said, miserably. "I just can't… Jennifer… stop that, goddammit."