Дэвид Балдаччи - Absolute Power

Frank finished writing in his log book.

Burton studied him. “Get anything out of Whitney?”

“Right! His lawyer has him clammed shut.”

Burton appeared nonchalant. “Who is he?”

“Jack Graham. Used to be with the Public Defenders Service in the District. Now he’s a big-shot partner with some big-shot law firm. He’s in with Whitney now.”

“Any good?”

Frank twisted a swizzle stick into a triangle. “He knows what he’s doing.”

Burton stood up to go. “When’s the arraignment?”

“Ten tomorrow.”

“You taking Whitney over?”

“Yeah. You want to come along, Bill?”

Burton threw his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to know anything about it.”

“How come?”

“I don’t want anything leaking back to Sullivan, that’s how come.”

“You don’t think they’d try anything again?”

“The only thing I know is that I don’t know the answer to that question and neither do you. If I were you I’d make some special arrangements.”

Frank looked at him intently.

“Take care of our boy, Seth. He’s got a date with the death chamber at Greensville.”

Burton left.

Frank sat at his desk for some minutes. What Burton said made sense. Maybe they would try again. He picked up the phone, dialed a number and spoke for a bit and then hung up. He had taken all the precautions he could think of for transporting Luther. This time Frank was confident there would be no leak.

Jack left Luther sitting in the interrogation room and walked down the hallway to the coffee machine. In front of him was a big guy, nice suit and a graceful tilt to his body. The man turned around just as Jack passed him. They bumped.

“Sorry.”

Jack rubbed his shoulder where the holstered gun had struck him.

“Forget it.”

“You’re Jack Graham, aren’t you?”

“Depends on who wants to know.” Jack sized the guy up; since he was carrying a gun he obviously wasn’t a reporter. He was more like a cop. The way he held his hands, his fingers ready to move instantly. The way the eyes checked out every feature without seeming to.

“Bill Burton, United States Secret Service.”

The men shook hands.

“I’m kind of the President’s earpiece on this investigation.”

Jack’s eyes focused on Burton’s features. “Right, the news conference. Well I guess your boss is pretty happy this morning.”

“He would be if the rest of the world wasn’t in such a godawful mess. About your guy, hey, my feeling is they’re only guilty if the court says they are.”

“I hear you. You want to be on my jury?”

Burton grinned. “Take it easy. Good talking to you.”

Jack put the two cups of coffee down on the table and looked at Luther. Jack sat down and looked at his empty legal pad.

“Luther, if you don’t start saying something I’m going to have to just make it up as I go along.”

Luther sipped the strong coffee, looked out the barred window at the single bare oak tree next to the station. A thick, wet snow was falling. The mercury was plunging and the streets were already a mess.

“What’s to know, Jack? Cut me a deal, save everybody the hassle of a trial and let’s get this over with.”

“Maybe you don’t understand, Luther. Here’s their deal. They want to strap you onto a gurney, insert an IV into your arm, pump nasty little poisons into you and pretend you’re a chemistry experiment. Or I think now the commonwealth actually gives the condemned a choice. So you can opt for having your brain fried in the electric chair. That’s their deal.”

Jack stood up and looked out the window. For a moment the flash of a blissful evening in front of a toasty fire in the huge mansion with the big front yard with little Jacks and Jennifers running around went through his head. He swallowed hard, shook his head clear and looked back at Luther.

“Do you hear what I’m saying?”

“I hear.” Luther eyed Jack steadily for the first time.

“Luther, will you please tell me what happened? Maybe you were in that house, maybe you burgled the safe, but you will never, ever make me believe you had anything to do with that woman’s death. I know you, Luther.”

Luther smiled. “Do you, Jack? That’s good, maybe you can tell me who I am one of these days.”

Jack threw his pad in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “I’m going to plead you not guilty. Maybe you’ll come around before we have to try this thing.” He paused and added quietly, “I hope you do.”

He turned to leave. Luther’s hand fell on Jack’s shoulder. Jack turned back to see Luther’s quivering face.

“Jack.” He swallowed with difficulty, his tongue seemed as big as a fist. “If I could tell you I would. But that wouldn’t do you or Kate or anybody else any good. I’m sorry.”

“Kate? What are you talking about?”

“I’ll see you, Jack.” Luther turned and stared back out the window.

Jack looked at his friend, shook his head, and knocked for the guard.

The snow had changed from fat, sloppy flakes to pellets of ice that clattered against the broad windows like handfuls of slung gravel. Kirksen paid no attention to the weather but looked directly at Lord. The managing partner’s bow tie was slightly askew. He noticed it in the reflection from the window and angrily straightened it. His long forehead was red with anger and indignation. The little fuck was going to get his. No one talked to him like that.

Sandy Lord studied the dark clusters making up the cityscape. A cigar smoldered in his right hand. His jacket was off and his immense belly touched the window. The twin streaks of his red suspenders jumped out from the background of his highly starched monogrammed white shirt. He peered intently out as a figure dashed across the street frantically chasing down a cab.

“He is undermining the relationship this firm, you , have with Walter Sullivan. I could only imagine what Walter must have thought when he read the paper this morning. His own firm, his own attorney actually representing this, this person. My God!”

Lord digested only a fraction of the little man’s speech. He hadn’t heard from Sullivan for several days now. Calls to his office and home had gone unanswered. No one seemed to know where he was. That was not like his old friend, who kept himself in constant contact with an elite inner circle of which Sandy Lord was a longtime member.

“My suggestion, Sandy, is that we take immediate action against Graham. We can’t let this lie. It would set a terrible precedent. I don’t care if he has Baldwin as a client. Hell, Baldwin is an acquaintance of Walter’s. He must be livid as well about this whole deplorable situation. We can convene a meeting of the management committee tonight. I don’t think it will take long to arrive at a conclusion. Then—”

Lord finally held up one hand and cut off Kirksen’s ramblings.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“But, Sandy, as managing partner I believe that—”

Lord turned to look at him. The red eyes on either side of the large and bulbous nose cut right into the slender frame.

“I said I’ll handle it.”

Lord turned to look back out the window. Kirksen’s hurt pride was of absolutely no consequence to him. What concerned Lord was the fact that someone had tried to kill the man accused of murdering Christine Sullivan. And no one could reach Walter Sullivan.

Jack parked his car, looked across the street and closed his eyes. That didn’t help since the vanity plates seemed to be imprinted on his brain. He jumped out of his car and dodged traffic as he made his way across the slippery street.

He inserted the key in the lock, took a quick breath, and turned the doorknob.