Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

“I don’t think anyone who knows me would describe me that way.”

A long moment of silence passed between the two men.

“Did you kill Sherman Clancy?”

“Well, if I did, it’s doubtful I would confess it to you.”

“Did you think Victoria had slept with him?”

“You stay the hell out of my life.”

“I’m staying at the Willows.”

Dan Robie looked like he might attack his son again.

“The hell you are! I forbid you to stay in my house. You have no right to be there.”

“I don’t think you have any say in it, what with your ass being locked up in here.”

“I won’t be locked up in here forever.”

“No. If you’re convicted they’ll send you to the state pen. Doubt it’s as nice as this place. By the way, you need a lawyer.”

“I’m actin’ pro se. Do you even know what that means?”

“Yeah, it’s Latin for ‘dumbass.’ I’ll ask around and find you somebody.”

“You will do nothin’ of the kind, boy.”

“And I’ll protect your family from harm.”

Dan started to say something but then stopped. He looked at his son warily. “What do you mean by that?”

“Credible threats? I’ve already met some folks down here that could constitute that. And I’ve also met some other folks who think the credible threat could be coming from a pretty dangerous source. If so, I doubt they’ll give a shit who they kill. So who do you want to rely on to protect them, the police force of Cantrell, Mississippi?”

“And you think you’re any better?” his father said dismissively.

“I don’t think. I know I’m better. That’s what I’ve been spending my life doing, Dad .” He rolled up his sleeve to expose the burn. “Sometimes it gets a little hairy. But you just keep soldiering on. And now that I know Ty is my little brother, it will take an army of them to get past me.”

His father ran an eye up and down his son’s lean, muscled physique, but he came away looking unsatisfied.

“Hell, you even know how to use a gun? Because everybody around here does.”

Robie said, “You’re the second person in Cantrell to ask me that. And yes. I know how to use a gun. Better than anyone you’ll ever know.”

“Think of three lawyers and then tell me the one you’d want to hire if your butt was on the line.”

Robie was staring at Sheila Taggert as she sat behind her desk.

She looked back at him, her gaze resigned.

“Toni Moses is who you want.”

Robie gazed skeptically at her. “Toni Moses? Is that a real name?”

“Couldn’t tell you. But if you need a kickass lawyer, she is it.”

“A woman, then?”

“A black woman, then ,” amended Taggert. “And the other good thing is she and Aubrey Davis can’t stand the sight of each other. I bet she’d do anythin’ to get this case.”

“She’s that good?”

“Thirteen capital cases in the last dozen years. Here and over to Biloxi and up on to Hattiesburg and even one in Jackson. She won ’em all. I’d say that was pretty damn good, considerin’ none of her clients were exactly upstandin’ citizens. And almost all of ’em were the same color she was. Which in Mississippi ain’t just good. It’s a damn miracle. So I’d say she’s aptly named. Least the Moses part. Leadin’ people to the promised land.”

“Where can I find her?”

“Right next door. She says she likes being next to the jail ’cause she can just walk over and pick up clients. Only exercise she gets, so she claims, anyhow.”

“You know her well?”

“Well as anybody ’round here can.”

“Thanks.”

“Guess it went all right with your daddy, seein’ how you’re still alive and all.”

“It was a close call for a while.”

“You want somethin’ for that swollen cheek where he belted you?”

“I’m good.”

Outside Robie gazed up and down the street until his eyes settled on the black metal shingle dangling from a small, tidy, brick building painted a stark white.

He walked over and read off the sign. “Toni Moses, J.D. Counselor at Law.”

He knocked on the door and could immediately hear a buzzer go off somewhere. He pushed open the door and walked in.

A young woman sat at a desk in the small foyer. The desk held a sleek computer along with neat stacks of files. The woman was in her late twenties, Robie estimated, and had long red hair, a face covered with freckles, and beautiful green eyes. She rose and came forward.

“Can I help you?”

“I was looking for Toni Moses?”

“Can I say who’s askin’?”

“Will Robie. I’m here to see about her representing my father.”

Her look told Robie that she knew exactly who his father was.

“Just give me a minute, Mr. Robie.”

She disappeared into an internal office. About ten seconds had passed when the door opened and Robie saw her.

Toni Moses was barely five feet tall, but as wide as she was tall with a massive bosom. Her kinky dark hair fell over her shoulders. She wore glasses tethered to a cord. Her pantsuit was a bit small for her stout frame, and her thick feet were wedged into open-toed heels.

Her brow was full and furrowed, and her eyes enormous and darker than her hair. Her mouth was wide, the lips painted a muted red. The nails were long and manicured.

But when she spoke Robie forgot all about what she looked like.

“Where have you been?” she demanded in a quiet voice that nonetheless seemed to have the impact of a clap of thunder.

“Excuse me?” said Robie. He stepped back as she charged forward.

“Where have you been? Simple question.”

“I just came from the jail.”

“Uh-huh. Your butt hadn’t eased across the county line for ten seconds when I knew all there was to know. Come on in. We have things to talk about.”

She turned and walked back into her office. Over her shoulder she called out, “Your daddy could be a dead man walkin’. So time is definitely of the essence.”

The young woman had eased out of Moses’s office and was looking sympathetically at Robie. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

“No. And don’t get her any. Or any more.”

“Robie!” cried out Moses. “Get your butt in here.”

Robie hurried into her office, and the young woman quickly closed the door behind him.

He looked around the small space that was dominated by, in addition to Moses, a huge desk piled high with paper.

“Sit,” said Moses, indicating a chair piled high with paper files. “Just move those, honey. No, over there to the right on the floor,” she said, when Robie attempted to put them on another chair. “Have to keep organized.”

He sat and looked at her. She stared back at him.

“Well?” she said. “Are you here to retain me on behalf of your daddy?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here. But we talked.”

She pointed to the fresh bruise on his cheek. “I can see you talked all right. How many shots on him did you get?”

“He needs a lawyer.”

“Damn right he does. Representin’ himself? Damn fool. And he’s told that to quite a few folks in his own courtroom. I can say his spiel word for word: ‘Tryin’ to be your own lawyer is like playin’ Russian roulette with a full chamber of bullets. You got no chance ’cept to die.’”

“You come highly recommended.”

She inclined her head. “I was wonderin’ when you were goin’ to get around to askin’ Sheila Taggert ’bout hirin’ a lawyer.”

“She speaks highly of you.”

Moses nodded. “My terms are nonnegotiable. You pay my hourly fee, which isn’t cheap, but compared to New York or DC I’m basically free. I work my butt off on the case, leavin’ no stone unturned. If I win I get nothin’ extra.”