William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

Travis resumed his self-defense. “I had an ethical duty to defend my client to the best of my ability.”

“You did that, by God,” Hagedorn said. “Nothing personal against our learned assistant U.S. attorney, but you whipped her butt. No offense, ma’am.”

“None taken.”

I’ll just bet, Travis thought.

“You’re out of law school what—barely a year, Travis?” Hagedorn said. He stretched out in a chair and put his boots up on his desk. “Already you’ve got the instincts of a first-rate trial attorney. Better than most lawyers who’ve practiced for decades. I just wonder about some of the … choices you’ve made. Most ex-cops who go to law school end up working for the DA or some other law enforcement agency.”

“I’m not most ex-cops,” Travis muttered.

“No, you’re not. And I can’t find fault in your working for Dan Holyfield either. He’s a damn fine man. Honest, respectable. I’d just like to see you exercise a little more discretion in selecting your clients.”

“Someone’s got to represent the scum of the earth.”

“Someone’s got to pick up the garbage, too, and there’ll always be someone willing and able. It doesn’t have to be you.”

“Thanks, Judge, but I like what I’m doing.”

“Fine.” Hagedorn shuffled several tall stacks of files on his cluttered desk. “I’m glad to hear you express those noble sentiments, Travis. Because I’ve got a job for you. Criminal indigent—needs a court-appointed attorney. Normally, I’d feel guilty assigning a case like this, but since you feel so strongly about the rights of the scum of the earth …”

Travis didn’t care much for the sound of that. “What’s the charge?”

“Forcible rape,” Hagedorn said, opening a file folder.

Damn. Another sex crime. Travis hated sex crimes.

“Aggravated assault,” Hagedorn added. “Several other related charges.”

“What happened?”

“A pretty little SMU coed was leaving an off-campus pub. Before she reached her car, she was surrounded by six men—three white, three black. They took her keys, threw her into the trunk of her car, and drove her to a secluded area near White Rock Lake. They took turns at her. In fact, some of them took several extremely brutal turns. And then they tied her to the back of the car and dragged her for about a mile.”

Travis closed his eyes. “Did she live?”

“After a fashion. I’ve heard the phrase hamburger meat used at the pretrial hearings.”

“And I would represent one of the alleged assailants?”

Hagedorn nodded. “The only one the police have been able to find.”

“And how did Brad Blaisdell get this one into federal court?”

“Turns out the parking lot from which she was abducted actually belonged to a nearby VA hospital. She was on federal property.”

“That’s pretty lame. Surely you’re going to dismiss.”

Hagedorn spread his arms expansively. “I’ll entertain any motion you care to make. But no, I’m not going to dismiss.”

Travis maintained his poker face. He couldn’t fold now. “All right, I accept. Assuming, of course, that the client has no objection.” He saw Cavanaugh’s eyes widen in amazement. “Where’s the file?”

“It’s on Millie’s desk.”

“I’ll send someone to pick it up tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Hagedorn said. “The trial begins tomorrow morning.”

“ What? ” Travis’s brow protruded from his forehead. “How can that be?”

“This case was originally assigned to Tom Seacrest. You know, the young associate at Rainey and Wright. But he disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“You heard me. Didn’t show up for the pretrial this afternoon. Firm says he hasn’t been seen since the day before yesterday.”

“Are they looking for him?”

“Of course. But the trial still starts tomorrow morning and his client still needs a lawyer.”

“What about someone else at Seacrest’s firm?”

“No one else there does criminal work. No, Travis, I offered you the case and you accepted.”

“Then I respectfully move for a continuance.”

“Denied. I’ve already granted two continuances to Seacrest. Time to get this show on the road.”

“But I can’t be ready by tomorrow morning!”

“Why not? The prosecution will take at least three days to present its case. All you have to do is sit around and object periodically. In the meantime, you can prepare your defense.”

“Who knows,” Cavanaugh interjected, “maybe you can dream up some technicality to get this toad off the hook, too.”

Travis ignored her. “I want my request for a continuance and your denial on the record, Judge.”

“Suit yourself. We’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

“If you two will excuse me, I’ll collect that file from Millie and get to work.”

Travis left chambers and entered the reception area, careful not to let his expression change. His stomach was doing flip-flops, but he couldn’t let it show. Millie, Judge Hagedorn’s secretary, wasn’t in sight, so Travis rummaged around on her desk until he found the file, then tossed it into his briefcase.

My God, he thought. I just hope she isn’t a redhead.

4

6:45 P.M.

HAROLD SATROM LOVED TWO things in life: sunsets and fishing. Every chance he got, he’d close the Dallas bait-and-tackle shop he managed, grab his ten-year-old son, Jimmy, and drive to Lake Palestine before the sun faded. They would watch the fiery red light filter across the horizon, find a comfortable spot on the bank, then cast their lines and see what the Corps of Engineers had stocked the lake with this year.

But everything seemed different tonight. Different and wrong. The sky was overcast; ominous clouds were gathering. Worse, the fish didn’t seem to be biting, at least not where they were. Harold could see the occasional bass or trout, but he couldn’t catch them. They seemed disturbed, skittish. Probably teenagers had been out here last night, drinking beer, causing a commotion, stirring everything up. Damn kids.

Harold left Jimmy with the gear and strolled along the shore, hoping he could find a better location. He’d been walking about half a mile when he came upon a large gray blob that he knew with instant horror was a man. The remains of a man.

He approached slowly, although he realized this desiccated corpse could do him no harm. It appeared to have washed ashore after floating in the lake for some time.

Harold rolled the corpse onto its back—and immediately wished he hadn’t. The face was a puffy gray green, swollen and scarred; it had been horribly burned. Thin, translucent skin barely covered the skull. Harold couldn’t have identified the man if he’d been his best friend.

Then Harold noticed his legs. The man had been burned from the groin down—horribly so. To make matters worse, his body was riddled with deep, blackened stab wounds. It was grotesque.

Harold wasn’t a coroner, but he got the distinct impression that this man had died hard, slowly and painfully, at someone else’s hands.

He reached into the corpse’s pocket and found a leather wallet. Amazing that it hadn’t fallen out in the lake. There were twelve twenty-dollar bills inside. Well, hell, they weren’t going to do this stiff any good. But they would buy a mountain bike, and that would give Jimmy a lot of pleasure. And give Harold a lot of peace.

Harold thumbed through the rest of the wallet. A few pictures, a driver’s license, and membership cards for various organizations. Several credit cards, but Harold wasn’t stupid enough to try to use those. Nothing else of value.

He rolled the corpse back onto its face. A sudden chill swept through his body. He ran into the lake, consumed by the desire to cleanse himself. He ran his hands over his body, scrubbing every inch of exposed skin.