The Second Girl(15)

“Is she in?” I ask.

“Yes,” Leah answers.

When I walk into her office, the first thing she says is, “You look like a bum in a suit,” and I feel forgiven already ’cause that’s how she normally talks to me.

She’s sitting behind her desk. She returns to a case file she’s reviewing; she’s writing notes on a yellow memo pad that already has several pages turned over and tucked under it.

“I just want to say—” I begin.

Without looking up at me, she says, “I don’t want to hear anything, Frankie. I especially don’t want to know anything about whatever it is you’re working.” She sets her pen down and looks up at me. “But please tell me you’re cooperating with Detective Davidson and Fairfax County.”

“Davidson’s the only one I’ve spoken to, and yes, I am cooperating.”

“Well, that’s a relief. And seriously, you need to get that suit pressed, definitely shower and shave. I can smell the cigarettes and sweat from here.”

“I’ll be fresh by tomorrow. And I’m sorry about this shit. This case has got me all worked up.”

“I told you I don’t want to know about the case. Last thing I need right now is getting summoned to a grand jury, which, by the way, still might happen.”

“No it won’t.”

I sit on the chair in front of her desk.

“I’m assuming that’s the Claypole file you’re working on?” I ask.

“Yes. He won’t take a plea, so we’ll be going to trial.”

“What did the government offer?”

“Aggravated assault.”

“It sounds better than assault with intent to kill, but still not much of a plea offer. It could still get him the max, with a record like his.”

“No judge will give him ten years for agg assault, especially the way this one went down. He should have taken the offer. He’d be out in three, less with time served.”

“Shouldn’t be that hard for someone like you to find mitigating circumstances.”

“Quit kissing my ass. And you know I already tried to establish that. We go to trial on this, I’m going to lose. And I hate to lose.”

“But this time you’ll be presenting it to a DC jury.”

“Trust me when I say that won’t matter with this one.”

“When’s the trial?”

“We have a status hearing on Monday. Since he won’t accept the plea, the judge will probably set a date for jury selection.”

“You need me to do anything?”

“No. You’ve already done everything you can do.”

“I can have a sit-down with Claypole if you want, maybe convince him you know best.”

She looks at me like she’s considering it.

“No. I did my best on that one; he’s the client and the client wants to go to trial.”

“It’s been a while since I talked to him. Maybe I could get the story again, see if there’s anything else to work with—for the trial, I mean. The time’s on me. Least I can do for all the shit I just put you through.”

She nods like she agrees and says, “You’ve already worked this one to the ground, but then it can’t hurt, right?”

I agree with a nod and a bit of a smile.

“But I want you on the clock. I don’t take freebies, even from you.”

She’s forgiven me.

“It’s your dime,” I tell her.

“I’ll set it up with DC jail so you can meet him tomorrow.”

“Make it in the afternoon. I’ll probably have to get with Davidson sometime in the morning.”

“All right,” she agrees.

I push myself out of the chair.

“Can you clean yourself up, please?” she asks sincerely.

“I suppose so,” I say, but then realize how difficult that would really be.





Thirteen



I wake up to a sweaty pillow. I turn it over and lie still for a while. I try to make sense of the dreams that fired up all that sweat, but by the time I’m focused enough, they slip away. When I go out, I go out hard.

The first thing I do after I get my brain straightened out is check my cell, but not for the time. I want to make sure I didn’t sleep through Davidson trying to call me. It’s a few minutes after 7 a.m. I slept maybe three hours. Wouldn’t have slept at all if I hadn’t downed a couple of Klonopins with a glass of Jameson. Most of the night was spent trying to figure out a good story for Davidson. One of the benefits of blow, especially good blow, is it gives you the fortitude to do shit like that.

I think I got a good story out of it.

I remember I have to shower and shave. It takes me a few minutes, but I manage to push myself up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

Daylight’s trying to make an entrance through the curtains. It’s still semidark in the bedroom, so the curtains are doing their job. I turn the end table light on ’cause I’m not ready for the light of day. I can’t remember the last time I pulled the curtains open, actually.

I down four ibuprofen with the remaining glass of water I keep on the nightstand. When I’m able to, I stand up, pull my T-shirt off, drop my boxers, and stumble my way to the bathroom.