Wilde Lake(63)

“The obvious answer, Lu, is that he didn’t do it, so he believes justice will be done.”

“I guess I’m asking you why your client would think there’s any likelihood that I can’t get a conviction, based on these facts?”

“You know, you’re good, Lu. But you’re not as good as you think you are. Few people are, when it comes down to it. There’s been one great Howard County state’s attorney—and that was your dad.”

It has the whiff of something he has long planned to say, an insult held back for the most perfect, hurtful moment. And it does hurt, but Lu won’t give Fred the satisfaction of seeing that.

“One great Howard County state’s attorney so far. I’ve been in office less than two months. Let’s see where I am in four years. Who knows, Fred? One day, maybe you’ll be arguing a case before the Court of Appeals—and I’ll be sitting above you in one of those crimson robes.”

“Court of Appeals—oh, I’m sure your ambitions go much higher than that, Lu. After all, there are plenty of women who have risen to that position. I assume you’ve set your cap for attorney general, or maybe even governor. Hasn’t been a woman alone in the governor’s mansion since Bootsie Mandel kicked Marvin out for having a mistress.”

“See you in court, Fred. Can’t wait to see how you spin this. Don’t forget to ask Drysdale what he used to take her face off. You know how jurors get obsessed with those little details, let their imaginations take them to the darkest places. Oh, and although you don’t represent them, you might ask which of Rudy’s parents wants to take the stand to testify about the time he attacked his father.”

Fred may have devolved into a timid prosecutor, but he was never a dumb one. “You can’t introduce past crimes unless Rudy takes the stand. Besides, there are no records of any violent behavior on his part.”

“True. But you also can’t claim he has no history of violence. There is a history, Fred, and it’s a very troubling one. But let’s move forward, get everything on the schedule, assuming there’s no chance for a murder one plea.”

“No chance. He’s rolling the dice, all or nothing.”

“Well, then, I’m going to have to assume probability is not one of the things at which Mr. Drysdale is brilliant.”





THE GAME OF LIFE


Even on a Saturday during a long holiday weekend, our father went to the office. We were used to his workaholism. Complaining about it would be like complaining about cold weather in winter, humidity in summer. AJ was still asleep when he left. AJ seldom rose before noon on holidays and weekends, a pattern established early in his teens. I could not believe how much he slept, my brother. My father said I would sleep like that one day, too, that the enormous physical changes of adolescence would exhaust me. He was wrong about that, as it turned out. But I grew very slowly and not very much, maybe only six inches in all from age twelve to age eighteen.

So I was doubly surprised when our father returned home two hours later and expressed annoyance at AJ still being in bed at 11:00. He walked upstairs to AJ’s room, his voice loud, almost yelling. Our father never yelled.

“AJ, get up. I need to talk to you.”

Inaudible mutters, moans.

“Now, AJ. Don’t get dressed. Don’t brush your teeth. Come straight to my room.”

More muttering.

“Then go to the bathroom, for sweet Christ’s sake, but get moving.”

My room shared part of a wall with my father’s. Intensely curious about what AJ had done to be in such trouble, I decided I would clean my room, as I was supposed to do on the weekends, although I usually waited until Sunday evening.

“Where did you go last night?” our father asked AJ. Then, before he could answer: “The truth. You need to tell the truth.”

The whole truth and nothing but the truth, I silently amended.

A long pause. I could almost feel AJ sifting through the consequences of his answer. Clearly, he had not gone bowling. But what could he have done to make our father sound like this? Angry, yet scared, too, a slight tremble in his voice. He didn’t know the answers to the questions he asked. That was rare for our father.

“The girls did go bowling. But Bash and Lynne are in a fight, he didn’t want to go. And Davey was stuck at home. So we went over there.”

“Were his parents there?”

Soft, barely audible. “No, sir. They drove up to Harrisburg to see Davey’s grandmother. They let Davey stay home because he said he wanted to work on a report for AP European History, but they said he couldn’t go out.”

“Who else was there?”

“Only Bash, Noel, and I were invited. It wasn’t a party. We just wanted to hang out, listen to Mr. Robinson’s stereo.”

“AJ, stop trying to skirt the truth by the way you phrase things. Okay, Davey invited you, Noel, and Bash. Was anyone else there, invited or no?”

“A girl named Nita Flood showed up.”

“Who is Nita Flood?”

I almost spoke out loud, excited to know the answer. Nita Flood. She sells sausage at the mall.

“A girl in our class. Not a friend of ours, not really.”

“Just showed up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did she get there?”