[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

It looked sad and drawn.  We could just drive away, I said.  Leave it alone.
He was silent for a long time.  We could, he said.  Don t think I wouldn t
love to. But if we look the other way this time, what happens next time? And
the next? Once you cross a line, it gets easier the next time, and the next
and the next. And pretty soon you don t even remember where the line was. You
and I have spent a lot of years playing by the rules. We believe in  em, even
though they don t always seem fair. You know that. That s why you called Evers
instead of burning those sheets, or tying them around a cinder block and
chucking  em in the river.
 I know, I said.  And isn t that working out swell for me?
 It ain t over yet, he said.  Too soon to give up on the system. You ve got a
shrewd lawyer, and if anybody in this city can get a jury that s inclined to
give the benefit of the doubt, it s you.
 Yeah, I said with more than a trace of irony in my voice.  The greatest
legal system in the world. And at its pinnacle there s my lawyer, Grease
DeVriess.
 Hey, I didn t say it was perfect, he said.  But in this case, maybe Grease
can actually do a good deed. Bootstrap himself up from the lowest circle of
hell to one of those mid-level circles.
 If clearing my name means making the afterlife easier for Grease, I m not so
sure I want to be acquitted, I said, and Art laughed quietly.  You re a good
man, Bill, he said.  You ready?
 No. But I guess we d best go do this anyhow.
We got out of the truck, easing the doors shut quietly. Down the street, a dog
barked once, then fell silent. We eased wordlessly up the walk and up the
stairs, and I knocked softly on the front door. It opened in seconds, and
Susan Scott faced us nervously. Behind her stood her husband Bobby. She had
said he was a contractor, and judging by his build, he wasn t just a foreman,
he still did a lot of labor himself. He stood about six-three, with broad
shoulders and bulging arms. He had a hint of a beer gut, but underneath it, he
still had the body of an athlete. When he shook Art s hand, I saw Art wince,
and when he shook mine, I understood why.
They led us to the sofa, where Art and I had sat when we delivered the news of
Craig Willis s death to Susan Scott the week before. They sat in closely
spaced armchairs, holding hands between the chairs.
 I m not sure where to start, I said.  You might have seen me in the news
lately. They both nodded, looking embarrassed.  Somebody s working hard to
make it look like I killed Dr. Carter, and they re doing a pretty good job of
it. We re trying to figure out who, and why.
Susan looked confused, and I could hardly blame her.  When you called, you
said you had some new information about Craig Willis.
 We do, said Art.  And we re thinking there might be some connection between
that case and Dr. Carter s murder.
 How on earth would those be related? asked Bobby.
 Not sure, Art replied.  But Dr. Carter was murdered right after we
identified Craig Willis s body. Willis s mother was very upset at the news
stories about her son s death. She felt like Dr. Carter had ruined his
reputation.
Page 132
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
 Christ, give me a break, said Bobby Scott.  That guy was a piece of shit.
 Bobby! his wife exclaimed.
 I can t help it, Sue. You know it s true, and you feel the same way. I m glad
he s dead, and I wish the papers had printed the rest of his story.
 A day before she was killed, I said,  Dr. Carter was in my office at UT.
Craig Willis s mother came in and physically attacked Dr. Carter. We had to
call the campus police.
Susan put a hand to her mouth.  You think maybe she killed Dr. Carter?
 Don t know, Art said,  but we re concerned that Mrs. Willis might be
unstable, and might pose a risk to anyone who s connected to her son s case.
He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a photograph. It was a print of
one of the photos I d shot earlier in the day, at Mrs. Willis s house.  You
haven t seen her in the neighborhood, have you? Or anywhere near Joey s
school? He handed the photo to Mr. Scott. He took it in his free hand,
studied it a moment, and shook his head. Then he handed it to his wife. She
looked at it much longer, then shook her head as well, and handed the photo
back to Art. Art, too, looked at the photo. He held it under the floor lamp
that was at his end of the sofa, and angled the picture back and forth to
catch the light. His face took on a look of infinite sorrow, and when he
looked up at Bobby Scott, I could see tears gathering in the corner of Art s
eyes. I could feel them welling up in mine, too.  Mr. Scott, Art said,  how
did you cut your thumb? And when?
Bobby Scott looked startled, and then nervous.  With a utility knife on a
job, he said.  Stripping electrical wire. About a week ago, I d say.
 I d say more like three or four weeks ago, Art said.  Just before that night
you spent away from home? It s healed up pretty well just a faint scar by now,
I d say, judging by this thumbprint. Bobby Scott flushed.  Mind showing me
your thumb? said Art. Scott extricated his hand from his wife s, but he did
not show his thumb to Art; instead, he put both hands on the arms of his
chair, leaning forward and looking ready to jump up. The fight-or-flight
reflex had clearly kicked in like a turbocharger.
His wife was looking from Art to her husband to me.  What s going on? I could
see confusion and panic rising in her.  Somebody please tell me what this is
about, she said. Her voice was taut as a guitar string on the verge of
snapping.
 When Craig Willis was killed, I said,  his penis was cut off and shoved in
his mouth. There was a bloody thumbprint on the penis. The thumb had a pretty
big cut down the center.
She turned and stared at her husband. The looks that passed between them her
unspoken and frightened questions, his angry and apologetic answers nearly
broke my heart. She began to shake, and to weep.  Oh God, Bobby, she said,
 what have you done? How could you do this to us? Oh God. Every time I think [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]