sonofabitch.”
“I’ll deflect everywhere I can, but they’ve got some pretty heavy stones
to hit us with. And if Gorelick can get in your Dad’s priors, we might
be finished.”
‘They’ve too old. Their prejudicial value far outweighs their probative.
He’ll never get them in.” Kate’s words sounded more sure than she felt.
After all, how could you @e sure of anything?
The phone rang. She hesitated to answer it. “Does anyone know you’re
here?”
Jack shook his head.
She picked up the phone. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end was crisp, professional. “Ms.
Whitney, Robert Gavin with the Washington Post. I wonder if I could ask
you some questions about your father? I’d prefer to see you in person
if that could be arranged.”
“What do you want?”
“Come on, Ms. Whitney, your father is front-page news.
You’re a state prosecutor. There’s a helluva story there if you ask me.”
Kate hung up. Jack looked at her.
“What?”
“A reporter.”
“Christ, they move fast.”
She sat down again with a weariness that startled him. He went to her,
took her hand.
Suddenly, she turned his face toward hers. She looked frightened. “Jack,
you can’t handle this case.”
“The hell I can’t. I’m an active member of the Virginia Bar. I’ve
handled a half-dozen murder trials. I’m eminently qualified.”
“I don’t mean that. I know you’re qualified. But Patton, Shaw doesn’t do
criminal defense work.”
“So? You have to start somewhere.”
“Jack, be serious. Sullivan is a huge client of theirs.
You’ve worked for him. I read about it in Legal Times.”
“There’s no conflict there. There’s nothing I’ve learned in my
attorney-client relationship with Sullivan that could be used on this
case. Besides, Sullivan’s not on trial here. It’s us against the state.”
“Jack, they’re not going to let you do this case.”
“Fine, then I’ll quit. Hang up my own shingle.”
“You can’t do that. You’ve got everything going for you right now. You
can’t mess that up. Not for this.”
“Then for what? I know your old man didn’t beat up a woman and then
calmly blow her head off. He probably went to that house to burgle it,
but he didn’t kill anybody, that I know. But you want to know something
else? I’m pretty damn sure he knows who killed her and that’s what’s
got him scared to death. He saw something in that house, Kate.
He saw someone.”
Kate slowly let out her breath as the words sunk in.
Jack sighed and looked down at his feet.
He got up and put on his coat. He playfully pulled at her waistband.
“When’s the last time you actually had a meal?”
“I can’t remember.”
“I recall when you filled out those jeans in a way that was a little
more aesthetically pleasing to the male eye.”
She did smile that time. “Thanks a lot.”
“It’s not too late to work on it.”
She looked around the four corners of her apartment. It held no appeal
whatsoever.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Ribs, slaw and something stronger than Coke. Game?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Let me get my coat.”
Downstairs, Jack held open the door of the Lexus. He saw her studying
every detail of the luxury car.
“I took your advice. Thought I’d start spending some of my hard-earned
money.” He had just climbed inside the car when the man appeared at the
passenger door.
He wore a slouch hat and had a gray-trimmed beard and skinny mustache.
His brown overcoat was buttoned up to his neck. He held a minicassette
recorder in one hand, a press badge in the other.
“Bob Gavin, Ms. Whitney. I guess we got cut off before.”
He looked across at Jack. His brow furrowed. “You’re Jack Graham. Luther
Whitney’s attorney. I saw you at the station.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Gavin, you’ve obviously got twentytwenty vision
and a very winning smile. Be seeing you.”
Gavin clung to the car. “Wait a minute, c’mon just a minute. The public
is entitled to hear about this case.”
Jack started to say something, but Kate stopped him.
“They will, Mr. Gavin. That’s what trials are for. I’m sure you’ll have
a front-row seat. Good-bye.”