“Ah, Lacey, people can be swayed, they can be manipulated, they can see gray when there’s nothing really but black. I’ve seen it happen again and again. Juries will see what they want to see-if they want to free a defendant, no matter what the evidence, they’ll do it-it’s that simple, and many times that tragic.
“I hope Marlin Jones does come to California to stand trial. At least here we’ve got the death penalty.”
“If he got the death penalty, I think the electric chair would | be too easy and quick. I think all the families of the women he killed should be able to kill him, over and over.”
“That’s very unliberal of you, Lacey.”
“Why? It’s only right. It’s justice.”
“It’s vengeance.”
“Yes, it is. What’s wrong with that?”
“Not a thing. Now, my dear child, Mr. Savich probably wonders if you and I go on and on like this. Let’s take a short | time out. Tell me about these loose ends you and Mr. Savich are here to tie up.”
Evelyn Sherlock smiled, but again, it seemed to Savich that her face still remained without expression. It was as if she’d trained herself not to move any muscles in her face that would ruin the perfect mask. She said, “They probably think that you murdered Belinda, Corman, isn’t that right, Mr. Savich?”
Now that was a kicker. It was Savich’s turn not to change expression. He said, bland as chicken broth, “Actually, no, ma’am.”
“Well, you should. I guess you’re not as smart as you are handsome. He tried to run me down. No reason why he wouldn’t kill Belinda. He didn’t like her, hated her, in fact, since her father is in San Quentin. He said Belinda would be as crazy as her father and me. That’s an awful thing to say, isn’t it, Mr. Savich?”
“It’s certainly not what I’d say, Mrs. Sherlock, but every-one is different. Now,” he continued, turning back to Judge Sherlock, “I wonder, sir, if you would mind telling us if you ever had Marlin Jones in your courtroom.”
“No.”
“You’re very certain?”
“Yes, naturally. I remember every man and woman who’s ever stood before my bench. Marlin Jones wasn’t one of them.”
“Before you became a judge, did you ever prosecute him?”
“I would have remembered, Mr. Savich. The answer is still no.”
Savich opened his briefcase and pulled out a black-and-white five-by-seven photo. “You’ve never seen this man?”
He handed Judge Sherlock Marlin’s photograph, taken just last week.
“No, I’ve never seen him in my courtroom. It’s Marlin Jones, of course. Lacey, you’re right. He does look like a classic psychopath, which is to say, he looks perfectly normal.”
Savich handed him another photo.
“I’ll be damned. It’s Marlin Jones but you’ve doctored this photo, haven’t you?”
“The FBI labs are the very best. I asked them to render me photos with various disguises a man could use effectively.”
“It’s just a mustache, the sideburns longer, the hair combed over as if the guy wants to cover a bald spot-it’s amazing. Sorry, but I’ve never seen this man either.”
Savich gave him a third photograph.
Judge Sherlock sucked in his breath. “I don’t believe this. I prosecuted this guy years ago, but I remember him. He was a hippie sort, up on marijuana charges. Look at that bushy beard and the thick bottle-cap glasses. Hunched shoulders, but he was still tall, as tall as I am. I remember that he looked at me as if he wanted to spit on me. What was his name, anyway?”
He fell silent, staring down at the photo, tapping his fingers on the arm of the leather chair. Then he sighed and said, “I’ll have to look it up. I guess I’m getting old. No, wait a minute. It was a weird name. Erasmus. That’s it. His name was Erasmus something, I don’t remember his last name, but it was a common name. It was ten years ago. I managed to plea-bargain him into three years even though it was his first of-fense. He himself was so offensive I didn’t even hesitate to push the public defender. He had no respect. Yes, it was three years. This is Marlin Jones?”