But, Ben thought, as the sheriff opened the cell door, there were some things he preferred not to dwell upon.
Chapter 10
Ben wandered around the Magic Valley county courthouse for a full fifteen minutes before he finally acknowledged that he was not going to find the district attorney’s office on his own. Although it went against every male bone in his body, he relented, went against instinct, and asked for directions.
The DA.’s office was in the basement, as it turned out-not exactly the first place you would look. Once he stepped through the double glass doors, though, he recognized all the advantages of the location. It was private and quiet-much more so than the rest of the courthouse, which was playing host to a dozen different civic functions at once. Even better, the space was expansive-more than sufficient to provide adequate room for the staff and spacious offices for those at the top of the totem pole.
And the face at the very top of the totem pole was Granny’s. If Ben didn’t know it before, he certainly knew it when he saw her office-more than twice the size of any of the others, decorated in an upscale, high-gloss style that would have fit nicely into any of the many Tulsa law firm offices Ben had visited.
“So you’re taking on the Gardiner case.” Granville Adams-Granny, at least to her friends-slid out of the chair behind her desk. She was not tall, but what she lacked in height she made up in bearing. Ben had rarely met anyone who so immediately impressed him with such self-confidence. She walked right up to him-closer than most would, intentionally violating his personal space. The fact that she was devastatingly, almost aggressively attractive made the intrusion all the more difficult to ignore.
“Word travels fast in a small town.”
Her lips turned up, something between a grin and a smirk. “Word travels to me, anyway. There’s not much goes on around here I don’t know about.”
Ben didn’t doubt it for a minute. “I came by to see what you could tell me about the Gardiner murder.”
She arched an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I would be inclined to tell you anything?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The United States Constitution, maybe?”
Again with the smile/smirk. “If you’re asking for any potentially exculpatory evidence in the prosecution’s possession, I’ll provide it at our earliest convenience. If you’re asking me to explain the prosecution case to you, forget it.”
So, Ben thought, she was going to be one of those prosecutors. Why was he not surprised? “I’d like that evidence as soon as possible. And all your exhibits. And a list of witnesses you intend to call at trial.”
“I’ll do what I can. But no promises. We’re very busy.”
“That’s not good enough. I’ve already missed the preliminary hearing. The case is set for trial. I barely have time to make the essential motions. I certainly don’t have time to mud-wrestle you over fundamental discovery issues.”
“Mud-wrestling, huh?” Her golden eyebrows danced just beyond Ben’s nose. “Sounds kinky.”
Ben swallowed. What was it the sheriff had compared her to? A black widow? “If you don’t comply, I’ll be in the judge’s office first thing in the morning making motions for sanctions. And a continuance.”
She held up her hands. “Calm down, calm down. No need to use those big-city tactics on me. I’m just a small-time country prosecutor, remember?”
Yeah right, Ben thought. And Lucretia Borgia was just a bad cook.
“Take a seat, Kincaid. Let’s talk turkey.” She pointed toward a plush cushioned seat and positioned herself behind her desk. “I know you’re not from around here. What’s your interest in this case, anyway?”
“I don’t have one,” Ben answered. “I’m just a lawyer representing a client.”
“Your newfound friends aren’t very popular around here; I hope you know that. Those yellow ribbons are in the windows for a reason. Once people find out you’re with Green Rage, you’ll be a pariah, too. I doubt if Emma will let you stay at her place any longer.”
Ben tried not to react. She knew where he was staying. “I’ve been invited to stay at the Green Rage camp.”
She twisted her neck. “Don’t think I’d recommend that, Kincaid. That campsite has been hit twice already, and I suspect the next attack is just a hairbreadth away.”
“Attack? By whom?”
“Don’t know. If I did, I’d file charges against them, wouldn’t I?”
“So you make it a point not to know.”
Her face turned stern. “Are you accusing me of something, Kincaid?”
“No.” Not yet, anyway. “Well, I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. I probably need to stay in town. I’m sure I can find someplace.”
“You know you’re not going to make any money off this case, don’t you? Those tree-hugging hippies don’t have much cash. What little they do have, they spend on bomb ingredients.”
“Maybe I just need the practice.”
“Or maybe you don’t care about money, ’cause you’ve got a rich mommy back in Oklahoma.”
Ben’s eyebrows knitted together. “How do you know-”
“What do you take me for, Kincaid-some rank amateur? I may not live in a big city like you, but don’t mistake me for a rube or you’ll be very, very sorry.” Her face relaxed. “I had you checked out the second I heard you were taking the case. It’s all part of the game.”
“The game? Sounds more like invasion of privacy to me.”
She dismissed his remark with a wave of the hand. “Do you know anything about the logging industry, Kincaid?”
“I know they cut down a lot of trees.”
She leaned back in her chair, pushing her feet against her desk. The hem of her already short skirt slipped up her thighs. “They do a hell of a lot more than that. The logging industry made this town. Without logging, Magic Valley wouldn’t exist.”
“You mean this area would all just be a huge, untouched, virgin forest? That’d be a shame.”
“What I mean is, there’d be several thousand people with no way to make a living. Once upon a time, this area was one of the most poverty-stricken, economically depressed parts of the country. Starvation and malnutrition were rampant. Logging changed all that.”
“I really don’t see what this has to do-”
“Everyone who lives here is indebted to the logging industry. Everyone. It’s our lifeblood. It runs through our veins.” She sat upright. “So you can imagine how we feel when a pack of would-be anarchists who don’t even live around here stroll into town and start spiking trees and blowing up equipment, trying to shut the logging operations down. From our perspective they’re like vampires.”
“I really don’t see the connection with the Gardiner case.”
She shrugged. “You’ve chosen sides, Kincaid.”
“All I’ve done is-”
“You may not realize it yet, but you’ve made your choice. A very dangerous one. And I suspect you’ve done it because you’re basically a good-hearted person who’s only heard one side of the story.”
“I’m here to try a lawsuit. Not to get involved in local politics.”
“Let me do you a favor, Kincaid.” She scribbled an address on her notepad. “My father has worked for WLE Logging all his life. He’s one of the top foremen at their sawmill just north of here. I’ll tell him you want to make a visit.”
“That’s not nece-”
“I think it is. You need some perspective. After all, you’re an officer of the court. And you’ve aligned yourself with people who are avowed lawbreakers.”
Ben bristled. “If they break the law, it’s for a reason. In the great American tradition of civil disobedience.”
“As best I recall, Thoreau never blew anyone up.” She tore the top sheet off her notepad. “Look, if you’re going to jump into the boiling cauldron, you ought to at least have some clue what’s cooking.” She handed the address to him.
Ben reluctantly took the piece of paper. “Could we possibly talk about the case now?”
Granny grinned, damn near irresistibly, Ben thought. “What do you want to know?”