If Cole started getting cold feet, or Kline's buddies in the legislature got involved… We need to get this done.”
“Why doesn't Conoway talk to her?” Lucas asked.
“Says she can't. Says the Barths have an attorney, and without the other attorney here, she's not comfortable examining a reluctant witness. That's not exactly what she said, but that's what she means.”
“Listen: It'll take me at least ten or fifteen minutes to get there. I have to walk home, I'm six or seven minutes away from my car,” Lucas said. “What is Jesse saying? Is she letting Kathy do the talking, or can you split them, or what?”
“They were both sitting on the couch. It's all about the money, man.”
Lucas groaned. “I don't know why the Klines are holding on like this. You'd think they'd try to deal. Suborning a witness… they'd have to be crazy. How could they think they'd get away with it?”
Flowers said, “Burt's a fuckin' state legislator, Lucas.”
“I know, but I'm always the optimist.”
“Right,” Flowers said. “Ten minutes?”
Lucas glanced at Anderson, who at that moment tipped her wrist to look at her watch.
“I need a minute or two to finish here, then walk home, so… give me fifteen.”
He rang off and stepped back into the living room, took a card from his pocket, and handed it to Anderson. “I've got to run. Thanks for your time. If you think of anything…
About Donaldson, about Bucher, about possible ties between them, I'd like to hear it.”
She took the card, said, “I'll call. I've got what we call a grip-and-grin, trying to soak up some money. So I've got to hurry myself.”
“Seems like everything is about money,” Lucas said.
“More and more,” Anderson said. “To tell you the truth, I find it more and more distasteful.”
Lucas hurried home, waved at a neighbor, stuck his head into the kitchen, blurted, “Got something going, I'll tell you when I get back,” to Weather, and took off; Weather called after him, “When?” He shouted back, “Half an hour. If it's longer, I'll call.”
There was some traffic, but the Barths lived only three miles away, and he knew every street and alley. By chopping off a little traffic, and taking some garbage-can routes, he made it in the fifteen minutes he'd promised Flowers.
Flowers was leaning in a doorway chatting with a solid dishwater-blond woman with a big leather bag hanging from her shoulder: Conoway Lucas had never met her, but when he saw her, he remembered her, from a lecture she gave at a child-abuse convention sponsored by the BCA.
A small-town cop, working with volunteer help and some sheriff's deputies who lived in the area, and a freelance social therapist, had busted a day-care center's owner, her son, and two care providers and charged them with crimes ranging from rape to blasphemy. Conoway, assigned as a prosecutor, had shredded the case. She'd demonstrated that the day-care center operators were innocent, and had shown that if the children had been victimized by anyone, it had been the cops and the therapist, who were involved in what amounted to an anti-pederasty cult. She hadn't endeared herself to the locals, but she had her admirers, including Lucas.
Lucas came up the walk, noticed that the yellow-white dog was gone, the stake sitting at an angle in the yard. He wondered if the dog had broken loose.
Conoway looked tired; like she needed to wash her hair. She saw Lucas coming, through the screen door, cocked an eyebrow, said something to Flowers, and Flowers stepped over and pushed open the door.
“You know Susan Conoway…”
Conoway smiled and shook hands, and Lucas said, “We haven't met, but I admired your work in the Rake Town case.”
“Thank you,” she said. “The admiration isn't universal.”
Lucas looked at Flowers: “What do you need?”
Flowers said, “We just need you-somebody-to talk to the Barths in a polite, nonlegal way, that would convince them to cooperate fully with Ms. Conoway, who has a hot date tonight with somebody who couldn't possibly deserve her attentions.”
Lucas said, “Huh.”
Conoway said, “Actually he does deserve my attentions. If they're not going to talk, I'm outa here.”
“Give me a minute,” Lucas said. “I've got to work myself into a temper tantrum.”
Kathy and Jesse Barth were perched side by side on a green corduroy sofa, Kathy with a Miller Lite and a cigarette and Jesse with Diet Pepsi. Lucas stepped into the room, closed the door, and said, “Kathy, if Ms. Conoway leaves, and this thing doesn't go down tomorrow, you'll have messed up your life. Big-time. You'll wind up in the women's prison and your daughter will wind up in a juvie home. It pisses me off, because I hate to see that happen to a kid. Especially when her mom does it to her.”
Kathy Barth was cooclass="underline" “We've got a lawyer.”
Lucas jabbed a finger at her, put on his hardest face: “Every asshole in Stillwater had a lawyer. Every single fuckin' one of them.” She opened her mouth to say something, but Lucas waved her down, bullying her. “Have you talked to your lawyer about this?”
“Doesn't answer his cell. But we figured, what difference do a few hours make?”
“I'll tell you what difference it makes-it means somebody either got to you, or tried to get to you,” Lucas said. “You can't sell your testimony, Kathy. That's a felony.
That's mandatory jail time.”
Jesse shifted on her seat, and Kathy glanced at her, then looked back at Lucas. “Burt owes us.” She didn't whine, she just said it.
“So sue him,” Lucas said. “Kline broke a state law and he has to pay for it. Pay the state. If you interfere with the state getting justice, then you're committing a crime. Judges don't fool around with people who mess with witnesses, or witnesses who sell their testimony. They get the max, and they don't get time off for good behavior. You don't fuck with the courts, Kathy, and that's what you're doing.”
Jesse said, “Mom, I don't want to go to jail.”
“He's bullshitting us, hon,” Kathy said, looking at Lucas with skepticism; but unsure of herself.
Lucas turned to Jesse and shook his head. “If your mom goes down this road, you've got to take care of yourself. I can't even explain how stupid and dangerous this is. You won't get any money and you'll be in jail. If your lawyer were here, he'd tell you that. But if Conoway leaves-she's got a date tonight-she's going to pull the plug on your testimony tomorrow, then she's going to turn off her cell phone, and then you are truly fucked. You've got about one minute to decide. Then she's gonna walk.”
“She can't do that…” Kathy said.
“Horseshit,” Lucas said. “She's already after-hours, working on her own time. She's got a right to a life. This isn't the biggest deal of her career, it's not even the biggest deal of her week. She doesn't have to put up with some crap where somebody is trying sell her daughter's ass to a pederast.
She's gonna walk.”
“I'm not trying to sell anybody…” Kathy said.
“I'll talk to her,” Jesse blurted. To her mother: “I'm gonna talk to her, Mom. I don't care if we don't get any money from Burt. I'm not going to jail.”
“Smart girl,” Lucas said.
Back in the hallway, Lucas said to Conoway, “Give them a minute.”
“What're they doing,” Flowers asked, “sopping up the blood?”
“Jesse's telling Kathy what's what,” Lucas said. “I think we're okay.”
A moment later Jesse stuck her head into the hall, looked at Conoway. Kathy was a step behind her. “We'll talk to you,” Jesse said.
Conoway sighed, said, “I thought I was outa here. Okay, let's go, girls…” And to Lucas: “Thanks. You must throw a good tantrum.”
Amity Anderson was annoyed with life, with art, with rich people, with Lucas Davenport.
So annoyed that she had to suppress a little hop of anger and frustration as she drifted past the Viking warrior. The warrior was seven feet tall, made of plaster, carried an ax with a head the size of a manhole cover, and wore a blond wig. He was dressed in a furry yellow skin, possibly from a puma, if puma hides are made of Rayon, and his carefully draped loins showed a bulge of Scandinavian humor.