"Your client has several priors," she said, getting down to business. A brief chit-chat about coffee was all the niceties she was willing to grant the man who'd fought for Jared Barnett's release. "What makes you think she has any room to bargain?"
"She may be able to identify who's responsible for the string of convenience-store robberies." He said it like it was an official announcement, then sat back and sipped his coffee, looking pleased with himself, as if he had handed her the thief's name, address and DNA sample.
"What makes…" Grace stopped to check the name, "Carrie Ann Comstock think she might be able to do that?"
"She was in the vicinity of the store on Fiftieth and Ames when it was robbed. She saw the man leave."
"The store was robbed at one-fifteen in the morning. What exactly was she doing in the vicinity at the time of the robbery?"
She watched his hands. His fingers tapped the oversize cup that he held between both hands. His right hand index fingernail had been bitten down to the quick. She decided she didn't trust an attorney who bit his nails and spent more money on his hair than she did.
"It really isn't important what she was doing."
That was exactly what she'd expected him to say. She sat back in her chair with her hands wrapped around her mug, as if ready for a showdown.
"So she thinks she got a good enough look that she might be able to identify him?"
"She got a good enough look that she was able to recognize him," Max Kramer said with a smile.
"Why didn't she come forward sooner?"
He shrugged, a practiced gesture that raised his shoulders almost to his earlobes. "Who knows? So do we have a deal?"
"Hey, Grace." Pakula suddenly filled her open doorway. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know you had-" He stopped when he recognized Max Kramer. "I didn't realize you had a pile of trash in here."
Grace had to restrain her smile. Instead, she watched Kramer shake his head and shift his weight in the chair to give Pakula his back. Detective Tommy Pakula had been one of the detectives involved in Barnett's case and his appeal process. Grace knew the detective well enough to know it'd be easier to cut out Pakula's tongue than to get him to refrain from speaking his mind. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, waiting for Grace to indicate whether or not she wanted to be interrupted, whether or not she needed rescuing.
"Actually, we were just finishing up," she announced, enjoying Kramer's raised eyebrows and his befuddled look, probably another practiced gesture. He obviously didn't think they were close to being finished. "Why don't you send me the details later today, and I'll get back to you," she said, standing now-a practiced gesture of her own- and pushing back her chair as if she had an appointment with Pakula.
Max Kramer reluctantly stood. "Okay, so I'll do that and give you a call this afternoon."
Kramer hesitated at the door, waiting for Pakula to step aside. Grace wished she could get Pakula's attention, just long enough to give him Grandma Wenny's evil eye and warn him to keep his cool, to play nice.
"No hard feelings," Kramer offered when Pakula stepped away just enough to let him pass. Grace cringed. Why didn't Kramer cut and run?
"Oh, sure," Pakula said. "Why would there be any hard feelings? You go on national TV and tell Bill O'Reilly and the whole fucking world the Omaha PD framed Jared Bar-nett. Why would I have any bad feelings about something like that?"
Kramer shook his head as if he didn't have time to deal with such nonsense. "It's nothing personal."
"No, of course not," Pakula agreed, but Grace knew…she knew that wasn't the end of it.
"If you ever need to dial 911 and nobody shows up- that's nothing personal, either."
Kramer shook his head again. That's when his phone started ringing, and he reached inside his jacket's breast pocket, bringing out a slim cell phone. He was answering it and walking down the hall without even considering that he might owe Grace an explanation. After all, didn't he say he forgot his cell phone?
Pakula stood in the doorway watching Kramer. Grace waited. Finally he looked at her and said, "You had breakfast yet?"
She shook her head.
"How 'bout we pick up a couple of Egg McMuffins on our way to the autopsy?"
CHAPTER 33
8:15 a.m.
Platte River State Park
Andrew no longer noticed the residual pain from his mending collarbone. Who'd have guessed that an instant remedy would be a bullet wound to his head?
Christ! It hurt. It felt as though the entire side of his forehead had been scraped away and left raw and bleeding. He felt as if he was going to vomit as waves of nausea rolled over him. His vision had finally begun to return to normal after seeing triple for a few hours. He wished he could turn off the ringing in his ears, though, and the banging in his skull meant his head would surely explode any minute and simply take him out of his misery.
They were taking turns using his shower and eating his food. Maybe when they finished they'd simply take his car keys and wallet and leave. He still wasn't sure if the guy named Jared had intended to shoot him or just scare him. After getting a good look in his eyes, Andrew thought he recognized the guy, but he couldn't place him. He didn't think this Jared was the type who missed a shot. Maybe that's what Andrew wanted to believe. Maybe that's what he needed to believe.