“I didn’t discuss a deal.”
“I know that. But he told you that I might be ready to make one, isn’t that so?”
“He mentioned something like that, yes. We’re friends.”
“I know that, too.”
“He was afraid I might not have a case.”
“Didn’t want to see his friend get burned by the Wicked Witch of the West, huh?”
“He never once called you that.”
“But you know the nickname, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard it.”
“Because you had someone research me, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you learned that my first job was in Los Angeles with Dolman, Ruggiero…”
“Yes.”
“… where I was called the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Apparently.”
“Because I was such a mean bitch,” Patricia said, and smiled. “I’ve had you researched, too, by the way. I can tell you anything you want to know about yourself.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Graduate of Northwestern, where you also got your law degree, married quite young to a nice Chicago girl, divorced her several years ago, picked up again with her sometime later, ended it yet again sometime after that. You’ve got a fourteen-year-old daughter who’s said to be a quote Brainy Beauty unquote and who now attends a private school in Massachusetts. You came to the practice of criminal law rather late in your career, having specialized before then in real estate, divorce, and what-have-you.”
“Right, what-have-you,” Matthew said.
“Right. But from what I understand, you’ve had a remarkable string of successes till now…”
Matthew did not miss the “till now.”
“… defending murderers like Stephen Leeds.”
“Objection,” he said, and smiled.
“Sustained,” she said, and returned the smile. “In fact, there are people in town who say you’re even better than Benny Weiss.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
“You should. He’s a shark. But so am I.”
“So I understand.”
“In which case, you should consider yourself fortunate,” she said.
“About what?”
“My presence here. To offer you a deal.”
“My man’s innocent.”
“No, no, Matthew.”
“Yes, yes, Patricia.”
“Ah, he remembers my name. Hear me, will you, please? You know what I’ve got, you’ve seen all the discovery material.”
“Yes.”
“Well, now I’ve got even more.”
“Want to tell me?”
“Sure. I’ve got a witness who saw Leeds parking his boat at a restaurant named Kickers…”
“I’m assuming I’ll be receiving…”
“Yes, all in due course, name, statement, bra size,” she said, and rolled her big blue eyes. “She also saw Leeds getting into the car one of my Vietnamese witnesses described. A green Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme.”
“He didn’t know the make.”
“But he described it accurately otherwise.”
“No, he wasn’t sure about the color, either.”
“He said dark blue or green. And my new witness nailed it as green.”
“Did she also nail that nonexistent license plate?”
Patricia looked at him.
“There’s no such plate in the state of Florida,” he said.
“I assume you’ve checked.”
“Oh, yes.”
“You’re better than I thought,” she said.
“I try,” he said.
“But I’ve still got enough to cook him.”
“Maybe.”
“Take my deal, Matthew.”
“Why? If your case is so wonderful…”
“I want to save the state money.”
“Please,” he said. “No bullshit.”
“Okay. Skye wants this one put away fast.”
“Why?”
“Ask him.”
“Me? I’m still waiting for the morning edition to break.”
“Here’s the deal,” she said. “You plead your man guilty to…”
“I don’t even want to hear it.”
“Come on, Matthew,” she said, and smiled again. “I got caught in the rain walking over here, the least you can do is hear me out.”
“You always seem to be getting caught in the rain.”
“Bad failing, I know. What do you say? Give me a break, huh?”
Blue eyes wide. Little Miss Innocence.
“If I hear your deal, I’d be obliged to report it to my client.”
“If you know I’m ready to deal, you’re obliged to report that, too.”
Matthew looked at her.
“Let me hear it,” he said.
“You plead him guilty to three counts of murder one, we agree to waive the penalty proceeding.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning your man gets life and becomes eligible for parole in twenty-five years.”
“Times three,” Matthew said.
“Oh dear,” she said, “that’s right. There are three separate counts, aren’t there?”
As if just discovering this.
“But we can always stipulate that the sentences be served concurrently, can’t we?” she said, and smiled.
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“Which would make him eligible in twenty-five, wouldn’t it? How does that appeal to you, Matthew?”
“What makes you think a judge would grant a proceeding waiver?”
“The State Attorney herself pleading clemency for the defendant? Reeling off mitigating circumstances? No significant history of prior criminal activity… under the influence of extreme mental or emotional disturbance… oh, yes, it would fly, Matthew.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“I could make it fly, believe me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m good, Matthew.”
“And modest, too.”
“Tell your client, okay?”
“That you’re good?”
“No, that I’m offering him an opportunity to breathe fresh air again before he’s an old man.”
“In twenty-five years, he will be an old man.”
“Which is better than being a dead man.”
“Unless he’s innocent,” Matthew said.
Stephen Leeds was eating his dinner when Matthew got there that evening. In the Calusa jail, they served dinner at five-thirty. Lights-out was at nine.
“The routine gets to you more than anything else,” Leeds said.
He was moving some amorphous-looking stuff around on his tray. It stuck to his fork like glue. “You’d think in jail,” he said, “they’d figure since there’s nothing to do, they might as well let you go to bed late, sleep late in the morning. But, no, there has to be a routine. So they turn the lights out at nine, and they wake you up at six. On the farm, the only people who are up at that hour are the people who work for me. Look at this stuff, will you?”
He held up the fork.
The Thing From Another Planet clung to it tenaciously. It was green. It might have been spinach.
“One of the prisoners here, he’s been in and out of jail all his life,” Leeds said, “he told me they’re only allowed three dollars and sixty-five cents a meal. That’s what the city gives them to spend. What can you get for three sixty-five nowadays? Look at this stuff,” he said again, and put down the fork. It seemed to move across the tray of its own volition, but perhaps he’d only set it down crookedly.
“My stockbroker was here yesterday,” he said. “He comes every day, just the way I used to go to his office every day. Except that he can only come see me during visiting hours, which are from eleven to twelve in the morning and three to four in the afternoon. The routine again, right? You can come anytime you want, of course, but you’re my attorney. Bernie usually comes in the morning, before lunch. Lunch is at least edible. They get it from McDonald’s, there’s no way anyone can screw up a hamburger and fries. Breakfast isn’t bad, either. But dinner? Look at it,” he said again, and shook his head.