My office door swings open and Gannet enters with a furrowed brow. “I don’t like being summoned like one of your whores.”
“We have a problem,” I say, waving my hand toward the couch, making sure he understands it’s not a request.
He only refuses for a second, his dark eyes trained on me with a hard glare. “What’s the problem?” he says, taking a seat.
“Bates.” It’s explanation enough.
He exhales audibly. “What, has he advanced to murder?”
Just the mention of that twinges my insides. “Not yet.” Not yet is not a no. It’s not a denial that Bates could ever be capable of such a thing. It’s an admission that I am now questioning whether or not my client is guilty, and the fact that it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibilities he could very well advance there.
More seriously now, Gannet says, “How long do we have?”
I shrug. “This victim’s case is being prosecuted by the ACA. Some green lawyer right out of grad school,” I say. “But she’s just the frontrunner. She has a lot of backing to get Bates locked away.”
Giving him the details, I go over each aspect of the new dilemma we’re up against. “The ACA is trying to sideline me with some claim the metadata of Bates’ computer was hacked, faked. An expert witness would be ideal, to show just how difficult it would be for Malcolm to pull something like that off.”
He nods slowly, digesting this information. “All right. And we can bury her in paperwork. Enter all of Bates’ online posts and comments to the fetish site into evidence. She’ll be weeding through the filth for weeks. Should give us some time.” He grins.
I rub the back of my neck, tense. “All right. For now. But we need our investigator to dig up what all she has. Here’s the report.” I toss a folder at him, and he slaps it out of the air.
His forehead creases as he looks over the victim’s statement. “You think the metadata angle is a diversion?”
“Yes,” I say, turning toward my laptop. “She wants us focused on that so we don’t get a whiff of whatever she really has.” And she was quite smug in the meeting. “Get Wells and Mason on the investigator angle. We can handle the experts.”
He glances up from the report. “We?”
Normally, I’d put Gannet working his own angle. He’s good. He doesn’t need my total supervision. But trust with a client like Bates is difficult. Not only is he my top client, he’s also my neediest. I’m becoming spread too thin, however. There’s no way to keep my client out of prison while keeping a
n eye on all of the partners.
It comes down to pawns. Who am I willing to sacrifice, and who do I trust the least?
At one time, my named partner was the only person I trusted. Not implicitly…but I trusted him enough to share a practice with him. In my world, that’s vast.
Change is inevitable, though. No matter how I fight the tide, demanding consistency of routine, people are creatures of change. They’re greedy and deceitful, and the powerful always desire to obtain more of what they love the most: power.
“You have an issue cocounseling this case?” I ask.
Gannet shrugs. “Just like old times, huh?”
I nod at that. “Minus the shitty bourbon,” I say. “I guess so.”
I really hope my partner isn’t trying to screw me. I’d hate to have to end this partnership—which isn’t a simple business transaction. For a partnership like ours, the end result would be many broken bones and lots of pain.
“Did they swab for DNA at the police station?” Gannet asks, not looking up from the mountain of paperwork he’s been leafing through for hours.
I drain the last of my bourbon, which is not shitty in the least, before I push the tumbler away. “No.” I then turn toward him, curious. “Why do you ask?”
He sits forward, rolling his shoulders. He’s long since discarded his suit jacket and tie, the both of us working past closing. I sent Alexis a text to have Jefferson drive her home, but the mouthy little vixen told me no. No. She’s intent on working late with Julia on the case, and despite my best efforts, I’m more than tempted to kick Gannet out and punish her for this newfound defiant streak.
But I enabled her, didn’t I? The moment I gave in this morning and let her jerk me around like her puppet, she gripped those strings tight. I have to remedy this soon. Especially since the whole day, I’ve struggled to think of anything other than her strutting around the floor without panties.
“There’s a mention of it in one of the uniform’s reports,” Gannet says, drawing my attention back on the case. “An Officer Myer. He stated the DNA found at the victim’s residence would be tested against the alleged.” He shakes his head, weary. “What DNA?”
“Son of a bitch.” I rifle through the ACA’s documents, seeking the medical report.
“Maybe it’s a hack report,” Gannet says, standing and grabbing his jacket. “Some rookie cop getting the facts mixed up. It’s happened too many times.”