Dark Justice (17 page)

Peggy stared down at the conference table. Was this ethical? But she knew better than to ask the question aloud. She’d only get the same treatment she’d gotten a few minutes before.

“Well, team,” Granny said, clapping her hands together, “it sounds as if we are in fine fettle. If there’s nothing else—”

“I have something,” Peggy said.

All eyes turned to her end of the table. “Oh?”

Peggy swallowed. She didn’t want to speak. She’d much rather let the moment pass and retreat to the safety of her office. But there was an issue that had to be raised.

“I’ve been reading some disturbing reports,” Peggy said, trying to pretend she didn’t feel Granny’s eyes burning down on her. “Some from the DEA, some from local law enforcement agencies. We’ve got a drug lord in town—a major player. One Alberto Vincenzo.”

Granny’s annoyance was apparent. “Does this relate in some way to the Zakin case?”

“I think it might.” Peggy pulled a photo out of a file folder. “This is Alberto Vincenzo.” It was a waist-up shot. Vincenzo was a big man, with long stringy black hair and a scar above his right eye. His face was defiant; his shoulders and chest rippled with muscles. He looked scary.

“Vincenzo has been in Magic Valley for at least a month, maybe longer. We don’t know what he’s doing here. But given the fact that we’ve seen a huge spike in the distribution and use of Venom, it isn’t hard to put two and two together—”

“I’m sure this little lecture is fascinating to Kip and Troy,” Granny said, “just as it is to me. But what the hell does it have to do with this murder case?”

Peggy tried to be brave. She had made a cardinal mistake—she had taken the spotlight off Granny for too long. This was Granny’s show, and she expected to be the star. She didn’t like upstarts.

“We all know the wife of the murder victim was concerned about his behavior in the weeks just prior to his murder. She reported violent mood swings, reckless behavior, extended periods of sleep followed by extended periods of sky-high alertness. In short, exactly the symptoms associated with this new designer drug.”

Granny’s face became set and positively grim. “What are you implying, Peggy? Do you think we arrested the wrong man?”

“No, I’m not saying that. But if Gardiner was using this new drug being distributed by Vincenzo, then Vincenzo is a potential suspect.”

Granny’s face burned red. “So I guess you think we should release our local eco-terrorist, against whom we’ve already got an ironclad case, and go chasing after your drug lord.”

“No, of course not.” She drew in her breath. “All I’m saying is that Vincenzo is a potential suspect. As such, any evidence pointing to Vincenzo is exculpatory as to the guilt of Zakin. Therefore, applying the standard
of Brady
v.
Maryland
, we have an obligation to inform defense counsel.”

Granny gaped. “To do what?”

“To give Zakin’s lawyer everything we’ve got on this Vincenzo creep. I’ll be happy to take care of it if—”

“No.” Granny laid her hands firmly on the table. “That is not going to happen.”

“But the law requires—”

“The law requires us to turn over any potentially exculpatory evidence. But this half-baked theory of yours isn’t exculpatory. It doesn’t make the case against Zakin any weaker. It just creates the possibility of a wild-goose chase and a distraction the defense can use at trial to confuse the jury.”

“He has a right to know about any potential suspects.”

“Who considers this … Vincenzo a suspect? I don’t. Do you?”

Kip and Troy both shook their heads rapidly.

“However tenuous,” Peggy said, “there is a potential connection.”

“Am I to inform defense counsel of every criminal in town? Or in this case, every potential but as yet uncharged criminal? I don’t think so.”

Peggy didn’t know what to say. The law was clear. But Granny seemed determined to ignore it.

There was a long and very unpleasant silence.

“Give me the Vincenzo file, Peggy.”

Peggy reluctantly complied.

“I’ll refile this. Where it belongs.”

Yeah, Peggy thought. Like in the incinerator.

“If we had any hard evidence pointing toward this drug kingpin,” Granny continued, “I’d agree with you, Peggy. But I will not feed the defense an escape hatch by creating a connection that doesn’t exist. We have an obligation to produce evidence, not to invent theories.” She leveled her gaze, finding Peggy’s eyes and fixing upon them. “And furthermore, my dear, let me tell you something that
is
the law. Granny’s law, if you will. I expect—no,
require
absolute loyalty from my staff. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, ma am.”

“If you’re with me, I want you with me one hundred percent. Otherwise, you can get the hell out.”

Peggy pressed her lips together.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Peggy. Are you with me?”

“Yes, ma’am. One hundred percent.”

Granny waited a good long time before she released Peggy from her penetrating gaze. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I was beginning to wonder.”

Peggy tried to read the expression on the dragon lady’s face. Did she still wonder? Did she still have doubts about Peggy? If she did, that could be fatal to Peggy’s employment status.

Granny spouted a few more “go, team, go” platitudes, then walked briskly out of the conference room. Peggy noticed that Kip and Troy both left without saying a word to her. She had obtained pariah status; none of the suck-ups would have anything to do with her till they were sure she was back on Granny’s good side.

She was relieved that the meeting was over but disturbed at the result. She knew damn well they were obligated to produce the Vincenzo evidence. True, the evidence against Zakin was enormous, but courts had made mistakes before. And with someone like Granny in charge, anything could happen. What if this suppression of evidence caused an innocent man to be convicted, even executed, for a crime he didn’t commit?

And if she participated in the suppression of evidence, she would be just as liable—just as guilty—as Granny. In fact, if it were to ever come out, Peggy wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t turn out to be all her fault.

But what could she do? Granny had made her decision and would never reconsider it.

And she couldn’t cross Granny, could she? If Granny ever found out …

Peggy ran to her office and slammed the door behind her. There had to be something she could do, something that allowed her to keep her job, keep paying the bills, not be disbarred, and still not commit a sin a thousand rosaries couldn’t wash away.

But what was it?

B
EN WAS HARD AT
work at the tiny desk in the closet they were currently calling his office when he heard a knock at the door.

Who was that? he wondered. Couldn’t be Christina. She never knocked. “Come in.”

The door opened, and a strapping mountain of a man stepped inside.

“Loving!” Ben rose to greet his investigator, shaking his powerful hand. Loving probably outweighed Ben by a hundred pounds, and it was all muscle. Strength radiated from every part of his body. Ben had first met Loving on the wrong side of a gun, but he had somehow parlayed that unfortunate confrontation into a close working relationship and friendship.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you’d make good time. I can’t believe you’re already here.”

Loving shrugged awkwardly. Nothing like watching a mountain-size man act sheepish. “Aw, it wasn’t nothin’, Skipper. Just pulled a few strings at the airlines.”

Pulled a few strings? Ben wondered. Or bashed a few heads?

“Talked to your cop buddy Mike Morelli before I left. He wanted to come, but he’s buried in some triple homicide shoot-out on the Fifteenth Street bridge. He said to call if you need help.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And Jones has been burnin’ the midnight oil, running up his Internet bill tryin’ to get you background info. He says he’ll be FedExing you a report tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent.” Ben smiled. “We’ve already got a trial date hanging over our heads, and it’s not far away, either. I’m going to try to meet all the key witnesses, but I can’t possibly do everything that needs to be done in the time remaining.”

“That’s why I’m here, Skipper. Just tell me what to do.”

“Great. My primary concern right now is the victim, a logger named Dwayne Gardiner. The prosecution is trying to paint the killing as politically motivated—an eco-terrorist takes out a tree killer. But Gardiner was also shot
before
the explosion that burned him to death. That seems unnecessary, especially if the only motive was stopping the clear-cutting.”

“You wanna know why he was shot first.”

“You read my mind. There are a bunch of bars and pool halls and such where the loggers congregate during their off-hours. I’d like you to hang around, see if you can get to know these men a little.”

“And see what I can find out about this Gardiner.”

“Exactly. You never know what you might turn up. Anything could be useful.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“In time. I suspect I’m going to need someone to do some digging into Green Rage. See if there are any secrets I need to know about. They just lost one of their top members. I’d like to know why.”

“Can’t you just ask your client and his pals?”

“I can ask,” Ben said. “But I can’t always be sure about what I’m being told. Anyway, first things first. See what you can learn about Gardiner—”

Christina burst through the door. She was carrying a huge cardboard box, practically big enough to hold a refrigerator. She smiled and greeted Loving.

“What’s that?” Ben asked. With the three of them and the box in his pseudo-office, there was barely enough room to move. He was beginning to feel distinctly claustrophobic.

“These are the prosecution’s exhibits,” she answered. “The ones that can’t be photocopied.”

“When can we expect the ones that can be photocopied?”

“They say they’re still working on it. Which is to say, they’re taking their time and will push it just as long as they think they can without causing you to run to the judge.”

Ben peered at the huge box. “This seems like an odd way to produce physical evidence.”

“I think it would be fair to say this is the way calculated to be least convenient to the defense,” Christina replied. “Some of the clerks in the filing office gave me the skinny. Granny’s put the word out—she wants everyone to be as uncooperative and obstructive as possible, within the letter of the law.”

“But why?”

“Because she wants to win, Ben. She wants to win big.”

Ben peered over the edge of the box. “Anything in here of interest?”

“Oh yeah.” Christina reached inside. “Here’s something the cops found after the murder—in George Zakin’s tent.” She pulled out a huge mess of cloth and fur; to Ben, it looked like a wadded-up throw rug.

“I don’t follow. What is it?”

Christina shook it out to its full length. It was as long as a tall man, covered with black hair and fur—with a zipper up the back.

That was the first thing Ben noticed. The second thing he noticed was the mask, apelike and entirely black.

And the third thing he noticed was the abominable smell—worse than the worst skunk that ever walked the face of the planet. What was it?

Ben slapped his forehead. Of course. It was a Halloween costume.

Sasquatch.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU
tell me?”

Zak ran his fingers through his long, unkempt hair. “I just didn’t think it was important. I didn’t want to confuse the issues.”

“Confuse the issues? What the hell are you talking about?” Ben grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him back onto his cot. “You’re on trial for murder!”

“It’s just politics, man.”

“Let me give you a news flash, Zak. I’ve spoken to the prosecutor personally, and I don’t think she’s remotely interested in politics, except maybe her own reelection. What she cares about is preserving her win-loss record and seeing you jabbed with a lethal syringe!”

“She’s just a pawn, Ben. There are larger forces at work here.”

“Larger forces? What are we talking about here? Global conspiracies? Covert government operations? ’Cause I’d really like to know.”

“Don’t be patronizing. I’m talking about the Cabal. The million-dollar mob. Their dirty tricks make our monkeywrenching tactics look like kid stuff.”

“I think we’re getting a bit off the subject. Why did you lie to me about the Sasquatch suit?”

“I didn’t want Green Rage to get distracted. I didn’t want to feed Slade and the logging machine any ammunition.”

“So you lied to your lawyer.”

Zak extended his hands. “Look, the suit was no big deal. I never even wore it.”

“Someone did.”

“You’re assuming all those rubes who reported seeing Bigfoot saw someone wearing my suit. For all I know they saw the real thing.”

“Give me a break.”

“It wasn’t even my idea. Some of the other nitwits in the group bought this Bigfoot suit, and they’d been running around in it before I even showed up here. I thought their suit looked particularly stupid and unconvincing, so I got my own. It was a first-class outfit. Very handsome and manly. Bigfoot had a bright red nose, like Rudolph or something. But Green Rage put the kibosh on that particular program, so I never got to wear it. Never even showed it to anyone. In fact, I threw it away.”

“The cops found it in your tent.”

“Not my suit. That’s the original one. The boring number Green Rage had before I made the scene.”

“Why would it be in your tent?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t put it there.”

“The prosecution has tested it. They’ve found traces of sweat and skin flecks. They say it was worn—recently.”

“Not by me.”

“Then who?”

“How should I know? Our camp was hardly a high-security compound. Anyone could’ve gotten in there and gotten the suit. And put it in my tent when they were done.”

“Now you’re sounding paranoid.”

“You have no idea what these Cabal people are capable of. I do.” He leaned forward, arms outstretched. “It’s just a stupid suit. It doesn’t matter.”