Dark Justice (40 page)

She waited a long time before answering. “Anything wrong with that?”

“ ’Course not. I was just curious. Since we’re friends and all.”

“Oh. Right.” The tiny office fell silent and, for a protracted moment, strangely awkward.

Christina broke the silence. She turned toward the tall stack of exhibits waiting to be reviewed before the trial reconvened. “What say we start wading through those exhibits and figure out how we’re going to whip Granny’s butt in court tomorrow?”

Ben picked up his champagne flute. “I’ll drink to that.”

G
RANNY ADAMS SASHAYED DOWN
the dark corridor listening to the rhythmic sound of her stiletto heels rat-a-tatting on the metal floor. She slowed her pace, preferring to let the man in the far room wait and wonder what lay in store for him.

Deputy Wagner had made all the arrangements as per her instructions. He may not have known what she was planning, but he was a dutiful soldier and he did as he was told. Just the sort of law enforcement officer Granny liked.

In her own good time, she reached the end of the gloomy corridor. There was one sentry posted outside the room, a uniform from the sheriff’s office. She’d seen him before, but she couldn’t possibly remember his name. Why should she? He was just an instrument, an extra ratchet wrench in her toolbox. And she couldn’t be expected to remember every hammer and nail, could she?

“You can go now,” she said to the sentry.

A worry line creased his forehead. “I’m not supposed to leave you alone with—”

“I can handle myself, Officer,” she said briskly. “Scram.”

The officer shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “No disrespect intended, ma’am, but Sheriff Allen told me—”

“I could eat Sheriff Allen for breakfast.” Granny inched forward, pressing herself against him, practically nose to nose. “And spit him out again before lunch. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I—I—I—”

“Who’s the boss around here, soldier?”

He mouthed a silent “You are.”

“I’m glad we both understand that. If I need you, I’ll call.” She pointed toward the door. “Now get the hell out of here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The officer turned quickly and scampered off down the corridor.

Granny smiled. There was nothing like a small but effective display of power to stimulate her juices. But now for the task at hand.

She was not looking forward to this. It was not something she particularly wanted to do. But the fact was, the trial was not going entirely the way she wanted. Granted, she still had many tricks up her sleeve, but she had to take precautions. She had to make sure this thing didn’t slip away from her.

She opened the door and stepped into the small interrogation room. The prisoner was already seated and handcuffed to the table. “Good evening, Mr. Geppi.”

Geppi lifted his head out of his arms. He had longish black hair that tumbled around his ears and shoulders. He appeared to be in his early thirties, maybe younger, and looked as if he hadn’t shaved for several days. “Nice of you to show up. I been waitin’ over an hour.”

“I was delayed.” She sat in the wooden chair at the opposite end of the table, pushed it back, and crossed her legs in a way she knew was bound to attract a little attention. “Want a cigarette?”

“No thanks. I don’t do tobacco.” His eyes flickered up and down. His lower lip twitched. “Mind tellin’ me what this is all about?”

“Mr. Geppi, I thought it might be mutually beneficial if you and I had a little chat. Do you know who I am?”

He shrugged. “The deputy said somethin’. Like you work in the D.A.’s office.”

She leaned forward, her full breasts just touching the table. “Mr. Geppi, I
am
the D.A.’s office.” She paused, allowing the words to sink in. “I am the one who makes the decisions. I am the one who decides who goes free and who goes to prison for life. I am the one who holds your future in the palm of my hand.”

“Is this a plea bargain? ’Cause if it’s a plea bargain, I wanna lawyer.”

“This is not a plea bargain.” She smiled, an absolutely terrifying smile. “This is just a social chat.”

He edged back as far as he could with the handcuffs fixing him to the table. “Look, this is makin’ me nervous. I don’t wanna do this, okay? I ain’t done anything.”

“I beg to differ, Mr. Geppi.” She pulled a thin folder out of her soft leather briefcase. “You’ve been arrested for possession of an illegal narcotic, a dangerous designer drug that is creating tremendous concern and fear in this little community. Possession with intent to distribute.”

“Distribute? No way, lady.” He held up his hands. “I’m no pusher.”

“That’s not what my witnesses will say. They will identify you as a major supplier of this new drug, this scourge laying waste to the city’s youth. They’ll identify you as a major player, one with direct ties to the big boss man.”

“Have you totally lost it? That’s a crock.”

“Nonetheless, it’s what they’ll say. And you know what that means? It means you could get ten years in prison. Ten long years. And given the current climate of the community, I think you’ll serve every day of it.”

“There’s somethin’ wrong here,” Geppi insisted. Beads of sweat were popping out at his temples. “I didn’t do none of that. I don’t know any boss man. I was just looking for a good time. Bought myself a quick high. Someone’s framin’ me.”

Granny did not reply, but the strong arch of her eyebrow told Geppi everything he needed to know.

“You,” he whispered, his eyes widening. “You’re the one settin’ me up.”

She did not reply.

“Why? What is it you want?”

She leaned back in her chair, uncrossing then recrossing her magnificent legs. “Have you been enjoying your stay in the county jail, Mr. Geppi?”

He frowned. “It ain’t exactly the Holiday Inn.”

“It’ll seem like the Ritz compared to where you’re going next.” She paused, letting him think about the ramifications of that statement for a while. “How’s your cellmate?”

“Huh? What?” He didn’t follow.

“Haven’t you been in the cell next to George Zakin?”

“Oh, right. The tree freak. What of it?”

“I just wondered.” She laid her hands on the table and spread her long fingers. “Sometimes people talk in jail, you know. Not much else to do, I suppose.”

Geppi’s eyes narrowed. “What’re you gettin’ at?”

“Here’s the situation, Mr. Geppi. Mr. Zakin is the leader of a group of people who have been stirring up a lot of trouble. They’ve decommissioned equipment and blown up cars and generally interfered with the townfolks’ way of life. Lot of people don’t care much for what those troublemakers are doing. And nobody cares for murder. A poor innocent logger got shot, then burned to death in the intentional explosion of some expensive logging equipment. He died slowly and painfully.”

“And you think Zakin did it?”

“Oh, I know he did. It’s proving it that’s the trick. That’s why I wondered if maybe you heard Zakin say something about the crime while he was in the cell.”

“Sorry, lady. Ain’t heard him mention it.”

“Are you sure about that, Mr. Geppi? I want you to be absolutely sure about that. Because you see, ten years is an awful long time to be locked up in Collinsgate prison. It’s a dirty, nasty place. Inmates are always gettin’ hurt or killed. Slashed up bad. And a handsome young man like you—well, you would be very popular with some of the inmates that have … specialized tastes. If you know what I mean.”

Geppi’s teeth clenched up. “What are you gettin’ at, lady?”

“I just want you to think very hard, Mr. Geppi. I want you to think very hard about whether maybe you’ve heard Mr. Zakin say anything about this crime he committed. Maybe even heard him confess to this crime he’s committed.” She drew her head up. “Because if you had heard him say something like that, it would make me very happy.”

Geppi settled back in his chair. “How happy?”

“Very happy.” She leaned forward, providing a generous display of cleavage. “Passionately happy.”

“Are you offering me a deal?”

“No. Let me make that absolutely, unequivocably clear. I am not offering you a deal. And there’s a reason for that, Mr. Geppi. You see, if you were to remember that Zakin had confessed to you, and if you were to take the stand to testify to that effect, you would have to undergo cross-examination. And the first question the defense attorney would ask is whether you’ve made a deal with the prosecutors. Whether you’ve been offered immunity. And if you have to say yes, that’s not going to look very good to the jury. That’s going to give the defense lawyer a way to discredit you. The jury needs to think the only reason you’re testifying is because of your profound sense of civic obligation.”

Geppi snorted.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m not offering you a deal. But I can tell you this.” She leaned even further across the table. “I can tell that you will not be shipped off to Collinsgate tomorrow, because you’ll be a material witness and we’ll need to keep you close at hand. And I can also tell you that after the Zakin trial is over, after the man has been convicted, I would look very favorably toward any proposal you might make. I wouldn’t even be surprised if the charges against you were dropped and it turned out we had just made a sad mistake.”

“That ain’t good enough,” Geppi said. “I want a firm deal. I want it in writing.”

“Listen to my words, you little pissant.” She grabbed his arm and jerked him forward. “That isn’t going to happen, understand? Not now, not ever. You have two choices. Either you get shipped out to Collinsgate and spend the next ten years as Cell Block Eight’s gang-bang joy toy, or you’ll testify about what George Zakin told you. And if you do a good job of it and Zakin is convicted,
then
—and only
then
—we’ll talk about maybe doing some favors. Not before.” She folded her arms across her chest. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Geppi pressed his lips together bitterly.

“Speak up, asshole. Should I sign the transfer papers now? Or do we have an understanding?”

Slowly, hesitantly, Geppi began to nod.

Granny smiled. “Good. I’m glad we were able to come to terms. I’m looking forward to working with you.” She leaned back luxuriantly in her chair. “I’m glad Zakin was foolish enough to spill the beans to you, Mr. Geppi. It’s important that we law enforcement officers be able to put away troublemakers and murderers. And it’s important that the community have a sense of security, a sense of justice being done. And that means knowing that crimes are punished, that troublemakers are taken off the streets. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Zakin told you he was behind the distribution of this new designer drug that’s been plaguing our town. Maybe he pushes drugs to raise money for his terrorist activities, you know what I mean?”

“I’m beginning to get the general idea,” Geppi said softly.

“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that there was more to the murder than just eco-politics, too. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that there was a more personal motive for the crime. That there was a connection between Zakin and the man who was murdered.”

“Go on,” Geppi said, nodding his head attentively. “I’m listening.”

“T
HE STATE CALLS JULIE
Cummings.”

Ben watched as the prosecution’s first witness of the day approached the bench. She was tall, lanky, about Zak’s age. Her brown hair hung straight down, no frills. She was reasonably attractive, Ben thought, but she didn’t look entirely comfortable in the elegant black dress she was wearing. Probably selected by Madame Prosecutor, unless Ben missed his guess.

While the witness was being sworn, Ben leaned toward Zak and whispered. “I’m worried about this. Nothing hurts worse than bad words from an … intimate acquaintance.”

“Relax. Julie’s a sweetheart. We understood each other.”

“Then why is she testifying for the prosecution?”

Zak shrugged. “Who knows? Probably subpoenaed. Mark my word—she won’t lay a finger on me.”

Ms. Cummings took her seat in the witness box and Granny began her questioning. “Ms. Cummings, what do you do?”

“I’m the regional director for the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Our Other-Than-Human Neighbors.”

“And could you briefly tell the jury what that distinguished organization is?”

“It’s an animal rights activist group. We’re committed to using nonviolent means to prevent the mistreatment of animals.”

“Were you with this organization six years ago?”

“Yes. I wasn’t regional director yet, but I was there.”

“And did you ever have an occasion to meet the defendant, George Zakin?”

“I did. He was also with the organization.”

“And what was his role?”

“He was in the Operations section.”

“And what did Operations do?”

“They were in charge of, well, operations.”

“Such as …”

“Raids. We would raid animal testing laboratories, try to free the animals. Sometimes we would hold protest rallies outside a zoo or corporate headquarters. That sort of thing.”

“Do you remember when Mr. Zakin joined the organization?”

“Yes, I remember it very well. I was against bringing him in.”

Granny feigned surprise. “Really? Why?”

“Because he had a criminal record.” Juror eyes widened with interest. Another of Granny’s promises was being delivered on. “He’d been a member of an anti-Klan group in Montgomery and he’d been caught with a bunch of bomb ingredients. Plastique, if I remember correctly. He was charged with possessing illegal materials and conspiracy to use them. He did two years.”

Granny pulled out the official records pertaining to Zak’s conviction and went through the hoops necessary to have them admitted as exhibits so the jury would be able to examine them in the deliberation room. Ben didn’t bother objecting. There was no point. Although mere arrests or accusations were not admissible, a felony conviction was.

“And why did that bother you, Ms. Cummings?”

“Well, I didn’t think we needed a hothead in Operations. As I said, we’re dedicated to the use of nonviolent means to achieve our ends. What did we want with some bomb expert? Even if he didn’t make bombs for us, just having him around made us look bad.”