DIE EASY: Charlie Fox book ten (the Charlie Fox crime thriller series) (50 page)

Reed straightened, barely moving his lips. “I’m fucked and we both know it.”

Alex kept her voice low. “We knew the pictures were coming in. They’re bad, but they’re not the money.”

She’d explained the money to Reed when she was appointed to represent him. Sitting in a room reserved for prisoners and their lawyers at the Jackson County jail, he’d told her the same thing all her clients told her the first time she met them even though she hadn’t asked. She never asked.

“I didn’t do it.”

“Of course not. But you’re probably not going to take the stand so I need to know about the money.”

“Whadda you mean, the money? I ain’t charged with no robbery.”

“The money is whatever the prosecutor will bank on to convince the jury to give you the needle and I need to know what it is if I’m going to save your life.”

Dwayne had rolled his eyes to the ceiling and looked everywhere but at her, his dark face a defiant mask.

“Damn, girl, I don’t know nuthin’ about no money.”

“Of course, not.”

Reed hadn’t changed his story, leaving it to Alex to find the money and figure out what to do about it.

Judge West tapped his gavel. “Call your next witness, Mr. Bradshaw.”

Bradshaw turned to the jury, swelling his chest. Wearing his navy blue convict-the-killer suit, he let a conspiratorial smile leak from the corners of his mouth telling them that this was the moment they’d all been waiting for.

“The State calls Jameer Henderson, your Honor.”

Kalena Greene, the assistant prosecutor so new all Bradshaw would let her do was take notes and escort witnesses, opened the heavy oak door at the back of the courtroom, leaning her slight shoulder into it.

Jameer Henderson stepped inside and stopped, sniffing the air, his eyes darting side to side. He wiped his round, smooth face with a handkerchief, stuffing it in his pocket and shaking one leg, then the other, his pants riding up, putting a sharp crease in his crotch, his belly hanging over his belt.

Reed looked at Henderson, Alex watching her client’s eyes pop, his pupils dilating, the involuntary reactions reminding her of a lesson she’d learned too many times. They all lied to their lawyer about something and the more important it was, the bigger the lie they told.

“He the money?” Reed whispered.

“Yeah,” Alex murmured. “He’s the money.”

Reed squeezed her wrist, his eyes cold and hard; the sour smell of the jail oozing through his pores.

“I ain’t gonna get another chance. You got this?”

Alex had been a public defender for fifteen years and Reed was just the latest accused murderer she’d represented. If she let the Dwayne Reeds of the world shake her, she’d never be able to give them the same measure of justice as the rich and well bred. That’s what everyone, guilty or innocent, high born or low, deserved and that’s why she’d become a public defender. At times like this, that higher calling mattered to her more than what her clients had done.

She pulled her wrist free and nodded. “Yeah. I got this.”