Page 125 of Fifty-Fifty

‘Who killed Hal Cohen? Could it have been Alexandra?’ she asked.

‘We don’t know,’ I said.

We stayed in the room until one of Dreyer’s assistant DAs found us and knocked on the door.

‘Mr. Dreyer would like to see you,’ said the assistant.

Sofia insisted she was okay, and it took some persuading for Harry to leave her, but eventually he relented and both of us made our way down the corridor to where Dreyer waited on a bench set against the painted yellow wall. The paint peeled away from a seam in the wall and flecks had settled on one shoulder of

Dreyer’s immaculate suit, but he hadn’t noticed yet.

I sat down beside him. Harry stood, folded his arms.

‘If you asked the judge to strip naked and dance the light fantastic with you in the middle of the courtroom, he’d do it,’ I said.

A dry, mirthless smile spread over Dreyer’s face, revealing small white teeth.

‘The judge and I are getting along famously. I’ve got something here for you.

You’ll be angry when I hand it over, but I assure you, on my professional word, that this is the first time I’ve been in a position to serve this.’

Sitting on the other side of Dreyer was a small pile of pages. Maybe a hundred, at most. They’d been placed on the bench face down, so that no casual

passer-by could see the title of the document.

‘Hal Cohen brought this in. I saw it three days ago. This is a Xerox. The cover sheet is a report from a Sylvia Sagrada. It’s legit. I’m introducing it as evidence and I’m calling Sagrada to testify.’

I took it from him, and without looking at it I gave it to Harry.

‘How long have you been holding onto this, really?’ I asked.

‘I only saw it three days ago. I didn’t serve it on you until I knew it was genuine. Ms. Sagrada says it’s the real thing. Hal Cohen, for what it’s worth, would’ve given testimony as to how he’d come by it. But he’s not here, is he?’

‘Eddie—’

‘Wait a second, Harry,’ I said, ‘Dreyer, you expect me to believe this crock of shit? This is an ambush. You don’t do this in a murder trial.’

‘Like you don’t introduce your own hair-fiber report until you begin to cross-examine the state’s witness?’ said Dreyer.

He got to his feet. ‘I’m telling you the truth. Cohen gave this to my office a few days ago. I had to be sure it was real before I served it. If it was a hoax, I wouldn’t use it and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Be ready. I’m calling Sylvia Sagrada to the witness box in ten minutes.’

We both stood, facing one another. I was a little taller, but Dreyer stood straight and tried to stretch to my height. His eyes locked on mine. He shot his cuffs, puffed out his chest and the corner of his mouth curled into something approaching a snarl. If I didn’t know better I would’ve sworn he was about to start a fight.

I looked down at his feet. He was on his toes.

‘If you want to intimidate me you might think about a bigger heel on those Hush Puppies, pal.’

‘I don’t like you, Mr. Flynn.’

‘I’m not crazy about you either. You’ve deliberately gotten close to a right-wing, racist judge just to advance your career and get an easier ride in court. You make me sick.’

A mocking laugh rang out of Dreyer.

‘I don’t need Stone for this to go my way. Between you and me, I’m glad I didn’t use the polygraph tests. Your client’s result was inconclusive. I guess the case law excluding lie-detector experts is still good. This evidence buries your client. She’s the killer. I think her sister had something to do with it too. I think they both killed him. Maybe I can’t prove that, but at least I can put your client behind bars where she belongs.’

He looked over my shoulder at Harry and said, ‘Happy reading.’

FORTY-FIVE