Page 12 of The Devil's Advocate

‘I wouldn’t worry. Dubois is sewn up nice and tight. Don’t matter how good a lawyer this city boy is, he can’t get an acquittal, not with the confession.’

‘That’s not my concern. Dubois doesn’t have any family or connections in New York, and his momma ain’t got a dime. My concern is how the hell this lawyer got hired in the first place. There’s something we don’t know. Something we’re missing.’

‘You want me to speak to Dubois?’

‘You do that. Maybe let Dubois know the last thing he needs is a fancy lawyer making things worse for him. That reminds me. I still need to prep Dubois’ old cell mate, Lawson, for trial.’

‘With Lawson’s testimony, and the rest, that should be enough to get us over the line with any jury. Don’t sweat this city boy.’

Korn moved quickly out of the shade to stand over the sheriff. Lomax took a step back, his heart quickening. Korn could move fast when he needed to. Like a spider when it feels a fly land on its web. That’s how Lomax felt – as if he’d just caused a tremor on a thin wire and awakened something hungry that could devour him at any moment. Sweat flooded his face, and his mouth felt like he’d been sucking on a dry stone.

When Korn spoke, his voice was lower, like he was training a dog.

‘You think I’m scared of Mr. New York? I grew up there, I know those guys. I can beat them any damn day in a courtroom. Don’t you dare think otherwise, not for a second.’

‘No offense intended, Mr. Korn,’ said Lomax, averting his stare so he didn’t have to look into Korn’s dead eyes. ‘I just meant there’s no need to be hasty. If two lawyers working the same case go missing, this town will be crawling with FBI.’

Korn nodded, said, ‘I can see your point, but the FBI won’t find anything. Same as last time. If I think Flynn needs to go on ice you’ll oblige me, won’t you, Sheriff? We’ve talked about this. An enemy of justice isourenemy. You saw what Dubois did to Skylar Edwards. He can’t get away with this. And if someone stands in our way …’

Lomax nodded. His eyes were far away. He had been the first officer on scene when the victim’s body was found. He had seen, first hand, the horrors inflicted on her body. It didn’t take long to pick up Andy Dubois, and Lomax got a confession out of him pretty fast. Then the damn medical examiner’s report came in and Dubois didn’t look so good for this one anymore. It was too late though. He’d already been charged and Korn had made up his mind that Dubois was the killer. There had been a short discussion about further investigations into alternative suspects, but Korn wouldn’t hear of it. Dubois’ confession would automatically weaken any case against another suspect.

‘We’re not going to let anything stop us from getting the death penalty for Dubois. Until then, see what you can find out about Flynn. Call me when you’re done. Oh, and one more thing …’

Lomax swallowed, his throat dry and painful.

‘Make sure Flynn gets a warm welcome when he arrives in town.’

And with that, Korn turned away and walked back to his car. Lomax breathed out, the sweat coming off his moustache sent a fine spray into the air. He took off his hat, and found he’d sweated right through it.

Before he left, Lomax took a last view of the river. Nothing but crocs, turtles and dead things out there. A low mist hung over the marshes and moss-lined trees, as if fine spiderwebs had been strung over the land.

The smell of corruption grew fainter the further Korn moved away. Taking his time, Lomax walked back to his car, opened the door and got in. As he turned the ignition key, his radio blared to life. A classic rock station was having a special week of Rolling Stones tracks. He threw his right arm over the passenger seat back, looked out the rear windshield and reversed back up the dirt track as Mick Jagger asked politely if he could introduce himself.

As he reversed back up the lane toward an area where he could turn the car, Lomax took his foot from the accelerator. He could smell the clutch burning, but that wasn’t what had stopped him.

It was a thought that dragged him to a dead stop.

He took the keys from the ignition, turned them over in his thick, red fingers. A rabbit’s foot hung from his keychain. A gift from his wife, Lucy, the first day on the job. She said it would be lucky, for both of them. Sure enough, Lomax had always come home, safe and sound, at the end of every shift. The same could not be said for Lucy.

Feeling that soft fur between his fingers allowed his breathing to ease and he began to feel cool. He put the keys back into the ignition switch, fired the V8, and spun the wheels to turn around. Some days he wished he could reverse a lot more than just the car. There were some roads he’d been down which were all one-way. You can’t stop. And you can’t back up.

Some things could not be undone.

Within a few minutes he was on the outskirts of Buckstown. He took the exit before the first traffic light and drove home. His house was an old colonial, refurbished in the last few years. Every wooden panel had been replaced and repainted. It was a picture-postcard house, with four bedrooms, only one of which he used. He parked in the driveway, got out and saw Lucy sitting on the porch. New screens protected her from the worst of the insects. She sat on her Adirondack chair, her knitting needles idle in her lap, her pattern by her feet with a roll of fresh red wool.

‘Hot out. I was passing, thought I’d come home and get some lemonade,’ he said.

Lucy was in her early sixties and knew her husband too well. She smiled up at him, or at least put on a smile as she raised her head.

‘Bullshit, Colt. But go on. Get yourself a cold drink from the fridge. Get me one, too.’

He placed an arm gently on her shoulder, as if it were made of glass, and said, ‘You sure you’re up to it?’

She nodded.

Inside, the kitchen was as he had left it that morning. Her oatmeal untouched on the table. Glass still full of orange juice beside her pills. Some of the smaller pills lay on the plate, others had been crushed and set on spoons. Her wig, freshly brushed by him that morning, lay perched on the back of her kitchen chair. He poured two glasses of lemonade and returned to the heat outside. He handed one to Lucy, took a seat next to her.

‘You didn’t take your pills, darlin,’ he said.