Page 30 of The Devil's Advocate

‘I want to read the whole file again. Then draft a motion for bail. We need to get Andy out of there. We can go see his mom tonight, maybe.’

‘I’ll read with you,’ said Kate.

‘When you’re done, we need to work on a plan. We’ve got to save this kid. Right now, I can’t see a way to do that.’

‘We’ll find a way,’ said Kate.

Harry nodded, then got to work.

I wanted to be more optimistic, but right then I felt like I was going to sweat out a murder trial, only to watch a sentence of death pass on Andy Dubois. I could just feel it. The room, the whole goddamn town felt like hostile territory. There was a pressure building behind my eyes, and it wasn’t from the crack on the head with the stick.

Andy Dubois’ life was on the line. And right then I didn’t know how to save him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

KORN

Korn pulled up outside the Quickies dry cleaners on Fourth Street, turned off the engine to his Jaguar and buzzed the window down. The cicadas beat out a constant rhythm in the heat of the night, their tempo slowly melding with the beating of his heart. The lights were still on inside Quickies. It was almost midnight. Closing time.

The rest of the stores on the block had locked their doors hours ago. A bar, four blocks away, was the only other sign of life. Half a dozen parked cars on either side of the road, but all were dark and unoccupied. Streetlights gave a dull, yellow glow to the blacktop. Korn closed the window, got out of the car just as the light in Quickies went off. He crossed the street, the heels of his Brooks Brothers loafersclackingwith every step.

The door of the dry cleaners opened. Patricia Dubois produced a set of keys from her apron and locked the door behind her.

‘Good evening, Mrs. Dubois,’ said Korn.

Still with her back to him, her shoulders flinched. She turned slowly. Her eyes fearful at first, then cold. Her mouth closed tightly, her lips thinned at the pressure and she nodded. It was an acknowledgement of his presence and the threat that came with it. Some people, usually women, could somehow look right into Korn and see the rotten, dark soul inside of him. Yet he knew she could never know the true depth of hatred and darkness within. No one could.

‘I’m glad I caught you,’ he said.

‘You ain’t catching me for anything. I haven’t broken no laws, mister. Just like my Andy. You here to tell me you’re gonna let him go?’

‘I’m afraid not. There may be other things I could do for you, your family? Can I give you a ride home?’

It was still over ninety degrees. Hotter in the dry cleaners, probably.

‘I think I’ll walk,’ said Patricia.

‘Are you sure? I thought we could talk.’

‘You can talk right here, and then you can leave.’

Korn took a step back, making sure his features were not lit by the streetlamp. It wasn’t a conscious move on his part. It just felt natural. Some things should only be spoken in the dark.

‘Andy murdered that young woman, Mrs. Dubois. The law requires a punishment for that crime. A punishment that will deter others. A life for a life. For that, I’m sorry. I know times have been tough since Andy has been in jail. You’re behind on your rent.’

‘He didn’t hurt no one. My Andy … Hey, how do you know about my rent?’

‘This is a small town. Word gets around. Your neighbors don’t seem as willing to help as they once were. You’re in debt for medical bills,’ he said, with a quick glance at her ankle.

Patricia Dubois was fifty-five years old, and the twelve-hour shifts, constantly on her feet, had added another twenty years on top. Her right ankle was almost the same size as her calf, her shoe bulging at the side to contain it. Her left knee was heavily strapped. The poor worked hard to stay alive, and that hard work brought pain and disability.

‘I am not without sympathy for your position. After all, it’s not your fault Andy killed that girl,’ he said.

Patricia’s breathing became faster. Her lips began to wobble. The streetlight picked up tears glazing her large, sad eyes, her pride stinging them.

When she spoke, her voice was tremulous, and barely above a whisper. And yet, it was all the breath she could muster from her body and with that came a quiet power.

‘I don’t want charity fromyou. You want to kill my boy. I know. I can see it. I can smell it on you. There’s somethingwrongwith you.’