Page 35 of The Devil's Advocate

‘Farnesworth’s autopsy report?’

‘That’s my suspicion.’

The Pastor’s teeth ground together, squeaking under the strain. Korn had sought advice from the Pastor about the case and the difficulties presented by the injuries found on Skylar Edwards’s body. This amused the Pastor. The symmetry of it all. Korn didn’t know, and couldn’t know, that the Pastor himself had murdered Skylar Edwards. And he wanted to keep it that way. So he had given advice on how best to deal with the problems created for the prosecutor by the autopsy.

The Pastor’s advice had been to remove the defense attorney and his secretary, and threaten Doctor Farnesworth. He could not take the chance that a lawyer might discover the true killer. It was in both their interests that Andy Dubois receive a swift and clear conviction. Korn would get another body to burn in that chair, and the Pastor would have a black man convicted of killing a white girl, just as he had planned.

‘At least they won’t have the photographs. That’s one good thing, but remember Randal, I told you Betty Maguire should’ve disappeared along with Cody Warren. It would’ve been a more convincing story. They’re both about the same age, both single. They elope in the night with client money. Tell me again why that didn’t happen …’ said the Pastor.

‘I’m not a trigger man. You know that. And it took all my powers of persuasion to get Lomax to deal with Warren. He wouldn’t kill a woman. It’s not in him,’ said Korn.

‘I remember you telling me that, and I remember saying I would take care of it. Betty has seen those photographs. She could describe them to Dubois’ lawyers. We can’t take any more chances with this case. Betty has to—’

‘No, I don’t want that. It could distract the media from the trial.’

‘That won’t happen. Leave it to me.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to have a little talk with Betty and make sure Flynn doesn’t get any more help. This is important. Dubois has to die for what he did. There are only two sides in this. Those who stand for justice, and the ones who would tear down our courts and set the murderers free.Youtold me that, Randal.’

Korn sighed, said, ‘Just be careful. The trial is so close now.’

‘I won’t do anything to damage the trial. I know how important it is to you, and to all of us.’

As the Pastor hung up the call, he wondered for a second what Korn would do if he knew for a fact that Dubois was innocent. The answer was obvious. Korn didn’t care about justice. He only cared about power. The Pastor knew Korn well enough to understand his appetites – that it didn’t matter who was strapped into Yellow Mama after the trial. The Pastor had sought out the DA some years ago. His record spoke for itself, but it wasn’t until they met that the Pastor realized he had found a true kindred spirit.

Korn was a monster – a terrible angel. Just like him. He sometimes wondered if he hadn’t sought out the prosecutor, would Korn have found him anyway? He knew his own kind – those who were unburdened by conscience, who were held to a higher morality. God kills millions and a follower had to be prepared to kill in his name. For the cause. For the purity of his country. At times, while the Pastor lay alone in the dark, he wondered what he would’ve become if his father had not given him these gifts. Monsters were not born, they were created. The Pastor realized that it was God working through his father’s quick, rough hands. He was suffering for his god. And he would answer the call.

The Pastor knew Korn’s father had passed down his gifts to his son. Korn senior had been a legend on Wall Street not for the vastness of his wealth – but for what he was willing to do to his enemies. For a man who was so rich, money meant nothing. Power meant everything. And that taste for power had passed to the son along with the will and strength to use it.

He recalled one of their meetings, in Korn’s home in Buckstown some years ago, while they sipped lemonade on his back porch and looked out at a frenzy of starlings barreling through the dying light, swooping black Rorschach patterns against a violet sky.

‘Why do you kill them all?’ asked the Pastor.

‘It’s what the law demands,’ said Korn, without hesitation.

The Pastor laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound.

‘You and I both know that’s not true. You can keep the facade for Lomax and the others, but you don’t fool me. You don’t care about justice.’

‘I suppose not. There are no innocents. Not really. What matters is order.’

‘Order doesn’t cut it. I know you’ve executed innocent men. So drop the act. Tell me why you do it.’

Korn put down his lemonade and stared at the birds.

‘You know, no one understands why the starlings fly together like that. Maybe it’s to do with defending themselves from predators, or they’re feasting on a cloud of flies – all good reasons why they would group together, but nobody knows how they turn simultaneously, as one mass, like they’re telepathically linked.’

‘Are you saying you don’t know why you do it?’

‘All I know is when I look at those birds, they seem happy. Does it matter why something feels good?’

‘I suppose not. Is that why you do it? Because it feels good?’

Korn stood, tall and in the shadows of the early evening.

‘It doesn’t just feel good. That’s too cheap. Watching a man die, knowing that I put him there and I orchestrated his death, well, that’s beyond words. It’s beyond good. It makes me feel like I’m burning with life and power.’