Page 85 of The Devil's Advocate

‘Not likely,’ said his father. ‘He lost his house last week. Same day his wife left him, taking the kids with her. I heard this morning he had thrown himself off the top of his old building. The one I bought last month. He’s a stain on the sidewalk, son.’

Randal didn’t know what to say, but he felt something then. A little spark in his stomach. Excitement.

‘You see, son, any stupid motherfucker can pull a trigger. If you want to kill your enemy you have to use your brain. Your cunning. There is nothing like the feeling of utterly destroying a man. Watching him disintegrate. Watching his wealth, his dignity, his humanity being stripped away, piece by piece. That’s power, son. That’struepower. This is why I want you to work for me. Someday, you could take over. Run the company for me. You’ve got it in you, you know. There’s a killer in that little heart of yours.’

Randal remembered that conversation perfectly. He had clinked glasses, and watched his father laughing about his rival committing suicide on Christmas Eve, but that was not what gave Korn fond memories. It wasn’t the unusual closeness with his father. They never had a bond, and never would. No, it was something else.

Korn realized at that young age what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He wasn’t interested in money, and finance bored him. He didn’t want to answer to fellow shareholders, or investors, or God forbid have any clients to deal with.

No, he wanted power. Plain and simple.

The power that was in his father’s eyes that night.

The power of life and death.

It had taken some time to come to terms with that desire, but it had felt natural to him. He stopped fighting it when he went to law school. He knew then that he would be a prosecutor and then a district attorney. But he would need to move – there was no death-penalty work in New York.

He would find a little county, and he would work his way up to district attorney, and he would have that power. That was what Korn lived for. That chemical, emotional, even sexual high that came with watching a man jitter on the electric chair and knowing that he had put him there. And kept him there, and that he had the power and skills to do it again. And again. And again …

Korn then opened his laptop, inserted the pen drive, and watched the footage. When he closed it again, he felt a thrill. Dubois was innocent. The thought of getting him convicted and watching his execution became that much sweeter. If the footage on the pen drive ever got out, it would ruin Korn, and set Dubois free. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He could go downstairs, get a hammer from his toolbox, and smash the thing to pieces.

But he knew the smarter play would be to hang onto it. Now he knew who had killed Skylar Edwards, and that gave him leverage. The Pastor was an ally, of sorts. Now, he could become Korn’s weapon, if he played it right.

Korn turned off the bedroom lamp and lay down on this bed. He hadn’t eaten and had no desire for food. He wanted sleep. The Dubois trial would begin in the morning.

He was just beginning to doze off when his cell phone rang. He picked up.

‘Tom, it’s late. What’s up?’ asked Korn. It was his assistant DA, Wingfield. Maybe calling with news of Lomax’s suicide.

‘I’ve been keeping an eye on Flynn, like you asked. And, well, there’s been a development.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I followed him into the chop house, kept my head down, and then something incredible happened. A juror came in. She sat down with Flynn and they were talking.’

‘A juror on the Dubois case?’ asked Korn, sitting up now.

‘You bet. Sandy Boyette. I tailed her to her apartment after the meeting, made sure it was her.’

‘You think he was trying to bribe her? Did you see anything exchanged? Any bags? Packages?’

‘No, they just talked.’

‘This is important, Tom. I need you to think very carefully. How did he meet her in the chop house? Did they arrive around the same time?’

‘He was already there, having dinner with that old judge and his co-counsel, Brooks. They left, Flynn stayed. Then the juror came in and went straight over to his table.’

‘Did he beckon her over?’

‘Not that I saw.’

‘She just came and sat down opposite him?’

‘Yeah, but they were talking straight away. It looked like he was expecting her.’

‘What did they talk about?’

‘I couldn’t get close enough to hear any of it. But they talked for like twenty minutes. Then he left.’