Compelling Evidence by Steve Martini Read Free Book Online

blankly. ,‐Did Ben leave a suicide note?"

    "Not that I know of," he says. There was no note. Of this I can be sure.
    A suicide note is not something the cops withhold from their medical examiner. "I assume there'll be an autopsy." 'lob yes." He says it with the seriousness of a village pastor asked if the damned go to hell. He looks at his watch. "It's gonna be a long night."

    He moves around die front of the van. One of his assistants is in the driver's seat. The other's playing tailgunner, keeping the cameras away from the back of the vehicle. "Coop." He looks at me. "Thanks."

    He waves a hand in the air, like it's nothing, just a little information to a friend. "Eli. I'll take you back now."

    A camera light flashes on. The wrinkled back of my suit coat is memorialized. It will fill at least a few seconds of Eye on Fivethat grafting of entertainment and journalism that passes for news on the tube. As Walker heads for the car, I stand alone on the sidewalk gazing after the coroner's wagon, its amber lights receding into the night. In my mind I begin to conjure what possible motive could exist for a man the likes of Ben Potter to take his own life, his career on the ascent.
    I am left with a single disquieting thought, that despite what Cooper says, this was not a suicide.

    CHAPTER 4.

    WE been dogging Harry Hinds for a
    block, and I finally catch im at the light across from the courthouse.
    Harry turns to see me. A grim expression. "I'm sorry," he says, I "about Potter." Harry's looking at the large puffed ovals under my eyes. I've spent a sleepless night thinking about Ben. The papers are filled with it this morning. The vending machines on the street are blaring large pictures of Potter in a happier timebanner headlines and little news.
    The presses were locked up when it happened. This was the best they could do. "You look like shit," he says. This is Harry Hinds, undiluted, straightforward. I give him a shrug. "What drags you out at this early hour?" he says. "A pretrial with 'the Coconut,' " I tell him. Harry, it seems, is praying for a few dark courtrooms this day, banking on a shortage of judges to avoid a drunk‐driving trial, a case in which he has no plausible defense. To Harry it is just another challenge. The light changes. We cross the street and sidle up the steps 17 the modem bronze statue centered in the reflecting pool. L, fountain has long since ceased to work, the funding for its repairs no doubt siphoned by the county's board of supes for some *14;4o, social program. Some art aficionado has hung a 1@i@ C;idboard sip, written in Magic Marker, from the twisted SPEED KRIS bell‐shaped briefcase‐weighted down with reference books and fraved pages filled with familiar case citations‐bouncing off his hasty departure from Potter, Skarpellos. But my return to the SWI, I I them. While for three years I denied it roundly to those who were sufficiently intimate to make the suggestion, I had in fact grown bored with the stuff of which corporate businesslaw is made, even the white‐collar-crime variety to which the firm
    turned my Wents. Though my solo practice may have limited horizons, given A A .. *11 t. ‐19 1: 1I'll_ as always, is to ferret out those with the ability to pay, and to get it, as they say, "up front."

    The Capitol County courthouse isn't old, but in recent years nected by neoprene‐covered ropes, all designed to funnel the public through a maze of metal detectors and conveyor‐fed security MMICIPAL COURT‐TRAFFIC
    DIVISION. The queue undulates like deep hibernation. In all, the place has the charm of a bus depot 17 rush hour. ing. He is pursued by his casually clad client, a young black N., of billowing dark water around the soft features of her Large round eyes sparkle with an azure incandescence. She wears a silk dress that clings to the contours of a body that shame a cover girl. Tasteful gold earrings and a matching provide a touch of elegance. And always the saucy pursed an