Murder One by Robert Dugoni Read Free Book Online Page B

far; they’ll file motions to dismiss, summary judgments.”
    Reid approached. “I’m not going to lie to you: I want to win this case, but barring an outright win, the publicity alone could be what I need to get the Washington legislature to seriously consider passing a drug dealer liability act.”
    Part of Sloane wanted to take the case because he knew how much it meant to her—and also because he was concerned how it might impact their relationship if he declined. He had been cautiousin his comments with Charles Jenkins earlier that morning, but he couldn’t deny that he had quickly developed feelings for Barclay Reid.
    “The U.S. attorney’s office will help,” she said. “I spoke to Rebecca Han this morning.” Reid was off again, pacing, thinking aloud. “If we can get an O.J.-type verdict, thirty to thirty-five million, we can take everything Vasiliev owns—his cars, his house. I can put the money into a foundation to educate kids in high school and college about drug use. We can do something good with bad money.” She considered him. “Look, I know I’m asking a lot, David, maybe too much. But please consider it.”
    “You already have them following you, watching your home.”
    “I’m not afraid of them. The more we let people like Vasiliev get away with it, the more chances he has to do it to someone else’s child. I’m not going to live my life in fear. I will do what I have to do to avenge my daughter’s death.”

SIX
    L AW O FFICES OF D AVID S LOANE
O NE U NION S QUARE
S EATTLE , W ASHINGTON
    S loane threw his gym bag into the backseat and slipped behind the wheel, not bothering to check the clock on the dash. He was late. He’d worked out longer and harder than intended. He needed it to clear his head, to think through what Barclay had asked of him. He had a bad feeling it could be one of those cases in which, no matter how it turned out, there would be no winners. But what option did he have? He had seen the intensity in her eyes and heard it in her voice. She was committed.
    The V8 engine echoed in the underground garage before settling into a melodic rumble that sounded like a boat engine. To park in one of the stalls beneath the building, Sloane had to inch the front bumper until it touched the stucco wall. Even then the back fins stuck out farther than any other car in the garage. A compact it was not. At least the car on his left had departed, which would make it easier to maneuver the behemoth from the space.
    He shifted the handle on the steering column into reverse, causing the emergency brake to automatically pop, and started backward, cutting the wheels to avoid a pillar on his left, never seeing the black Mercedes until he felt the jolt and heard the crunch of metal and glass.
    The car had come around the corner fast, too fast, but his insurance company wouldn’t care. He’d pay a deductible, and his premiums would go up—all because some guy was in a hurry to get home.
    Sloane pushed out of the car, angry. The Mercedes driver shouted and gesticulated about the damage to the front of his car.
    “Look! Look what you have done.” He had a heavy accent, gel-spiked hair, a diamond stud in one ear, and wore fashionable clothes—jeans that, to Sloane, always looked to be in need of a wash.
    “Hang on a second. I didn’t even see you.”
    “Because you don’t look.”
    “Because you came around that corner too fast.”
    The man pressed closer, about Sloane’s size, over six feet, and stocky, with a square jaw. Sloane guessed late twenties. “You’re the one who came backward.” He made a screeching noise and used his hand to demonstrate the Caddy shooting from its spot.
    “The screeching was your tires coming around the corner,” Sloane said, his adrenaline pulsing.
    “Then how come you don’t stop?”
    Sloane stepped around him to the back of the Cadillac, took one look at the damage, and fought the urge to laugh. The fin barely had a scratch on it, but it had