Prime Witness by Steve Martini Read Free Book Online

dense as he makes out. What he really wants, I think, is for me to grovel. From his satisfied expression I think this is the part he likes best about his job. Attorneys in three-piece suits, on their hands and knees.
    I start making a case, the lawyer at work, the fact that circumstances were different when I signed the contract with the county. That the parties all understood that I was merely filling in for Mario, who is now dead. How long can it take to name a successor?
    He sits listening to all of this, a few facial calisthenics to show that judgment is at work.
    “It would be good,” I tell him, “if we could settle the matter of my temporary assignment.” I put a lot of emphasis on the “T” word. “Put some closing time frame on it.
    “The county would be ill-served by a change of prosecutors in the middle of some high-profile case,” I say. I would wink at him and add “like the Putah Creek stuff,” but I think he gets it. Still he says nothing, a lot of dead in the eyes. Ingel is a torpid sponge. I’m beginning to wonder why I have bothered, when I could have stayed home and talked to myself.
    After several minutes working up calluses on my tongue, he finally cuts me off.
    “What’s the bottom line?” he says. “What is it specifically you want?”
    “I thought I made that clear. A closing time frame on my duties here.”
    He looks at me, like be real.
    I climb back in the saddle. “With a vacancy in the office, it would serve us all well if a permanent replacement is found quickly,” I tell him.
    He makes a face, seesawing his head like maybe this is so and maybe it isn’t. Then he swivels in his chair a quarter turn so that he is now looking at the degrees and honors hanging on his wall.
    “You put me in a difficult position,” he says.
    “How’s that?”
    He turns to me, square on again. “I’m going to be honest with you,” he says. “You were not my pick for this job.”
    Great, so let me go, I think.
    “Nonetheless,” he says, “you signed a contract with the county. This contract, I believe, is open-ended.”
    He means that it has no specific term of months or years at which time it will expire.
    “That’s true. But at the time it was signed, the circumstances were clear,” I say. “It was understood by both parties that I was merely filling in for Mr. Feretti. During what was believed to be his period of recuperation. After surgery,” I say.
    “But the contract didn’t say this?” he says.
    “Not expressly.”
    “Don’t hedge with me,” he snaps. “It either did or it didn’t.”
    “It didn’t,” I say.
    “Fine.” He rolls back in his chair a little, looks at the ceiling. “And so now you want out?”
    I could say yes, but from his tone and manner I opt for a fallback.
    “I would like a reasonable time frame for the county to find a permanent replacement. Support from the court for this position. Something to motivate the supervisors to move quickly instead of taking their time.”
    “And what do you consider a reasonable time frame?”
    “A month, six weeks.” I make it sound generous, like the Creator built the universe in six days.
    “And that’s it?”
    Maybe I’m getting somewhere.
    “Yes, that’s it.”
    “Is there something,” he says, “that makes you think the county’s not proceeding in a timely manner? To replace Feretti, that is?”
    I make a face, like I’m not sure we should get into this.
    “Oh, go ahead,” he says. The first smile I’ve seen this afternoon. Now I am wary.
    “You can be candid here,” he says. “In the confines of this office,” he says, “confidences are sacred.”
    I could test this by telling him I do abortions on the side. Instead I hedge.
    “I hear rumors,” I say, “scuttlebutt that there are budgetary considerations.”
    “What have you heard?”
    “Nothing specific.”
    He looks at me like maybe he doesn’t believe this.
    The fact is I know more. The county is drawing down a block grant from