Straw Men by Martin J Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

his full attention. “Don’t screw it up, is all I’m saying, for you or me. We’ve got a chance to change the diminished-capacity laws of this state, to give people like you a fairer shot. We’ve got a chance to clear you completely, to show everyone how shoddy this investigation really was and maybe make some meaningful changes on that level, too. Don’t screw that up. I’ve got just as much at stake as you do.”
    He stood. They were about the same height, but DellaVecchio was standing on the house’s stoop. He looked down on her, and for the first time Brenna felt the same dread menace that others saw in him. This was not the damaged young man to whose side she rallied eight years ago; here was the Scarecrow, unpredictable, capable of anything.
    He turned and pushed his way inside. The house’s dim interior was lit blue by a chattering television. Brenna could hear the bright banter of Channel 2’s regular morning news team as DellaVecchio turned toward her.
    â€œCarmen?” she said, but his toxic smile disappeared behind the slowly closing door.

Chapter 7
    Christensen stared down at the roof of the Stephen Foster Memorial, his thoughts shifting between Teresa Harnett’s startling disclosure the day before and Brenna’s unbridled passion last night.
    â€œThere’s just something about a girl with a death wish, eh?”
    Burke Padgett held a copy of the morning
Press
as he stood in the door frame of Christensen’s university office. A three-column photo of Brenna and DellaVecchio ran across the top of the front page. The photographer had caught DellaVecchio at his most demented, both arms up-thrust in triumph, mouth curled into a sneer. Christensen could almost hear the blustery “Fuck-an-A!” that had briefly derailed Brenna’s courthouse news conference.
    â€œI was going to apologize for being rude yesterday,” Christensen said, “but never mind.”
    â€œThis a good time?”
    â€œI’m busy.”
    The pompous little gremlin stepped forward and laid the newspaper on the desk, covering the galley copy of the
Journal of American Psychology
article Christensen was proofing.
    â€œGot the feeling yesterday wasn’t the best time to talk,” he said.
    Christensen moved the newspaper aside and continued making final changes to the article he’d been researching for more than two years. “What was the tip-off, Burke?”
    Padgett cleared his throat. “I’m gonna say my piece here, Jim, and you can listen or not. But I’m gonna say it anyway. I’d appreciate you hearing me out.”
    Christensen looked up, pulled by something unfamiliar in Padgett’s voice—sincerity. The two men glared across the desk. Padgett spoke first.
    â€œYou already know my concerns about DellaVecchio. Well, I thought of one more.”
    â€œWhy am I not surprised?”
    â€œIt’s your friend, this Kennedy woman. Did you ever wonder if maybe DellaVecchio might go after her?”
    Padgett’s green eyes didn’t waver. His concern seemed genuine, a startling departure for a man usually focused on his own macabre celebrity.
    â€œSit down,” Christensen said.
    They sat stiffly, silent except for the scuffing of Padgett’s chair across the linoleum. Christensen studied him as Padgett eased himself onto the seat, then sat down in his department-issued desk chair and waited.
    â€œGot your attention, eh?” Padgett said, raising one white eyebrow.
    â€œDon’t play games.”
    Padgett sat forward to rest a forearm on Christensen’s desk, but couldn’t quite reach. He slid to the edge of his seat and tried again, trying to appear casual. “I’ve made no secret of this; you know I believe he attacked this Harnett woman, DNA or no DNA. But I never much agreed with Dagnolo’s theory about why.”
    Common ground,
Christensen thought. “So we can stipulate that