A confession from the real killer--because I'm convinced,
beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Bud Hicks did not murder
my mother--is a pipe dream. There's also the slim possibility
of smoking out an eyewitness."
"Slim to none, Alex."
"Why?"
"You've done enough homework, so you should know.
The murder took place in a barn on Angus Minton's ranch.
Say his name anywhere in that county and the ground trembles.
He's a big enchilada. If there was an eyewitness, he
wouldn't testify against Minton because he'd be biting the
hand that feeds him. Minton runs about a dozen enterprises
in an area of the state where they're gasping their last breath,
economically speaking.
' 'Which brings us to another delicate area, in a case riddled
with delicate areas." Greg slurped his coffee and lit another
cigarette. "The governor's racing commission just gave Minton
Enterprises the green light on building that horse-racing
track in Purcell County."
"I'm well aware of that. What bearing does it have?"
"You tell me."
"None!" she shouted.
"Okay, I believe you. But if you start slinging accusations
and casting aspersions on one of Texas's favorite sons, how
do you think that's going to sit with the governor? He's damn
proud of his racing commission. He wants this pari-mutuel
thing to get off the ground without a hitch. No controversy.
No bad press. No shady deals. He wants everything above
reproach and squeaky clean.
"So, if some smart-ass prosecutor starts shooting off her
mouth, trying to connect somebody his hand-picked commission
has given their coveted blessing to with a murder,
the governor is going to be royally pissed off. And if said
prosecutor works in this office, who do you think he's going
to be the most pissed off at? Moi."
Alex didn't argue with him. Instead, she calmly said, "All
right. I'll resign from this office and do it on my own."
"Jesus, you're theatrical. You didn't let me finish." He
pressed his intercom button and bellowed to his secretary to
bring him more coffee. While she was carrying it in, he lit
another cigarette.
"On the other hand," he said around a gust of smoke, "I
can't stand that bastard who's living in the governor's mansion.
I've made no secret of it, and it works both ways, though
the sanctimonious sonofabitch won't admit it. It would tickle
me pissless to watch him squirm. Can you imagine nun justifying
why his commission picked, from the hordes of applicants,
somebody associated with a murder?" He chuckled.
"I get a hard-on just thinking about it."
Alex found Greg's motivation distasteful, but she was ecstatic
that he was granting her permission. "So, I can reopen
the case?"
"The case remains unsolved because Hicks was never
brought to trial." He lowered his feet, and his chair rocked
forward jarringly. "I have to tell you, though--I'm doing
this against my better judgment, and only because I trust your
gut instincts. I like you, Alex. You proved yourself when
you were interning here as a law student. Great ass aside,
you're good to have in our corner."
He looked down at the material she'd compiled and fiddled
with a corner of one folder.' 'I still think you've got a personal
grudge against these guys, the town, whatever. I'm not saying
it's unjustified. It's just not something you can build a case
around. Without this shrink's affidavit, I would have turned
down your request. So, while you're out there where the
buffalo roam and the deer and antelope play, remember that
my ass is in a sling, too." He raised his eyes and stared at
her balefully. "Don't fuck up."
"You mean, I can go to West Texas?"
"That's where it happened, isn't it?"
"Yes, but what about my caseload?"
"I'll put interns on the preparations and ask for postponements
Meanwhile, I'll talk to the D.A. in Purcell. We were
in law school together. He's perfect for what you're trying
to do. He's not too bright, and he married above himself, so
he's always striving to please. I'll ask him to give you whatever
assistance you need."
"Don't be too specific. I don't want them forewarned."
"Okay."
"Thank you, Greg," she said earnestly.
"Not so fast," he said, snuffing her enthusiasm. "If you
trap yourself out there, I'll disclaim you. The attorney general
has made no secret that I'm his heir apparent. I want the job,
and I'd like nothing better than to have a good-looking, smart
broad as chief of one of my departments. That goes down
good with the voters." He pointed a nicotine-stained finger
at her. "But if you fall on your ass now, I never knew you,
kiddo. Got that?"
"You're an unscrupulous son of a bitch."
He grinned like a crocodile. "Even my mama didn't like
me much."
"I'll send you a postcard." She turned to leave.
"Wait a minute. There's something else. You've got thirty
days."
"What?"
"Thirty days to come up with something."
"But--"
"That's as long as I can spare you without the rest of the
natives around here getting restless. That's longer than your
hunch and flimsy leads warrant. Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it."
He didn't know that she had a much more pressing deadline,
a personal one. Alex wanted to present her grandmother
with the name of Celina's killer before she died. She wasn't
even concerned that her grandmother was in a coma. Somehow,
she would penetrate her consciousness. Her last breath
would be peaceful, and Alex was certain she would at last
praise her granddaughter.
Alex leaned across Greg's desk. "I know I'm right. I'll
bring the real killer to trial, and when I do, I'll get a conviction.
See if I don't."
"Yeah, yeah. In the meantime, find out what sex with a
real cowboy is like. And take notes. I want details about spurs
and guns and stuff."
"Pervert."
"Bitch. And don't slam--ah, shit!"
Alex smiled now, recalling that meeting. She didn't take
his insulting sexism seriously because she knew she had his
professional respect. Wild man that he was, Greg Harper had
been her mentor and friend since the summer before her first
semester of law school, when she had worked in the prosecutor's
office. He was going out on a limb for her now, and
she appreciated his vote of confidence.
Once she had gotten Greg's go-ahead, she hadn't wasted
time. It had taken her only one day to catch up on paperwork,
clear her desk, and lock up her condo. She had left Austin
early, and made a brief stop in Waco at the nursing home.
Merle's condition was unchanged. Alex had left the number
of the Westerner where she could be reached in case of an
emergency.
She dialed the D. A.'s home number from her motel room.
"Mr. Chastain, please," she said in response to the woman's
voice who answered.
"He's not at home."
"Mrs. Chastain? It's rather important that I speak with
your husband."
"Who is this?"
"Alex Gaither."
She heard a soft laugh. "You're the one, huh?"
" 'The one'?"
"The one who accused the Mintons and Sheriff Lambert
of murder. Pat was in a tailspin when he got home. I've never
seen him so--"
"Excuse me?" Alex interrupted breathlessly. "Did you
say Sheriff Lambert?"