Even the Wicked

"I didn't have to be able to answer that in order to conclude that he'd lied to me, and I didn't think he'd do that without a reason. Well, what did the lie accomplish? It underscored his claim of having been really rattled by Will's threat. What was he saying, really? Something along the lines of, 'I'm truly and righteously scared, in fact I'm so scared that I've already had a couple of drinks today, and now I'm going to have another one and you can stand there and watch me do it.'

"Why would he want me to think he was scared? I busted my head on that one. What I came up with was that the only reason he'd have for going out of his way to impress me with his fear was because it didn't exist. That's why he had to lie about it. He wanted me to think he was afraid because he wasn't."

"Why bother? Wouldn't you assume he was afraid, getting marked for death by some clown who was riding a hot streak? Wouldn't anybody?"

"You'd think so," I said, "but he knew something I didn't. He knew he wasn't afraid, and he knew he had nothing to be afraid of."

"Because Will couldn't hurt him."

"Not if he was Will."

He frowned. "That's a pretty big leap of logic, wouldn't you say?

He's pretending to be afraid, therefore he's not afraid, therefore he's got nothing to fear. Therefore he's Will, master criminal and multiple murderer. I don't remember a whole lot from my freshman logic class, but it strikes me there's a flaw in the ointment."

"A flaw in the ointment?"

"The ointment, the woodpile. Maybe he's not afraid because he's got terminal cancer and he figures Will's just doing him a favor."

"I thought of that."

"And, since he's keeping his illness secret from the world, he puts on an innocent act in order to keep you from wondering why it doesn't upset him more to be Will's next headline."

"I thought of that, too."

"And?"

"I had to admit it was possible," I said, "but it just didn't ring true.

The motive for subterfuge seemed pretty thin. So what if I didn't think he was afraid? I'd just figure him for a stoic. But if what he wanted to cover up was the fact that he was Will, well, you could understand why he'd be moved to keep that a secret."

"Where did you go from there?"

"I took a look at the first murder."

"Richie Vollmer."

"Richie Vollmer. Adrian's client, now free to do it again."

"Anybody would have gotten Richie off, Matt. It wasn't Adrian's doing. The state's case fell apart when the Neagley woman hanged herself. It's not as though Adrian handed her the rope."

"No."

"You think he felt responsible?"

"I wouldn't go that far. I think he saw Richie's release as a gross miscarriage of justice, and I think he read Marty McGraw's column and came to the conclusion that Marty was right. The world would be a better place without Richie in it."

"How many people read that column? And what proportion of them found nothing in it to object to?"

"A whole lot of people read it," I said, "and most of them very likely agreed with it. Adrian had something most of the rest of us lacked.

Two things, actually. He'd played a role in Richie's little dance through the halls of justice, and he could probably find a way to feel at least some responsibility for the outcome. Maybe he'd passed up a chance to get Richie to plead."

"All right, it's speculative but I'll allow it. You said two things.

What's the other one?"

"He had access."

"To what, the blunt instrument he clubbed him with? Or the rope he used to hang him from the tree?"

"To Richie. Think about it, Ray. Here's a son of a bitch they caught dead to rights for killing children, and he walks, so now he's free but he's a pariah, a fucking moral leper. And you're Will, a public-spirited citizen determined to dispense rough justice. What do you do, look him up in the phone book? Call him up, tell him you want to talk to him about the advantages of investing in tax-free munis?"

"But Adrian would have known where to find him."

"Of course he'd know. He was his lawyer. And do you think Richie would refuse a meeting with him?

Or be on his guard?"

"You can never predict what a client will do," he said. "You're the next thing to a member of their family during the trial, and then it ends in an acquittal and they don't want to know you. I used to think it was ingratitude. Then for a while I decided it stemmed from a desire to put the experience behind them."

"And now?"

"Now I'm back to ingratitude. God knows there's a lot of it going around." He leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlaced behind his head. "Let's say you're right," he said, "and Adrian had access. He could call Richie and Richie would meet him."

"And not be on his guard."

"And not be on his guard. Adrian wouldn't have to turn up on his doorstep disguised as a twelve-year-old girl. You have anything beside conjecture to place the two of them together?"

"The cops might have the manpower to turn up a witness who saw the two of them together," I said. "I didn't even try. What I looked for was the opposite, proof that Adrian was somewhere else when Richie was killed."