Page 32 of The Wrong Side of the Law

Well, that clears it all up, doesn’t it? Nobody would ever take Ecstasy to a concert venue. Though, to be fair, Ferry is from the seventies. Most of the crowd that listens to him would probably be more into pot or LSD than glowsticks and E.

“I’m a bit jealous,” I say. “I grew up listening to his music. Dad was a fan. How’d he get tickets? I thought they were only giving them away through, I dunno, stuff on the radio?”

“I’m sorry, ASA Cooper. I didn’t mean that he was there toseethe concert.” Emily half-smiles wryly, but there’s no humor in it. “My brother waspartof the concert.”

Still making notes, I manage to drive my pen through the sheet of paper in surprise.

“Oh,” is the only thing I can think of to say. Jesus Christ, seriously?

“He plays guitar,” Emily says, simply.

“Wait. Wait wait wait.” No way. Is she serious? “Your brother was ontourwith Ferry?”

“He plays guitar,” Emily repeats herself. “He’s quite good. This tour… he thought it was going to be his big break.”

Robert Ferry. Jesus. Now there’s a name linked with drugs. Willie Nelson, Jerry Garcia, and Robert Ferry: the pothead’s holy trinity. I know all the mythology from my old man: Arrested for possession with intent to distribute on his way to Woodstock, gave the cops a fake ID and then escaped through the rolled-down window of a police car, wrote a song about it, used the money he made selling weed at Woodstock to record a demo and then kicked off a decades-long multi-platinum career from that.

But there’s no way he could still be involved in selling drugs. The guy’s a millionaire so many times over. He’s got to be. But still, people do inexplicable things for inexplicable reasons.

“I’ll look at the file,” I say.

“You will?” Emily’s smile is breathtaking, and the fact that I put it there just with a word makes me feel a bit warm.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I tell her. “I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I truly cannot and will not do anything unethical or illegal.”

“No, I know,” she says, standing up. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re even willing to listen to me right now.” She smiles again, and the warmth of it rushes through me again. “I have to get to my desk and clock in,” she says. “I’ll pull my brother’s file and bring it up to you, though.”

“Whoa, now! No. No, you will do absolutelynothinglike that,” I say. “You will not go anywherenearyour brother’s case file. If you were to poke around in there, you could taint the entire investigation and prosecution. Even if you didn’t do anything to influence it. That would have rather a bad effect on your future. You’ll have a tough time getting a license to practice law if you get jammed up for interfering with an investigation and prosecution.”

“Oh.” Emily’s smile fades slowly. “You’re right, of course. That’s going to be the worst part: how can I work here, doing what I do, but staying completely away from the case? Francis Junior is the person I love more than anything or anyone else on Earth.”

“I know. I can tell,” I say. “But you have to take care of yourself, too.”

“I understand.” Emily nods slowly, still wrapping her head around the situation she’s facing. “I’ve been a big sister for a long time. Old habits. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all,” I answer. “I’m glad you brought this to my attention. I’ll absolutely look into it, but please understand that I won’t be able to tell you a lot of what I learn.”

“I know,” she says, then pauses, looking me in the eyes before she asks one last question: “What was it that made you agree to look into it?”

I don’t break the eye contact, and I tell her the truth.

“Robert Ferry’s name.”

Emily nods slowly. She understands why that mattered, but it doesn’t seem to upset her. She knows that this just became a television case, and she’s hoping that our goals will align at least far enough to get her brother out of the crosshairs.

Without another word, she’s out of my office and on the way to her own desk.

I stare after her for a long while, running back through the conversation. I was careful about ethical lines—I’m not about to do anything to let myself get disbarred—but,damn. Talk about temptation. If Eve was even half as lovely as Emily Wilson, it’s no wonder Adam made some poor life choices for her.

A young kid, from a squeaky-clean family recently fallen on hard financial times, who had motive and opportunity, and—bonus points—was caught in actual possession of the drugs. A rock star with a history of drug use, who has more money than he knows what to do with, and no clear motivation for smuggling drugs.

I told her I’d look into it, and I absolutely will. And I hope to hell there’s something there I can work with.

But before I kick off any investigations or make any decisions, and even before I research Robert Ferry’s prior interactions with the police, I need to do some background research into my own motivations. Am I doing this because it’s in the interests of justice, or am I doing it because I know it’s going to look good come election time?

Or—even worse—am I doing it for a redhead with pretty eyes?

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