Page 77 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“So then. Why this case?” The State Attorney has shaken it off. He’s back to business again, composed and brusque.

“It’s a simple one,” Gabriel says, the shrug almost audible. “Eyewitness testimony all agrees. Chain of custody on the physical evidence is solid. Field test on the pills is confirmed by the crime lab.”

“Then what’s taking so long?”

“Well, right now I’m letting him sweat. This isn’t one of the Colombians or Cubans. The Cartels, their mules, those guys? Their families are set for life when they get caught. It’s a long and comfortable life if they stay quiet and serve their time, and it’s a short and exceptionally unpleasant life if they talk. But this Wilson kid? Rich boy. Private school. His name’sFrancis, for God’s sake. He just needs some time to think about what prison would be like, and then he’ll cut a deal. But he’s got to give up who he got the drugs from, and who he was supposed to give them to.”

“You think you’re going to get anywhere with it?” Whitehall sounds sincere. I don’t hear any edge in his voice, no cynical bite. I wish I could see his face, read his body language. “It would be quite a coup for our district, running that to the ground. That was alotof MDMA there.”

“We’ll see, sir,” Gabriel says. “He still claims-”

The elevator pings in the hallway, interrupting my eavesdropping. I slip quickly away from the inner office door and into one of the waiting area chairs. Whether the people in the elevator are coming to see Gabriel or not, I’d rather not have anyone walk past the glass wall and see me with my ear up against the door.

As it happens, it’s two ASA’s from—I think—the Sex Crimes Unit. They’re arguing about basketball, something about the Magic and the Heat, and I zone them out. As soon as they’re out of sight, I’m back to the door, listening.

“…stop pussyfooting around,” Whitehall is saying. “Sweating the guy is one thing, but delay just makes this office look weak. And that makesmelook weak.”

Gabriel says something, but too quietly for me to make out.

“I won’t hear of it!” Whitehall snaps back at him. “No. Not onmywatch!”

Footsteps, inside the inner office. I dash back for the waiting area chair and pull out my phone. I barely make it before the door opens.

“I want this case in front of a judge, Mister Cooper, and I want it theresoon,” the State Attorney says, his voice flat and hard. “I don’t give a shit, Mister Cooper, if it’s to sign off on a plea deal or if it’s for opening arguments at trial. My districthasalways been tough on drug crimes, and my districtwillalways be that way. And if you’re not going to get with the program, then I’ll find someone whoby Godwill!”

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel says. “Consider the verdict already rendered.”

The callous, icy calm in Gabriel’s answer steals my breath away. He can’t mean that. We still don’t have enough to free Frank. We still can’t point enough of a finger at Ferry! We need more time for those other Ecstasy samples to turn up and get tested!

Whitehall storms out of the inner office, finally seeming to notice me for the first time. He practically screeches to a halt, giving me the elevator eyes. When they reach my chest, I wish I hadmorebuttons that I could do up, and his manner changes completely. The angry boss is wiped away, replaced by the courtly southern gentleman act.

“We haven’t met before, have we?” Whitehall asks.

We have. We’ve met more times than I can count, but it’s been years and I’m not surprised he doesn’t remember. The last time was at an office Christmas party, and I think I was twelve: too young to vote, didn’t have tits yet.

“No, I don’t think so,” I say instead, rising to my feet. “I’m Emily.”

He takes my hand without commenting on my lack of a last name. There aren’t too many Wilsons around Point Lookout, and there’s no need for him to put two and two together and realize the answer isn’t actually thirty-six.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emily,” he says, holding on to my hand a little longer than he should, and still not making eye contact. I regret no longer being invisible to him. Forget extra buttons: his eyes make me wish I’d worn a burqa to work today instead of a skirt and blouse.

When Whitehall lets go and turns to leave, I feel an incredible urge to go and wash my hands but instead I rush back into the office, closing the door behind me. I have more pressing business with Gabriel Cooper.

“What did you mean?” I ask, low and urgent, pressing the lock button on the door handle to prevent any further uninvited guests. “Consider the verdict already rendered?”

“Hm?” Gabriel seems surprised. Even if he didn’t expect me to be eavesdropping, he said that part with the door open!

“Why didn’t you tell him we need more time?”

Gabriel hesitates, and that infuriates me. Up until now I felt like we were partners in this. I thought we were working together to nail Ferry’s hide to the wall. Until right this second, I hadn’t felt like there was anything really in conflict between boss and boyfriend.

“Emily,” he says, but I turn away from him. “Emily, listen to me: wearegoing after Ferry. Weabsolutelyare, but we have to face the facts: we have been unable to get anythingsolidagainst him thus far.”

I hear a sigh behind me, then chair wheels on the floor and footsteps approaching.

“I don’t want to do this,” Gabriel says. His hands slip loosely around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. His breath is warm in my hair. “I don’t want to prosecute your brother, but I can’t just make it go away. You know that.”

“He just needs more time,” I whisper.

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