“The man was convicted. Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s totally irrelevant. Surely, even a PI can see that.”

He let the barb go. “Curiosity then, I guess.”

She was squinting at him, like she thought he was crazy. She started to say something but was interrupted by her beeper going off. With an impatient sigh, she grabbed it. Her expression changed as she read the number, her mouth dropping open slightly. In the back light, Louis couldn’t tell if she was upset or just surprised.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, rising quickly.

Louis watched as she went to the pay phone again. She punched in a number and with a look at Louis, turned her back. A minute later she was back.

“I’m sorry-” she began.

“Would you mind moving your chair?” Louis asked.

She looked at him. “What?”

He pointed at the window. “The glare from the window. I like to see who I’m talking to.”

She craned her neck to look at the window then back at Louis. When she shifted her chair into the shadows Louis could see that something had changed, like a mask had slipped, leaving her face unprotected.

Back in the police station lobby, she had seemed older, pushing forty or so. But he could see now she was probably younger, with one of those hard-to-guess faces that some women were blessed with. Smooth skin maybe a half-shade darker than his own tan, a round face with a high forehead, generous mouth and eyes the shape and color of toasted almonds. Her hair. . maybe that was what made her look older. It was black with brown streaks, swept up in one of those hard French twisty things, but with pieces of it falling out the back, like she hadn’t had a lot of time to work on it that morning.

Susan Outlaw. . shit, what a name for a defense attorney.

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” she began again.

“Boss got you on a short leash?”

“No, it was my son. Or his principal rather.”

She seemed distracted. Louis started to ask if the kid was in trouble at school, but something in her expression told him not to. He remembered suddenly the time his foster mother Frances had been summoned to school when he was in the sixth grade. A kid had called him an orphan and Louis had taken a swing at him with a geography book, splitting his lip. Later that night, as Louis picked at his dinner, Phillip spoke to him quietly but firmly.

You didn’t even know what the word ‘orphan’ meant, Louis. Next time, make sure you know what you’re fighting for. Learn to use your brains, not your fists.

And Frances: I don’t know, Phil, sometimes a good punch in the mouth is more effective.

“Now look, Mr. Kincaid,” Susan said, drawing him back.

“Louis. It’s Louis, okay?”

She stared at him. He had the feeling he wasn’t going to be invited to call her Susan any time soon. He glanced at the gold band on her left hand and found himself wondering what Mr. Outlaw called her. Somehow she didn’t look like she’d answer to Sue or Susie.

“I’ve had two days-just two days-to get up to speed on Jack Cade’s case,” she said. “I can’t be wasting time worrying about you or anyone else getting in my way.”

“Getting in your way?” Louis said. “I would think you’d welcome the help.”

“I don’t need help,” she said evenly.

“I never saw a public defender that didn’t need help.”

She was staring at him again, daggers this time, like she was sizing him up-age, experience-and finding him lacking. It irritated the hell out of him, but he wasn’t about to take the bait.

“How long have you been in the PI business?” she asked finally.

“Almost a year,” he said.

She gave a short scornful laugh, reaching in her briefcase for something.

“I was a cop before this,” he said. Probably too quickly.

She froze, then slowly shook her head. “I should have known,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s written all over you.”

“Bullshit.” Now he was getting pissed.

She waved a hand of dismissal. “The walk, the talk. The eyes. Yeah, especially your eyes.”

She snapped the briefcase closed and he realized she was getting ready to leave. He didn’t want her to leave; he needed her to tell him things about Jack Cade. Like a good reason why he should take his case.

“Do you think your client is innocent?” Louis asked.

Susan was half out of the chair and she leveled her eyes at him and slowly sat back down.

“Lawyers have to believe their clients,” she said.

“No they don’t. They just have to believe in the law.”

“Now you’re sounding like a lawyer,” she said.

He thought about telling her that he was pre-law in college, but there was no way it wouldn’t sound like chest-beating at this point.

“But you’re a cop, with a cop brain,” she added. She rose, smoothing back the wayward strand of hair again. She was standing in that back light again and he had to squint to look up at her. She was tall, maybe five-nine, with a generous body that he suspected she thought boxy dark suits could hide.

“Which means what?” he asked.

“Which means that you think if he is arrested he must surely be guilty. And like the rest of the scum who make cops’ lives miserable, he should probably rot in hell.”

“I haven’t even decided to take this case,” he said.

She slipped the strap of her purse over the shoulder of her red suit. “Well, I can’t stop Ronnie Cade from hiring you,” she said. “Just don’t get in my way.”

She turned, her heels clicking on the terrazzo floor as she headed out the door. He picked up the mug and took a drink, grimacing at the taste of the muddy coffee.

It hit him then that she was right.

His first impression of Jack Cade had been that he was probably guilty. Not just of the rape and murder of the girl twenty years ago but also of shooting Spencer Duvall.

He had been a cop for only three years, but it had left its mark, making him turn a deaf ear to the protests of dirtbags as he shoved them into the backs of patrol cars. They were thieves, druggies, wife-beaters and murderers. The harmless ones were liars who cut corners, and the worst ones were sociopaths who cut their evil swathes through other people’s lives. But they were all dirtbags who broke the law and still got a good night’s sleep afterward. And yeah, every single one of them was innocent.

Other people, civilians, didn’t see it the way cops did. Neither did people like Susan Outlaw. She was an attorney. No, a defense attorney, who had to see the world and its lowlifes in a different light just so she could collect a paycheck and pay her rent. He had always wondered how defense lawyers did it. What, did they count leeches to get to sleep at night?

The walk, the talk. The eyes. Yeah, especially your eyes.

Louis took another drink of coffee.

Okay, so he still had cop eyes.

But he wasn’t a cop any more.

He glanced at his watch. Shit. It was twelve-thirty. He was supposed to meet Mobley at O’Sullivan’s. A ripple of laughter drew his attention to a nearby table, where a clot of men in suits were huddled over beers, sleek briefcases sitting at their feet like obedient pet dogs. Lawyers.

Louis shook his head. It hit him in that second: If he took Jack Cade’s case, he would have to go over to the other side for the first time in his life.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t slept last night.

He tossed some bills on the table and left.

He walked the four blocks to O’Sullivan’s. The old bar was a stone’s throw from the police station and walking distance from the sheriff ’s office, an easy stop for deputies after shifts.

Louis eased inside, blinking to adjust to the darkness. He had been in the bar a few times before, when he first arrived in Fort Myers. He had come hoping to find some conversation and a sense of camaraderie. And at first, when he was riding the wave of the serial killer case, he had found acceptance among the cops.