“About those glasses,” I say.

“Drugstore, cheap and fake. He doesn’t need glasses but he fancies himself clever when it comes to disguises. Actually, he’s pretty good. He’s slipped our surveillance a few times in the past month but always comes home.”

“What do you have on him?”

Landy exhales in fatigue and frustration. “Not much,” he says, and I admire the guy’s honesty. He’s a brilliant cop and knows better than to level with me, but he inspires confidence.

“Enough for an indictment?”

“I wish. We’re not even close to an arrest. Chief wants to hold him for a week or two. Crank up the pressure, you know, see if the guy’ll break. But really to see if lightning will strike and we get lucky. Fat chance. We’ll probably let him go again. Between me and you, Rudd, we ain’t got much.”

“Seems like you have plenty of suspicion.”

Landy grunts and laughs. “We’re good at that. Look at him, talk about suspicious. I’d give him ten years in solitary just based on the first impression.”

“Maybe five,” I say.

“Talk to him, and if you want, I’ll show you the file tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’m going in, but I’ve never met this guy and I’m not sure I’ll be his lawyer. There’s always the issue of getting paid and he doesn’t look too prosperous. If he’s indigent, PD takes over and I’m out of the picture.”

“Have fun.”

4.

Swanger takes his feet off the desk, stands, and we make our introductions. Firm handshake, eye contact, easy voice with no trace of concern. Playing it cool, I restrain myself from telling him to take off those damned glasses. If he likes ’em then I’m crazy about ’em.

“I saw you on TV,” he says. “That cage fighter that killed the ref. Whatever happened to him?”

“The case is still pending, waiting for a trial. You go to cage fights?”

“No. I watch ’em on TV with my mum. I thought about getting into it a few years back.”

I almost laugh. Even if he dropped thirty pounds and trained eight hours a day, this guy wouldn’t last ten seconds in a cage. He’d probably faint in the dressing room. I sit at the table, empty-handed, and ask, “Now, what did you want to talk about?”

“That girl, man, you know the case. These guys think I’m involved in some way and they’re hassling me. They’ve been on my ass for months now, always hiding in the shadows as if I don’t know what’s going on. This is the second time they’ve hauled me in here like something on television. You watch Law & Order? Well, these guys have watched way too much and they’re really bad actors, know what I mean? That old one with the white hair, Reardon I think, he’s the good guy, always just looking for the truth and trying to find ways to help me. Right. Then the skinny one, Barkley, he’ll come in and start yelling. Back and forth. Good cop, bad cop, like I don’t know the game. Ain’t my first rodeo, pal.”

“Your first murder charge, right?”

“Hang on, Superman. I ain’t been charged yet.”

“Okay, assuming you are charged with murder, I take it you want me to represent you.”

“Well, gee, why else would I call you, Mr. Rudd? I’m not sure I need a lawyer right now but it damned sure feels like it.”

“Understood. Are you employed?”

“Here and there. How much do you charge for a murder case?”

“Depends on how much a person can pay. A case like this, I’ll need ten thousand up front and that’ll just get us through the indictment phase. Once we’re looking at a trial, then we get to the serious fee. If we can’t agree, then you go elsewhere.”

“Where’s elsewhere?”

“Public defender’s office. They handle virtually all murders.”

“Figures. But what you’re not factoring in here, Mr. Rudd, is all the publicity. Ain’t too many cases as big as this one. Pretty girl, important family, and that thing with the baby. If she had a kid, then where is it, right? That’ll drive the press crazy. So you gotta figure that this thing is front-page news, starting right about now. I’ve seen you on television. I know how much you love to bark and growl and strut in front of the cameras. This case will be a gold mine for my defense lawyer. Don’t you agree, Mr. Rudd?”

He’s hammering the nail on the head, but I can’t admit this. I say, “I don’t work for free, Mr. Swanger, regardless of the publicity. I have too many other clients.”

“Of course you do. Big lawyer like you. I didn’t call no rookie in here to save my ass. They’re talking death penalty, man, and they mean it. I’ll get the money, one way or the other. The question is, will you take my case?”

Usually, by this point in the first meeting, the accused has already denied the charges. I make a mental note that Swanger has not done so, has not ventured anywhere near the issue of his guilt or innocence. In fact, he seems to be welcoming an indictment, with a big trial to follow. I say, “Yes, I’ll represent you, assuming we can come to terms on the money and assuming they actually indict you. I think they have a ways to go. In the meantime, don’t say a word to the cops, any cop. Understood?”

“Got it, man. Can you get them to back off, stop the harassment?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” We shake hands again and I leave the room. Detective Reardon has not moved. He’s watched our little meeting, and he’s probably listened to it too, though that would be illegal. Standing next to him, in casual clothes, is Roy Kemp, father of the missing girl. He glares at me with unbridled hatred, as if the few minutes I just spent with their first and rather weak suspect is clear proof that I’m involved in his daughter’s disappearance.

I have sympathy for the man and his family, but right now he wants to put a bullet in the back of my head.

Outside the building, more reporters have gathered. When they see me they start hopping and shoving. I brush by them with “No comment, no comment, no comment,” as they lob their idiotic questions. One actually yells, “Mr. Rudd, did your client abduct Jiliana Kemp?” I want to stop, walk over to this clown, and ask him if he might possibly come up with a dumber question. But instead I push by them and hop in the van with Partner.

5.

At six o’clock, the anchormen scream the news that the police have a suspect in the Kemp case. They show footage of Arch Swanger being mobbed by reporters as he tries to leave Central not long after I did. According to sources, unnamed of course but undoubtedly from within the building, he’s been interrogated by the police and will soon be arrested and charged with kidnapping and murder. To prove his guilt, he’s hired Sebastian Rudd to defend him! They show me scowling at the cameras.

Finally, the City can breathe easier. The police have the killer. To relieve the enormous pressure on them, and to begin the process of poisoning public opinion, and to establish the presumption of guilt, they are manipulating the press, as always. A leak here and there and cameras show up to capture the face that everyone has been desperate to see. The “journalists” chase their tails, and Arch Swanger is as good as convicted.

Why bother with a trial?

If the cops can’t convict with evidence, they use the media to convict with suspicion.