Becky came out of the interrogation room.
Cora was waiting to pounce. “What did she say?”
“She didn’t do it.”
“Gee, that’s a shock. What did she say about where she was?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Damn it, Becky—”
“I can’t tell you because I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.”
“You’re her lawyer.”
“I pointed that out.”
“You should have let me go in there.”
“I can’t have a confidential conversation in the presence of a third person. You know that.”
“You really think she was going to say something you don’t want to reveal?”
“She might.”
“Like what?”
“Like she killed her husband.”
“I thought you said she didn’t.”
“That’s certainly my opinion. I can’t count on prosecutor Henry Firth being that broad-minded.”
“So what’s her story?”
“She came back from wherever the hell she was, walked in, and found him dead. The knife was in the body. She thought he was still breathing and tried to revive him.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. You and Chief Harper walk in to find her in an unenviable position.”
“But—”
“But what?”
“That’s no story at all.”
“I quite agree. And that’s where you come in.”
“You want me to talk to her?”
“You can’t talk to her.”
“Why not?”
“She’s in police custody.”
“You talked to her.”
“I’m her lawyer. They’re not catering to her social schedule.”
“So you get me in there.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I told you. You can’t talk to her with me in the room. The things she says to you while I’m in the room are not a confidential communication.”
“So get me in there and leave me alone.”
“I can’t.”
“Are you trying to be annoying?”
“No, but I can’t say I’m not enjoying it. It’s the only thing I am enjoying about this case. I got a client who couldn’t look guiltier, who was holding the murder weapon, and won’t say where she was at the time of the crime. She doesn’t want to talk about it. How do you mount a defense of that?”
“You poke holes in the prosecutor’s case.”
“What holes? She was caught with the murder weapon. She had blood on her hands. A cliché, and there it is. She actually had blood on her hands.”
“Yeah, she was caught red-handed,” Cora said. “So, you’re giving up?”
“Why? I got a retainer. In a hopeless case. It’s a legal gold mine. I can make more losing this case than I can winning a dozen small ones.”
“Becky,” Cora said irritably.
“Oh. Pissed you off, didn’t I? You cranky from quitting smoking?”
“I barely miss it. Well, maybe four or five times a day. It’s not an obsession. Are you really throwing in the towel on this one?”
“Don’t be silly. I got you. You’re going to win it for me. Come up with the key piece of evidence to demolish the prosecution’s case. To prove her guilty, they gotta prove motive, opportunity, and means. Opportunity’s there, the means is in her hand. The motive is not. The police assume he had a lover because he didn’t come home. She claims it isn’t true. She can claim it till she’s blue in the face, but it’s either wishful thinking or it’s a bad lie. If he was having an affair and the police can prove it, she’s dead meat.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Which is where you come in.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find out.”