Fruits of the Poisonous Tree Read Free Page B

to join me. “Already have—by phone. We’re meeting in a couple of hours so they can shovel on the outrage, and I can tell them I can’t tell them anything yet.” He paused a moment to launch a couple of pungent clouds into the atmosphere, and then rephrased his opening question. “So, how’re
you 
doing?”
    I hesitated before answering. We had been friends a long time and had been allied in some tough political wars. He was someone I greatly respected, and who’d consistently earned my trust. I knew his inquiry went beyond its simple wording.
    “I was just asking myself the same question. I’m not sure yet—part of it’ll probably depend on Gail.”
    “You get to talk to her?”
    “A little. She’s pretty closed down. I don’t think I’m what she needs right now.”
    “Ah,” he nodded. “The sisterhood.”
    “Yeah.” I turned that over in my mind a couple of times, seeing both sides of it—understanding it in our terms. “Kind of like cops when they get in a jam.”
    He chuckled. “Okay.”
    “She wants me on the case, Tony.”
    He worked on his pipe a bit, finally taking it out of his mouth and staring into the bowl for inspiration. “That’s not exactly kosher. The State’s Attorney might have problems with it.”
    “Do you?”
    He parked the pipe back in his mouth. “Not in theory. You’re the best investigator I’ve got, and given Gail’s prominence, and the SA being in a tight reelection bid, I’m going to need the best.”
    “But… ”
    He nodded slowly in agreement. “Right, ‘but…’ People could scream conflict of interest, and the SA’s opponent could make political hay out of it, especially if we don’t nail our man right off. Plus, if the case gets to court, as the last person who saw her before the attack, you’d be a prime witness. All a little awkward.”
    He turned and looked straight at me. “And there’s the personal side to it. How’re you going to perform? I noticed you weren’t too eager to hear the details from Ron a while back. You and Gail have been together for years—might as well be married. Psychologically, it would be like investigating your own wife’s rape. How would you handle it, if our roles were reversed?”
    I wasn’t going to make it that easy for him. “The same way you’re probably going to. You’ve been thinking about this since Ron first called you—I saw you checking me out in the car. So what’ve you decided?”
    He shook his head and snorted gently, amused at my stubbornness. “I’m putting you in charge, but not alone. Everything you do, think, or even dream about has to be flown by me first. Nothing happens without my prior knowledge, and everything is shared with the SA and his investigator immediately.”
    An indefinable part of me found its footing with those words, anchoring all my other mixed emotions, if only tenuously. I made myself believe that Tony Brandt had not only just helped
me
out, but Gail and the case’s outcome as well.
    Still, I couldn’t ignore that he’d chosen the bolder of his options—something the State’s Attorney was likely to remind him of, and perhaps use against him if things went wrong. “James Dunn is going to love this.”
    Brandt jumped off the loading dock and began walking toward his parked car. “I’ve already told him. He doesn’t, but he’ll survive.”
    · · ·
    We drove to Gail’s house together. A converted apple barn, the house was the sole remnant of a farm that had once dominated a hill overlooking Meadowbrook Road in quasi-rural West Brattleboro. It stood alone now, the other buildings having long since been dismantled or moved, reminiscent of a frontier outpost of two hundred years ago—tall, weather-beaten, built of rough, dark wood. Gail had purchased it for near nothing over a decade ago and had turned it into a bright, soaring, multilevel cathedral of a home, filled with plants, ceiling fans, colorful art, and intimate lighting. It was a hidden showcase of