Ricochet Read Free Page B

judge no choice.” In the two years since DeeDee had been bumped up to homicide and made his partner, he’d never seen one iota of maternal instinct in her nature. Her expression now came close. “After the things you said, Judge Laird was practically duty-bound to hold you in contempt.”
    “Then His Honor and I have something in common. I feel bound to hold him in contempt, too.”
    “I think he got the message. As for Gerard, he has to toe the company line. He can’t have his detectives telling off superior court judges.”
    “Okay, okay, I acknowledge the error of my ways. I served my time. At Savich’s next trial, I promise to be a perfect gentleman, meek as a lamb, so long as Judge Laird, in turn, will cut us some slack. After the other day, he owes us.”
    “Uh, Duncan.”
    “Uh, what?”
    “Mike Nelson called this afternoon.” She hesitated, sighed. “The DA’s position is that we didn’t have enough on Savich—”
    “I don’t want to hear this, do I?”
    “He said this trial was a long shot to start with, that we probably wouldn’t have got a conviction anyway, and that he’s not going to try the case again. Not unless we turn up something rock solid that places Savich at the scene.”
    Duncan had feared as much, but hearing it was worse than the dread of hearing it. He laid his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. “I don’t know why I give a damn about Savich or any other scumbag. Nobody else does. The DA is probably more upset with me than he is with the Neanderthal who killed his wife last night over a tough pork chop. He was in the cell next to mine. If he told me once, he told me a dozen times that the bitch had it coming.”
    Sighing, he rolled his head to gaze out the window at the venerable live oaks along the boulevard. The clumps of Spanish moss dangling from their branches looked bedraggled in the oppressive heat.
    “I mean, why do we bother?” he asked rhetorically. “If Savich pops a meth maker like Freddy Morris every now and then, he’s performing a public service, isn’t he?”
    “No, because before that meth maker’s body is cold, Savich will have his replacement set up for business.”
    “So, I repeat, what’s the point? I’m all out of that zeal you referenced. I don’t give a shit. Not anymore.”
    DeeDee rolled her eyes.
    “Do you know how old I am?” he asked.
    “Thirty-seven.”
    “Eight. And in twenty years I’ll be fifty-eight. I’ll have an enlarged prostate and a shrunken dick. My hair will be thinner, my waistline thicker.”
    “Your outlook gloomier.”
    “You’re goddamn right,” he said angrily, sitting up suddenly and jabbing the dashboard with his index finger as he enumerated his points. “Because I will have put in twenty more years of futility. There’ll be more Saviches killing people. What will it all have been for?”
    She pulled to the curb and braked. It hadn’t registered with him until then that she’d driven him home, not to the parking lot where his car had been abandoned at the judicial center when he was taken into custody and marched from the courtroom.
    DeeDee leaned back against her seat and turned to him. “Granted, we’ve had a setback. Tomorrow—”
    “Setback?
Setback
? We’re as dead as poor Freddy Morris. His execution scared the hell out of any other mule who has ever even remotely considered striking a deal with us or the Feds. Savich used Freddy to send a message, and it went out loud and clear. You talk, you die, and you die ugly. Nobody will talk,” he said, enunciating the last three words.
    He slammed his fist into his palm. “I cannot believe that slick son of a bitch got off again. How does he do it? Nobody’s that supernaturally lucky. Or that smart. Somewhere along his body-strewn path, he must’ve struck a deal with the devil. All the demons in hell must be working for his side. But I swear this to you, DeeDee. If it’s the last thing I do—” Noticing her smile, he broke off.