Night Fever

by Diana Palmer

  Rourke shook his head. “I disqualified myself and my office. The governor’s appointed another district attorney for this case.”

  “Why?”

  “If I lost the case, Davis would swear I threw it because of Becky,” Rourke told him. “The same thing could apply if I let one of my staff handle it. That puts Becky right in the middle, and she’s had enough nastiness from the press on my account.”

  Clay’s hazel eyes narrowed as he studied the older man. “She got to you, didn’t she?” he asked shrewdly.

  Rourke’s face closed up. “I respect her,” he said. “She’s got enough problems to cope with as it is. I don’t see how she’s managed this long.”

  “She’s tough,” Clay said. “She’s had to be.”

  “She isn’t invulnerable,” Rourke reminded him. “If you manage by some miracle to get out of this, you might consider giving her a hand.”

  “I wish I’d done that before,” Clay confessed. “I told myself I was doing what I was doing to help Becky, but I wasn’t. It was to help me.”

  “At least you’ve learned something.” Rourke called for the guard. “Someone will be in touch,” he said before he left. “Don’t tell Becky I was here, or that I’ve had any part in this. That’s the condition.”

  “All right. But, why?”

  “I’ve got my reasons. And for God’s sake, don’t talk to the press,” he added curtly.

  “That’s one promise I can make,” Clay said.

  Rourke nodded and left the cell. After he was gone, Clay remembered that he hadn’t even thanked him. Incredible, that Kilpatrick would try to help him. Could it be because of Becky? Perhaps the prosecutor was more emotionally involved than he wanted to be.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It had been a slow day for J. Davis. He was grateful to have time to catch up on his law journals. He was sipping coffee and munching on a doughnut with his feet propped up on his desk when his secretary announced that Rourke Kilpatrick was in the waiting room.

  Davis got up and went to the door. This he had to see for himself. Why would his worst political enemy to seek him out—unless he had a gun.

  He opened the door and stared at Rourke. Rourke glared at him.

  “I want to talk to you,” he told Davis.

  Davis raised both eyebrows. He looked much more like a wrestler than a lawyer, both in size and demeanor. “Only talk?” he probed, cocking his head to look pointedly at Rourke’s open jacket. “No knives, pistols, clubs?”

  “I’m the district attorney,” Rourke pointed out. “I’m not allowed to kill colleagues.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, you can have a cup of coffee and a doughnut. Right, Miss Grimes?” he added, smiling at his secretary.

  “I’ll bring them right in, Mr. Davis,” she said, smiling back.

  Davis motioned Rourke into the plush visitor’s chair and realigned himself behind his desk in his former position.

  “If you didn’t come here to attack me, what do you want?” he asked.

  Rourke reached for a cigar just as Mrs. Grimes came in with a cup of coffee and a doughnut for him. He thanked her and put the cigar back in his jacket pocket. “You won’t believe why I’m here,” he said after a bite and a swallow.

  “You’re going to offer to concede,” Davis said and grinned effusively.

  Rourke shook his head. “Sorry. It’s too soon in the race. I have my reputation to consider.”

  “Oh.”

  “Actually, I want you to defend Clay Cullen.”

  Coffee went everywhere and so did the rest of Davis’s doughnut.

  “I was afraid that might be your reaction,” Rourke said.

  “You were afraid…my God, Rourke, the boy’s guilty as sin!” Davis exclaimed as he mopped coffee from his desk and his law journals with his white handkerchief. “Clarence Darrow couldn’t save him now!”

  “Probably not. But you might be able to,” Rourke replied. “He says the Harris boys coerced him into a buy, and that the rest of the charges are all trumped up ones to make him the scapegoat for their crimes.”

  “Listen, Rourke, everybody knows that you’ve been seeing Cullen’s sister,” Davis began earnestly.

  “And because of her I’ve gone soft on her brother. That’s what you insinuated in print, you back-stabbing glory-seeker,” Rourke said hotly. “But it’s not true. I’m an officer of the court. I don’t deal under the table and I don’t turn my back on drug dealing and murder. In case you’ve forgotten, the attempted murder he’s accused of is mine.”

  “I haven’t forgotten, and I’m not a back-stabbing glory-seeker. I just want your job,” Davis defended. “I am sorry about dragging Miss Cullen into it, however. I honestly didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Rourke replied, and smiled as he finished his doughnut. “You’re not a bad sort, for a defense attorney.”

  “Thanks a hell of a lot,” Davis muttered. “And here you sit eating my doughnuts and drinking my coffee.”

  “Takes guts,” Rourke said.

  Davis studied Rourke quietly. “There are times when I like you. I fight it in my saner moments, of course,” he added wickedly.

  “Of course.” Rourke lit a cigar, ignoring Davis’s glare. “I happen to know that you have a smokeless ashtray in your left desk drawer,” he pointed out smugly.

  “Judge Morris has been talking again, I see.” Davis sighed. “He smokes those big black cigars. Here, you pirate. Now, why do you want me to represent Cullen?”

  Rourke turned on the smokeless ashtray. “Because I think he’s telling the truth about the Harris boys. I’ve been trying for years to put them away. You know as well as I do that most of the drug traffic in the local public schools can be traced to them. Other dealers try to cut in and get put away, because the Harrises have the local syndicate boss on their side. That’s the one reason I’ve never been able to get them to trial. Cullen may be the key. I think he’ll cooperate. If he turns state’s evidence, it may be just the spur I need to ride the Harris family out of town.”

  “Nobody would mourn them,” Davis agreed. “But it could be political suicide to take on a case like this.”

  “Only if you lose it. I don’t think you will. And think of the news value,” he added with a shrewd smile. “It’s a case Perry Mason might think twice about, but here you are risking your neck because you think this poor, underprivileged boy whose father was in trouble with the law is innocent. It’s a dream case!”

  “Of course it is,” Davis agreed. “That’s why you’ve disqualified yourself so you won’t have to get involved with it.”

  “I knew you’d accuse me of throwing it if I lost.” Rourke shrugged. “That wouldn’t have done Becky’s reputation any good.”

  “Or yours,” Davis added. He thought carefully. “It’s a political hot potato, all right. But if I could get him off and tie the Harrises into trafficking at the same time, we could sweep the streets clean.”

  “You’d be hailed as a crusading candidate, saving the innocent while punishing the guilty.” Rourke chuckled.

  “Why are you offering this to me?” Davis asked then. “It can only hurt your chances of reelection if I pull it off.”

  “If you want the truth, I don’t know that I want to run for a third term,” Rourke told him seriously. “I haven’t quite made up my mind.”

  Davis leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to have to think this through.”

  “Think fast,” Rourke replied. “The hearing is Friday.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Davis stared at him, frowning. “The Cullens aren’t wealthy people. They’ve got a public defender.”

  Rourke nodded. “I’ll be paying your salary on this one.”

  “Like hell you will,” Davis said with a laugh. He shook his head firmly. “Every lawyer takes a pro bono case now and again. This is going to be mine. Having you for a boss would be the living end. I’d rather go bust.”

  “I love you, too,” Rourke said.
<
br />   “God, what a ghastly thought! Why don’t you go back to work and let me do the same? I’m a busy man.”

  “So I noticed,” Rourke murmured dryly.

  “Reading law journals is hard work.”

  “Right. But now that you mention it, I could do a bit of that myself. Anyway, this was my last cigar.” He put it out and stood up. He extended his hand and Davis shook it. “Thank you,” he said with genuine feeling. “I didn’t believe Cullen at first, but I do now. I’m glad he’s got a chance.”

  “We’ll see about that. I’ll go and talk to him this afternoon.”

  “If you need any information, I’ll give you whatever I have. Cullen can fill you in on the rest.”

  “That’ll do for a start.” He followed Rourke to the door. “I heard you and the Cullen girl have split. I hope it wasn’t because of anything in the papers.”

  “It was because she thought I was using her,” he replied. “And at first I was.”

  “She’ll get over it when she finds out what you’ve done for her brother.”

  “She won’t know,” Rourke said easily. “Clay promised not to tell, and you can’t, either. That’s the condition.”

  “May I ask why?” Davis asked.

  “Because if she comes back to me, I don’t want it to be out of gratitude,” Rourke said simply.

  “That’s very wise,” Davis told him. “Love is hard enough when you don’t have doubts. It takes a lot of work.”

  “You’re speaking from experience, I gather?”

  Davis grimaced. “Well, not really. I don’t have a lot of luck keeping women in my life. Henry sort of keeps me single.”

  “Henry?”

  “My python,” Davis explained. “He’s twelve feet long and weighs about ninety pounds.” He shook his head as Rourke stared at him. “You just can’t get women to understand that they’re harmless. They don’t eat people.”

  “A man who keeps a giant snake is not likely to get many dates,” Rourke murmured.

  “I’ve noticed that. Odd, isn’t it?”

  Rourke chuckled. “I guess he’s good company, anyway.”

  “Great. Until I need something repaired.” He whistled softly. “The TV repairman was working on my audio when Henry crawled into the living room to see what was going on. Did you ever see a grown man faint?”

  “If word gets around, you’ll go through life without electricity, a telephone, or any working appliances.”

  “That’s why the repairman and I made a deal,” Davis said in a loud whisper. “I won’t tell if he won’t tell.”

  Rourke was still laughing when he went out the door.

  Becky was given time off work to go to court for Clay’s hearing.

  Mr. Malcolm had a case himself that morning and needed to confer with his client, so he gave her a lift. She sat in the courtroom with her emotions tied in knots while she tried to unravel the puzzle of what she was seeing.

  For one thing, the public defender wasn’t sitting with Clay—J. Lincoln Davis was. And from what he’d said about her and Clay in the newspapers, she couldn’t imagine why. In the second place, Rourke wasn’t at the prosecutor’s table—there was an older man, whom Becky had never seen before.

  The people behind her had noticed, too. “Where’s the district attorney?” one of them asked. “Wasn’t he supposed to be trying this case?”

  “He disqualified himself,” the man’s companion whispered loudly. “This is an out-of-town district attorney. Would you look at who’s defending the boy! Isn’t that J. Davis?”

  “It sure is,” came the reply. “He replaced the public defender this morning.”

  “He doesn’t come cheap. I wonder how the Cullen boy’s going to pay him?”

  “These dope dealers stick together,” the man said with disgust, and Becky cringed at the contempt and the insinuation that Clay was guilty before he was even tried. “They’ve got all kinds of money.”

  “There’s the judge,” someone else whispered.

  Becky clenched her hands in her lap as the judge came in and everyone rose. Clay had just been brought in. He didn’t look around at all. Becky had wanted to go see him that morning, but she hadn’t had the opportunity.

  Part of her had been hungry for the sight of Rourke in the courtroom this morning, but he wasn’t here. Why hadn’t he told her that he was disqualifying himself? Or had it been a spur-of-the-moment decision? She was so confused that the proceedings were over by the time she got her thoughts organized. Clay was bound over for trials in superior court, as she’d expected, and he waived bail. He was escorted out of the courtroom and Becky got up, feeling old and worn as she walked down the long hall alone to find Mr. Malcolm.

  Rourke’s office was on the way. She couldn’t help glancing in the open door as she went past. Rourke saw her, but he didn’t even acknowledge her presence. He deliberately lowered his eyes to the paperwork in front of him.

  Becky quickened her steps, inflamed. Ignore her, would he? Well, he could just sit and wait until she said one word to him. She wanted to know why he’d refused to try the case. She’d entertained a dim hope that it might have been because he finally believed Clay was innocent. But that couldn’t be the reason. The real puzzle was why J. Davis had taken on Clay as a client, and how his salary was being paid. Those were questions she intended to have answers to by the end of the day, one way or another.

  She waited until she got off work to go see Clay. He was brighter than he had been, and enthusiastic about his new attorney.

  “How did you get him?” Becky asked eagerly.

  “I don’t know,” Clay confessed. “It’s more a matter of how he got me. He just showed up here this morning early and told me he was representing me.”

  “He’s about the best there is, Mr. Malcolm says,” Becky told him. “How are we going to pay him?”

  “Don’t start fretting about money,” Clay said tersely. “He told me that he takes on a case once in a while if he believes in the client’s innocence, and waives the fee. He doesn’t think I did it, Becky,” he said quietly, and had to look away. He wished he could tell her about Kilpatrick’s part in all this—that he believed in his innocence, too—but he’d promised.

  “I never thought you did, either,” she reminded him. “Neither did Mack.”

  He sighed wearily. “I guess it’s hell on Mack. All the kids in school will be on him, because of me.”

  “Only a few, and school’s out next week,” Becky reminded him. “Your English teacher phoned me,” she added. “She said to encourage you to finish high school when you can, even if it means a correspondence course.”

  “Time enough for that later on,” Clay said. “Right now I’ve got to beat this rap.” He sat down beside her and took her hands in his. “Becky, they want me to think about turning state’s evidence.”

  She sat very still. “In other words, turn in the Harris boys.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  Becky’s eyes flashed. “I can imagine whose idea that was, even if he did refuse to prosecute you!”

  “Mr. Davis says there’s a possibility of a reduced sentence on the possession and dealing charge if I do it.”

  “They’d kill you,” she said. “Don’t you know that? If you do it, they’ll have you killed, just like they tried to kill Rourke!”

  “They botched that, good and proper,” Clay replied. “They did it on their own, too, which didn’t make them too popular with the big boys in town. It brought a lot of heat down on everybody.”

  “All the same, it’s such a risk.”

  “Listen, Becky, if I don’t do it, I could go up for ten to fifteen years of hard time.”

  She blanched. She’d faced this before, but never so graphically, in a jail cell with bars all around. “Yes, I know.”

  “I told Mr. Davis I’d think about it,” he said. “If I decide to do it, we’ll have to make some kind of provisions for you and Mack and Granddad—to make sure they don’t try to
threaten any of you.”

  The possibility that the Harrises would go after her whole family was scary, but it was better than having Clay spend years in prison for something he wasn’t guilty of. She lifted her chin. “Cullens survived the Civil War and Reconstruction,” she said proudly. “I suppose we can survive the Harris boys.”

  “That sounds more like the old you,” Clay said, smiling at her. “You’ve been puny lately.”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Becky said. “But the worst is almost over now. I just want to have you back home again. We miss you.”

  “I miss you all, too,” Clay said. “But if I get out of here, I’m not coming back home.”

  Becky almost gasped. “What?”

  He got up and stood against the wall, looking much older than seventeen. “I’ve been a burden at home long enough. You’ve got all you can take with Mack and Granddad. I think you should consider letting Mack go to a foster home and putting Granddad in a nursing home or a retirement home.”

  “Clay!” Becky felt herself go white. “What are you saying?”

  “You’re twenty-four,” he reminded her. “Your whole life has been us. Well, none of us realized how it was for you until it was almost too late, but there’s still time. You need to start thinking about a family of your own, Becky. Maybe, in time, you and Kilpatrick…”

  “I don’t want anything to do with Mr. Kilpatrick,” she said hotly. “Never again!”

  Clay hesitated. She looked venomous. “He was doing his job,” he said quietly. “I didn’t like him. I thought he was my worst enemy and I fought having him around. But it’s how you feel about him that matters, Becky. You can’t spend your whole life being a slave to the three of us.”

  “But it’s not like that,” she protested. “Clay, I love all three of you!”

  “Sure. We love you, too. But you need something we can’t give you anymore.” He smiled. “I’m crazy about Francine, you know. She’s taught me a lot about coming to terms with life. I care about her enough to want to go straight, and she’s going to help me. She’s in big trouble with her uncle and her cousins over me, but she’s already promised to testify for me.”