“I never said I believed him. It’s just the story I have to proceed with.”

Louis shook his head. “He wanted money, not revenge.”

“I don’t like it,” she said. “You’d have to be able to prove Cade really intended to file the suit and that he didn’t know it was futile.”

Louis nodded.

“And you’d have to be able to show someone else could have had something to lose if the Jagger case was reopened.”

“Well,” Louis said, “There’s always Bernhardt. If Cade brought suit, the practice would be liable to any claim.”

Susan said nothing.

“And there’s Candace,” Louis said. “She was the starter wife, remember. Maybe Duvall was looking to upgrade and she knew it.” He paused. “Spencer had a place in town. Maybe he had something going on the side, like Candace. And maybe Candace knew.” He took another lick of the cookie dough. “Even if Candace had a lover, she still had something to lose if Spencer divorced her.”

Susan was quiet. He thought she was probably angry. But maybe she was just tired. It occurred to him that her prickliness probably came from the stress of the case, not from any real part of her personality. He had asked around, trying to find out more about her and had been told by a source at the courthouse that she was just a couple years out of law school and was trying real hard to make an impression. She had landed a big case with Cade, but now she was treading water and she knew it. He took a breath. He had one more point to press.

“And of course, there’s the person who really killed Kitty Jagger.”

Susan shook her head. “Do you have any idea how long it would take to solve a twenty-year-old murder?”

“Yes, I do, in fact,” Louis said.

Susan held his gaze for a moment, then a sudden frown creased her face.

“Shit!” she blurted out. She spun to the oven and jerked open the door. Smoke filled the kitchen. Louis didn’t have to look to know the cookies were black. He knew the smell. Frances could never get the hang of cookies either.

Susan pulled out the cookie sheet and tossed it into the sink. “Dammit!”

“You burn ’em again, Ma?”

Susan and Louis both turned to see Benjamin standing at the door. She didn’t say anything. Benjamin came in and looked down into the sink. He gingerly picked out a cookie and bit into it. He was trying hard not to grimace and Susan was trying hard not to look upset.

“How was Jeopardy?” Louis asked, to break the silence.

Benjamin glanced at him suspiciously. “I missed Final Jeopardy.”

“What was the question?”

He shrugged. “It was dumb. Something about a shot heard around the world. The category was baseball. I don’t know a lot of sports stuff.”

“Ralph Branca,” Louis said.

Benjamin’s eyes widened. “Yeah, that was it! That was the answer! How’d you know that?”

Benjamin looked up at Susan, who was standing, hands on hips, staring at Louis. She still looked angry, maybe about the cookies, but more likely about what he had suggested about the Jagger case.

“I’m going to go see Mobley tomorrow. I need to see the Jagger file,” Louis said.

“You’re on my payroll now, Kincaid,” she said. “Don’t waste the taxpayers’ money digging up the past.”

“If I work for you, I work my way,” Louis said evenly.

Susan was silent. Benjamin looked up at her, over at Louis, then back at his mother. He grabbed another burnt cookie out of the sink and bit into it.

“Mom, these are okay, see?” he said quickly. “The outside is bad, but the inside is still okay. We can use some of them. Ma? Look. .”

Susan’s hand went out to cup Benjamin’s head, pulling him to her waist. She was still staring daggers at Louis.

“This isn’t going to work,” Louis said, rising.

“Take the pager,” Susan said.

He looked at her in surprise.

“I want to win this,” she said. “Bring me something I can use.”

“We striking another bargain here, counselor?”

“Call it what you want,” she said. “Just bring me something I can use.”

Chapter Twelve

Louis set the Sports Illustrated aside and stood up, glancing at his watch. Mobley had kept him waiting over thirty minutes. He went to the reception desk. A bronzed blonde in a sleeveless mint green dress looked up.

“Can you buzz him again?” Louis asked her.

“I told you. He gets mad if I do that,” she said.

“Buzz him. I’ll protect you.”

The blonde gave him a smirk. She didn’t need protecting; her biceps rivaled his own. If he remembered correctly, Mobley kept a bench press in his office. He wondered if she worked out with him.

While he waited, Louis scanned the portraits on the far wall. It was a gallery of all the Lee County Sheriffs from the last two decades, all tight-lipped old white guys. A parade of pale stale males. . until you got to Lance Mobley with his windsurfer hair and Robert Redford jaw. Louis’s eyes went to the middle portrait. It was larger than the others with a fancier gilt frame. The gold plaque beneath read HOWARD DINKLE, SHERIFF 1962–1970.

Dinkle looked to be in his late fifties. He had been sheriff during the Kitty Jagger case. Probably dead by now.

“The sheriff will see you now.”

Louis went down the hall and tapped on the door. Mobley hollered back and he went inside.

Mobley’s leonine head was bent over his desk, a file spread in front of him. Louis glanced at the weight bench and he had a sudden image of the secretary laying flat on her back, dressed in hot pink spandex, sweating to the oldies. He had a second vision of Mobley on top of her.

He turned back to Mobley. On the wall behind him were the standard community recognition certificates and plaques, plus something that looked like a college degree. Louis squinted and could read the name of the school. Florida State University School of Law.

Mobley sat back, swinging gently in his chair. “This is interesting reading.”

“Is that the Jagger case file?”

Mobley nodded. “Had a damn hard time finding it after you called. Locating something in that shack they call a warehouse is like digging through an outhouse for used toilet paper.”

“Nice analogy,” Louis said.

“Why did you ask me to pull it?”

Louis pulled up a chair. He wasn’t sure how much to tell Mobley. He was no expert at legal maneuvering and wondered if he could hurt Susan’s case. “Cade claims Duvall gave him a lousy defense,” Louis said. “I just wanted to take a look.”

“You don’t believe him, do you?”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Mobley closed the file and stacked it on top of two others. He pushed the folders toward Louis.

“Okay, here’s the copies you wanted. Take a look-a quiet look, if you get my drift-but I doubt you’ll be able to tell whether Duvall did a good job or not. Takes a legal mind to be able to do that.”

Louis glanced at the diploma on the wall. Massage the ego.

“How about some help?” Louis asked.

Mobley caught the look at the diploma. “I’m not the person to ask, Kincaid. I’m on the other side here, remember?”

“Your part is done, Sheriff. It’s up to the lawyers now.”

“The lawyers,” Mobley said quietly. “Ever wonder what the world would be like if we didn’t have any lawyers?”

Louis ignored the comment.

“Okay, then let me ask you this,” Mobley went on. “Did you ever stop to think about what happens if you find out Duvall did fuck up the Jagger case? That gives your client more motive to kill him, doesn’t it?”

“Not if somebody else had a better reason.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“What if he didn’t do it?”

“He’s out now anyway, so who cares?”

“I do,” Louis said. “And you should.”

Mobley’s jaw twitched, but he just leaned back in the chair and leveled his eyes at Louis. “I don’t question any conviction without evidence to the contrary. Especially a case that happened when I was too young to care about anything other than getting laid.”