Executive Privilege

Little was quiet for a moment. Brad could almost hear him weighing the pros and cons of confiding in his new attorney.

“All right, I’ll take a chance. At this point, as you so aptly pointed out, I’ve got nothing to lose.” Little leaned forward. “On the night Laurie Erickson was kidnapped and murdered I was with somebody.”

“So you’ve said, but I need a name and a way to contact the witness.”

“Her name is Peggy Farmer.”

Brad wrote the name down on his legal pad. “Do you know how I can find her?” he asked.

“Yes, I do. She’s in the Deschutes National Forest about five miles from the parking lot of the Reynolds Campgound. On the evening the police insist I was kidnapping Laurie Erickson I was disemboweling Peggy.”

Brad’s stomach shifted and he felt like he might throw up. Little noticed his discomfort and smiled.

“She was camping with her boyfriend. They were deep in the woods; a very athletic couple. I followed them, eliminated her friend while he was sleeping, and played with Peggy until I grew bored. The confusion arises because no one has discovered the bodies. They’re listed as missing. There have been search parties, but I did a very good job of hiding them.”

“Mr. Little,” Brad said, trying very hard to keep his voice steady, “if Miss Farmer is dead how can she help your alibi defense?”

“You know about my pinkie collection?”

Brad nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Bile was already rising in his throat.

“If a forensic expert examined my collection he would find a pinkie belonging to Peggy, but he wouldn’t find one belonging to Laurie Erickson.”

An image of a Mason jar filled with pinkies flashed in Brad’s mind and he felt faint.

“Peggy’s roommate will tell you that Peggy and her boyfriend went camping Wednesday afternoon and were supposed to come home Friday night because they had a wedding to attend on Saturday. I worked Thursday and Friday. I called in sick on Wednesday. If I killed Peggy it would have to have been on Wednesday, and Laurie was snatched on Wednesday evening. I couldn’t have been in two places at once.”

This was way more than Brad had bargained for. He was supposed to be reviewing contracts and checking property records, not sitting inches away from a lunatic with a pinkie collection.

“I see this is a bit much for you,” Little said kindly. “You can ask the guard for some water.”

“I’ll be fine,” Brad insisted though he felt anything but.

“You don’t have to be brave, Mr. Miller. We all fall apart if our situation proves to be too much for us. Believe me, I’ve seen it firsthand.” Little got a wistful expression on his face. “Some of them cry and beg right away. Others curse and threaten. They try to be strong. But even the strong beg when the pain is too much.”

“Okay,” Brad said as he tried to maintain his dignity. “I’m going to leave now.”

“I’m sorry if I upset you. But I must remind you that you are my lawyer and you have a duty to give me a vigorous defense. Anything less and you could be disbarred.”

“Look, Mr. Little, this is the firm’s case. I’m just working on it. I’ll file a brief for you on the issues raised at your hearing but that’s it.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve given you a way to prove my i

“You wouldn’t get anywhere with a suit or a complaint.”

“Maybe, but you’ll be front-page news because I am. No one wants a coward for a lawyer. Think over what I just told you then get back in touch and I’ll tell you how to find my lovely souvenirs.”

Brad walked back to his car in a daze and had trouble concentrating on the road during the return trip to Portland. The visions in his head shifted back and forth between Clarence Little’s collection of severed pinkies and Peggy Farmer’s disemboweled corpse. His emotions swung between anger at Little for putting him in a bind, an irrational fear that the convict would escape from death row and torture him to death, and curiosity about the truth of his client’s claims. Who better to frame for a murder than a serial killer? No one would take the protestations of a homicidal maniac seriously.

Halfway to Portland, Brad dialed his cell phone.

“Gi

“Hey, it’s Brad, Brad Miller.”

“Hi, what’s up?”

“Do you have time to meet me for coffee?”

“I’m kind of busy. Paul Rostoff gave me a rush job.”

“This is important. I’m really desperate for some advice.”

There was dead air for a moment and Brad held his breath. He’d called Gi

“I guess I can use a break.”

“Can you meet me at the coffee shop on Broadway and Washington?”

“Brad, this is Portland. I can see at least a million places to get coffee from my window. Why don’t we meet someplace closer to the office?”

“I don’t want to risk ru

“What’s going on, Brad?”

“I’ll tell you in twenty-five minutes.”

Gi

“I feel like Mata Hari,” Gi

Brad looked around to make sure that no one from the firm was in the shop.

“I’m going to tell you about a confidential communication I just received from a client. You’re bound by the attorney-client confidence rules because we both work for Reed, Briggs, right?”

“Yeah, that’s how I understand it.”

“Because you can’t talk about what I tell you to anyone.”

Gi

“This isn’t fu

“Sorry, but you’re so serious. I thought I’d lighten things up.”

“You won’t be laughing when you hear what I have to say. I just got back from meeting Clarence Little at the state pen.”

“What’s he like?” Gi

“He’s worse than I imagined,” Brad answered. Then he told Gi

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Gi

“I don’t know. The guy’s a freak. When he told me he’d disemboweled that poor girl he didn’t show an ounce of emotion. I thought I was going to throw up. I’m sure he found my discomfort amusing. Little is sick and he’s a sadist.”

“But is he a liar?”

“I don’t know, but if I had to bet I’d guess he was telling the truth. He seemed genuinely offended at being convicted for something he claims he didn’t do, and he was adamant about proving his i

“Why did you ask me here?” Gi

“I don’t know what to do. My assignment is to research and file Little’s appeal. It’s not to prove he’s not guilty. And, anyway, legally, his guilt or i

“So don’t do it. Just write the brief.”

“Can I just do that? I am his lawyer. Wouldn’t I be incompetent if Little gave me proof of his i