Executive Privilege

“Your best…” Brad shook his head, thoroughly confused. “What’s going on here?”

“I thought you’d expect someone a little weird and I didn’t want to disappoint you. It was just harmless fun. I really am sorry I jerked you around.”

“I don’t appreciate being a mental hacky sack.”

“I said I’m sorry. It’s just that it really is boring sitting on death row all day with nothing to do. This was just a way of killing time.”

“So the pinkie thing was bullshit?”

Little sobered immediately. “No, no, that’s real. Get someone to fingerprint the pinkies and you’ll see I’m one hundred percent i

Brad sat down. “No more nonsense. Where are the pinkies?”

“They’ll be a little difficult to find. Tell me, are you fond of the outdoors?”

“Not particularly. I’m basically a city boy.”

“Well, I’m a country boy, and I love to hike and hunt and shoot the rapids. There are so many wonderful wilderness areas in Oregon. You’ll thank me for introducing you to one of them.”

Oh, shit, thought Brad, whose idea of a wilderness adventure was a walk through Central Park.

“You buried the pinkies in the woods?”

Little nodded. “I was bringing them a new companion when I stumbled across Peggy and her friend.” He looked sheepish. “I hadn’t pla

“The fingers are buried near the bodies?”

“You’re definitely much faster on the uptake than my trial attorney. I’m certain you would have won my case had you been representing me. Then we wouldn’t have to be going through all this trouble to prove my i

“Is this treasure hunt going to involve an overnight stay in the woods?” asked Brad, who was starting to worry about bears and mountain lions.

“No, nothing like that. I told you, Peggy left Portland on Wednesday and had made camp when I found her. The trailhead is a few hours from Portland, and I’ve buried my cache near a waterfall about five miles in on a side trail. The bodies are very close by. Say hello for me, won’t you?”

“You know I might have to give the authorities the location of the bodies and turn over the pinkies to the police?”

“I authorize you to do whatever is necessary to catch the son of a bitch who framed me.” Suddenly a dreamy look suffused Little’s face. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if he ended up on death row, say in the cell next to mine. That would create some fascinating possibilities.”

Chapter Eighteen

Sunday morning, Brad and Gi

“Does this look anything like the Midwest?” Brad joked.

“Are you kidding? A five-story building passes for a mountain where I come from. This is awesome.”

“Long Island’s flat as a pancake, too. It’s where the glaciers stopped. When they retreated they turned the whole place into a parking lot. And I can’t remember seeing this much green outside of Saint Patrick’s Day.”

Gi

“Start looking for signs for the Reynolds Campground. It should be on our left.”

Gi

“There it is,” she said, pointing to a highway sign that was posted just in front of a gravel road.

Brad made the turn. A quarter mile later they found themselves in a primitive parking lot. A wooden sign pointed them toward a dirt path that served as the trailhead for part of the Pacific Crest Trail that wound through the Mount Jefferson Wilderness on its way from Mexico to Canada. Little had instructed Brad to follow the Pacific Crest Trail for a half mile before turning off onto another trail that would eventually take them-if Brad’s client was to be believed-to two decomposing bodies and a Mason jar filled with pinkies.

Brad and Gi

The day was perfect for hiking. When they’d left Portland it had been warm and unusually muggy, but they were almost three thousand feet above sea level and the air was cooler. As soon as they were in the forest the shadows cast by the leafy canopy lowered the temperature some more. Even so, Brad’s lack of exercise began to tell after they’d walked only a mile and he began sweating and taking swigs of bottled water.

“How much farther?” he asked a little while later.

“You asked me that same question ten minutes ago. I feel like I’m stuck in a station wagon with an eight-year-old. ‘Are we there yet, Mommy?’”

“Give me a break. I’m not used to jungle treks.”

“Well, Jane, I’d guess we’ve got another thirty minutes before we get to the side trail to the waterfall. Think you can make it, or do I have to have the apes carry you?”

“Very fu

The area around the waterfall was idyllic. Most of the sun’s rays were blocked by the trees that stood on the crest of the high cliff where the water began to tumble down, leaving the ground in shadow. Green clumps of iridescent moss clung to the shiny black rock face, and a mist formed where the cascading water splashed into the pool at the bottom. They ate their lunch sitting on a log with their feet dangling in space as they watched the swirling stream formed by the falling water rush by with a soft shushing sound.

Brad wasn’t so certain that it was a good idea to eat so soon before digging up a moldering corpse, but he was starving and too exhausted to pass up food. He decided that he’d deal with a queasy stomach when the time came. He still wasn’t completely convinced that they would find anything anyway and he occasionally flashed on a chuckling Clarence Little brightening the days of his fellow death row residents with his hilarious tale of the gullible lawyer and the phantom pinkies.

“Have you thought about what we’re going to do if we find the bodies or the pinkies?” Gi

“What do you mean?”

“Do we have to tell the police where they are?”

“I guess Susan Tuchman will make that decision. We’ll have to tell her what Little’s told us if we find anything that supports his story. But I did do some research, so I can advise her if she asks me what we should do.

“There’s a split of opinion about whether we have to call the cops. If we take possession of the pinkies we’ll probably have to tell the police about them eventually, but we should have a reasonable amount of time to have a private forensic expert print them. I’m not sure about the bodies. We’ll know where they are, but we won’t be in possession of them.”