School Days Read Online Free Page A

I said.
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œNot really? How do you not really try a murder case?”
    â€œI guess I meant no, I haven’t,” Leeland said.
    â€œDo you know who’s prosecuting?”
    â€œBethel County District Attorney’s office.”
    â€œKnow the prosecutor?” I said.
    â€œHis name is Francis Cleary.”
    â€œBe interesting to know how many murder cases their guy has tried.”
    â€œI’m a damned good lawyer,” Leeland said. “I resent what you’re implying.”
    I nodded. Spreading good will wherever I went.
    â€œNo offense,” I said. “Did you get him a deal for copping?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œDid he get anything from the prosecution for confessing.”
    â€œHe confessed without coercion or enticement,” Leeland said, “to the Chief of Police.”
    â€œCromwell,” I said.
    â€œYes. You’ve met him.”
    I nodded.
    â€œFine law officer.”
    I nodded.
    â€œHow about the other kid,” I said, “Grant. He get any kind of deal for fingering Clark?”
    â€œI don’t represent him,” Leeland said.
    â€œWho does?”
    â€œFirm in Boston—Batson and Doyle.”
    â€œWho’s the attorney?” I said.
    â€œAlex Taglio.”
    â€œYou and he talked?”
    â€œWe have,” Leeland said. “We don’t entirely agree.”
    â€œWhat’s his plan?”
    â€œI’m afraid that’s confidential among attorneys.”
    â€œSure,” I said. “How’s the kid doing?”
    â€œHe seems very withdrawn,” Leeland said.
    â€œI can see why he might,” I said. “I’ll need to talk with him.”
    â€œHe really doesn’t have much to say,” Leeland said.
    â€œMaybe he will,” I said, “if he talks to someone who can at least entertain the possibility that he’s innocent.”
    â€œI’d prefer not,” Leeland said.
    â€œYou won’t set up a meeting?”
    â€œHis parents have requested that he see only them and me,” Leeland said.
    â€œThey think he’s guilty, too,” I said.
    â€œThey have taken him at his word,” Leeland said.
    â€œTrust is a wonderful thing,” I said.

7
    R ITA AND I browsed the food stands that lined both walls in Quincy Market in midafternoon, selected our lunches, and I paid for them. We took our food to the rotunda and sat among the tourists and suburban teenagers to dine.
    â€œWe may be the only residents of this city in the building,” I said.
    â€œI know it’s not hip,” Rita said. “But I kind of like it here. It’s very lively, and there’s lots of stuff to see.”
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    There were old people—almost certainly retired, they had the look—and white kids from Littleton and Plymouthwearing three-hundred-dollar sneakers and sloganed T-shirts and hats at odd angles, trying hard to look ghetto. There were harried-looking young men and women with strollers. There was a scattering of suits, mostly young, and noticeable numbers of solemn Asian tourists.
    â€œThere’s not much to know,” Rita said, “about Richard Leeland. Comes from money. Yale Law School. Joined his father’s law firm. His father also comes from money. Nobody has to work very hard. Father’s semiretired. Richard does the heavy lifting.”
    â€œWhich is?” I said.
    â€œReal estate closings, wills, that stuff,” Rita said. “No criminal experience. You know who the prosecutor is?”
    â€œFrancis Cleary,” I said.
    â€œOh, Jesus,” Rita said. “He’ll eat your guy alive.”
    â€œHe’s good?”
    â€œNot only good but zealous. He started life as a Jesuit priest, then left and became a lawyer. He’s the chief AD in Bethel County.”
    â€œNot driven by greed,” I said.
    Rita smiled. She had a slice of pizza, from the pointed end of