Sudden Death Read Online Free Page A

arraignment. Kevin knows my feelings about defending guilty clients, feelings that he shares, and he’s relieved when I tell him that I’ve made no decision on whether to take on Schilling as a client.
    We both leave at nine-forty-five, which is when Edna is arriving. I’ve always felt that a secretary should arrive very early and have the office up and running by the time everyone else arrives. Unfortunately, Edna has always felt pretty much the opposite, so basically, she comes in whenever she wants. Though she is one of the financial beneficiaries of the commission from the Willie Miller case, I can honestly say that the money hasn’t changed her. She’s worked for me for five years and is just as unproductive today as before she was rich.
    I briefly tell her what is going on; she’s heard absolutely nothing about Schilling or the murder. Never let it be said that Edna has her finger anywhere near the public pulse.
    Schilling is being held at County Jail, which is why an entire media city has set itself up outside. Having become all too familiar with this process, I’ve learned about a back entrance which allows me to avoid the crush, and I make use of it this time.
    Guarding the door is Luther Hendricks, a court security officer who carries a calendar with him so he can count the days until retirement. “You sure stepped in shit this time,” he says as he lets me in. I know he’s talking about this case, so I don’t even bother to check my shoes.
    Nothing moves quickly within a prison bureaucracy, and the high-profile nature of this case doesn’t change that. It takes forty-five minutes for me to be brought back to the room where I will see Kenny Schilling and then another twenty minutes waiting for him to arrive.
    He’s brought in cuffed and dressed in prison drab. I had thought he looked bad huddled in the corner of his living room yesterday, but compared to this, he actually appeared triumphant. It looks as if fear and despair are waging a pitched battle to take over his face. The process of losing one’s freedom, even overnight, can be devastating and humiliating. For somebody like Kenny, it’s often much worse, because he’s fallen from such a high perch.
    “How are you doing, Kenny?” is my clever opening. “Are they treating you okay?”
    “They ain’t beating me, if that’s what you mean. They tried to talk to me, but I said no.”
    “Good.”
    “They took some blood out of my arm. They said they had the right. And I didn’t care, because all they’re gonna find is blood. I don’t take no drugs or anything.”
    They actually don’t have that right, unless they had probable cause to believe that drug usage had something to do with the murder. I have heard nothing about any suspicions that drugs were involved in this case, but then again, I know almost nothing about this case. “You’re sure you’ve never taken any kind of drugs?” I ask.
    He shakes his head firmly. “No way; I just told you that.” Then, “Man, you gotta get me out of here. I got money… whatever it takes. I just can’t stay in here.”
    I explain that we won’t know the likelihood of bail until the district attorney files charges, but that those charges are likely to be severe, and bail will be very difficult. I’m not sure he really hears me or understands what I’m saying; he needs to cling to a hope that this is all going to blow over and he’ll be back signing autographs instead of giving fingerprints.
    I ask him to tell me everything he knows about the night that Preston disappeared. “I didn’t kill him,” he says. “I swear to God.”
    I nod. “Good. That covers what you didn’t do. Now let’s focus on what you did do. How well did you know him?”
    He shrugs. “Pretty well. I mean, we weren’t best friends or anything—he played for the Jets. But in the off-season a lot of guys hung out…”
    “So you hung out with him that night?” I ask.
    He shrugs. “Not just him… a whole bunch of