A Criminal Defense by Steven Gore Page A

We’re moving him out of here in the next few weeks. He’s about to start doing some really hard time in supermax. Maybe up in Pelican Bay.”
    Taylor pointed toward the security station. “Why don’t you go through and I’ll take you to him.”
    Donnally emptied his pockets, took off his belt and shoes, and put everything in a plastic tray. He waited until it got moving toward the scanner tunnel, then stepped through the metal detector.
    Taylor met him on the other side and walked with him into the main building and up to his second floor office. A middle-aged prisoner with scraggly white hair sat handcuffed to a chair, a soiled manila envelope lying on his lap, a cane leaning against the wall next to him. A guard wearing a protective vest and a shielded riot helmet stood across from him.
    Taylor introduced Donnally to Madison, then uncuffed him and led them inside.
    â€œYou guys can talk in here,” Taylor said, then directed Donnally to his chair behind the desk and Madison to the one in the front. He pointed at the phone. “Call the operator and they’ll page me when you’re done. Just hit zero.” Taylor then nodded toward a red alarm button on the wall next to the desk. Donnally got the message and nodded back.
    Donnally waited until Taylor closed the office door behind him, then said, “I know who you are and you know who I am, so let’s skip the preliminaries.”
    Madison smiled. “You’re just as advertised.” He tilted his head toward the window overlooking the rows of cell blocks. “Some guys remembered you from your cop days.”
    Donnally didn’t respond, just stared at him.
    Madison nodded. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. No preliminaries.” He hunched forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, looking up from under his eyebrows. “I’ll start with the punch line. Hamlin hired me to ride the beef.”
    Donnally didn’t know what to make of the claim. The problem with the truth and nothing but the truth is it sometimes sounded like a big lie.
    And this sounded like a big lie.
    â€œWhy would you take the job?” Donnally asked. “Twenty-five to life would pretty much take you past retirement age, maybe even to an eternity in a pine box.”
    Madison leaned back, turned the side of his head toward Donnally, then separated the hair above his ear.
    Donnally could make out a four-inch scar.
    â€œBrain tumor. The doctors at the county hospital took it out and I did radiation and chemo, but it came back again. They said I had no more than a year to live. I figured, why not? I’d get better medical treatment in here than on the outside and Hamlin said he’d keep me happy. Money every month. Nice TV in my cell. Any kind of drugs I want, prescription”—he flashed a grin—“or otherwise. Hamlin has a lot of old clients in here, guys with connections. They can smuggle in anything. Anything at all. It’s just like being on the outside.”
    â€œBut you’re still alive.”
    Madison made a smacking sound with his lips, then said, “I hadn’t counted on that. The law changed and the government started letting prisoners be in clinical trials. I hit a home run doing one of them and went into remission.”
    This was the only thing Madison had said so far that seemed credible. After accusations of reckless experimentation, the Department of Corrections had barred prisoners from participating in trials. The legislature had reversed the ban a few years earlier.
    Madison slid the manila envelope across the desk.
    â€œThe report of my last PET-CT is in there. Clean as clean could be.”
    Donnally read it and handed it back.
    â€œIf you didn’t do the crime, who did?”
    Donnally guessed what Madison’s answer would be, true or not, assuming that Madison knew the homicide statistics as well as he did.
    â€œThe woman’s husband,” Madison said.