gray and fell unkempt around a craggy face. Lindy could smell a mixture of tobacco smoke and burned food coming through the screen. She thought of rats.
The woman looked Lindy up and down. “You don’t look like a lawyer.”
“I went to law school and passed the bar and everything.”
Another voice, a man’s voice from within said, “Let her in, Alice.”
The woman unlatched the screen door and pushed it open slightly. Lindy pulled it open the rest of the way herself.
She walked into a dark house where all the windows were closed up and curtained. A single lamp on a table provided the only illumination.
4.
“Mr. DiCinni, you can’t hide forever.”
They were sitting now in what would have been called the living room. But the place didn’t look right for living. More like existing.
“Why not?” Drake DiCinni said. “Whoever wrote that down as some law?” DiCinni had a jutting forehead, was half bald, and wore what hair he had left close to the skin. He looked like he was wearing a rust-colored skull cap. His close-set eyes challenged her from above a small nose, which looked like it had been broken and not set properly.
The woman called Alice sat in a plastic chair near the kitchen. She had not bothered to introduce herself, nor had Drake DiCinni explained the relationship.
“The police will be looking for you,” Lindy said.
“Why? I didn’t shoot anybody.”
“Your son did. They’ll want to talk to you.”
“Everybody’s gonna want to talk to me. Isn’t that the way it goes? Shouldn’t I be on Larry King by now? Somebody gets shot in this country, somebody else gets to be a celebrity.”
“Your son is facing multiple murder charges, Mr. DiCinni. He’s going to need help. Your help.”
“I can’t help him.”
“He can’t help him,”Alice said.
“Alice, I can handle this.”
“My house.”
“Just let me.” He looked at Lindy, his eyes hollow. “I don’t want to testify in court or anything.”
“This is your son we’re talking about, sir. His life.”
“His life is over, don’t you get that? I tried. His whole life I tried. After his mother ran out, I tried. After he got in trouble at every school he ever went to, I tried. But he’s bad. He was born bad.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“You got any kids?”
Lindy shook her head.
“Then don’t tell me. I got the blood of six people on my hands, ’cause I brought him into the world.”
“You really should go,” Alice said.
“No,” Lindy said. “Not yet.”
With a sigh, DiCinni looked at Alice. “Let me talk to her.”
“Go ahead, if you want to.”
“Alone.”
Alice scowled at Lindy. “I don’t like this.”
Drake turned in his chair. Lindy saw a blue tattoo on the back of his neck. A spiderweb. “It’ll be all right,” Drake said.
“I’ll be in the back,”Alice said. “You need me, holler.”
I ’ m not going to bite him, lady .
The woman in the gray dress walked out of the room, dripping attitude.
“So what do you want?” DiCinni said.
Lindy took a legal pad out of her briefcase and clicked open a ballpoint pen. “Start by telling me about Darren, his mother, you, his birth. Start there.”
DiCinni stared into space, his lips tightening. “His mother ran out. When he was barely a year old. What kind of a woman does that?”
“What was her name?”
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Just the name?”
“Look it up.”
Was this going to be the drill? She’d ask a question and get a head butt in return? One of her old law professors, Everett Woodard, used to tell the class you shouldn’t rep somebody unless you walked a mile in his moccasins. Tried to get in his head, understand his life situation. Same for key witnesses. Do that,Woodard used to say, and you’ll be well ahead of the other guy.
She tried to put herself in Drake DiCinni’s moccasins. The guy’s son had just murdered six people. Something that bad happens to a man, he’s going to be
The woman looked Lindy up and down. “You don’t look like a lawyer.”
“I went to law school and passed the bar and everything.”
Another voice, a man’s voice from within said, “Let her in, Alice.”
The woman unlatched the screen door and pushed it open slightly. Lindy pulled it open the rest of the way herself.
She walked into a dark house where all the windows were closed up and curtained. A single lamp on a table provided the only illumination.
4.
“Mr. DiCinni, you can’t hide forever.”
They were sitting now in what would have been called the living room. But the place didn’t look right for living. More like existing.
“Why not?” Drake DiCinni said. “Whoever wrote that down as some law?” DiCinni had a jutting forehead, was half bald, and wore what hair he had left close to the skin. He looked like he was wearing a rust-colored skull cap. His close-set eyes challenged her from above a small nose, which looked like it had been broken and not set properly.
The woman called Alice sat in a plastic chair near the kitchen. She had not bothered to introduce herself, nor had Drake DiCinni explained the relationship.
“The police will be looking for you,” Lindy said.
“Why? I didn’t shoot anybody.”
“Your son did. They’ll want to talk to you.”
“Everybody’s gonna want to talk to me. Isn’t that the way it goes? Shouldn’t I be on Larry King by now? Somebody gets shot in this country, somebody else gets to be a celebrity.”
“Your son is facing multiple murder charges, Mr. DiCinni. He’s going to need help. Your help.”
“I can’t help him.”
“He can’t help him,”Alice said.
“Alice, I can handle this.”
“My house.”
“Just let me.” He looked at Lindy, his eyes hollow. “I don’t want to testify in court or anything.”
“This is your son we’re talking about, sir. His life.”
“His life is over, don’t you get that? I tried. His whole life I tried. After his mother ran out, I tried. After he got in trouble at every school he ever went to, I tried. But he’s bad. He was born bad.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“You got any kids?”
Lindy shook her head.
“Then don’t tell me. I got the blood of six people on my hands, ’cause I brought him into the world.”
“You really should go,” Alice said.
“No,” Lindy said. “Not yet.”
With a sigh, DiCinni looked at Alice. “Let me talk to her.”
“Go ahead, if you want to.”
“Alone.”
Alice scowled at Lindy. “I don’t like this.”
Drake turned in his chair. Lindy saw a blue tattoo on the back of his neck. A spiderweb. “It’ll be all right,” Drake said.
“I’ll be in the back,”Alice said. “You need me, holler.”
I ’ m not going to bite him, lady .
The woman in the gray dress walked out of the room, dripping attitude.
“So what do you want?” DiCinni said.
Lindy took a legal pad out of her briefcase and clicked open a ballpoint pen. “Start by telling me about Darren, his mother, you, his birth. Start there.”
DiCinni stared into space, his lips tightening. “His mother ran out. When he was barely a year old. What kind of a woman does that?”
“What was her name?”
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Just the name?”
“Look it up.”
Was this going to be the drill? She’d ask a question and get a head butt in return? One of her old law professors, Everett Woodard, used to tell the class you shouldn’t rep somebody unless you walked a mile in his moccasins. Tried to get in his head, understand his life situation. Same for key witnesses. Do that,Woodard used to say, and you’ll be well ahead of the other guy.
She tried to put herself in Drake DiCinni’s moccasins. The guy’s son had just murdered six people. Something that bad happens to a man, he’s going to be
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