I don’t want to be rude, but I’m on holiday and—”
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” she said, not able to resist.
“Last night. Four murders. Terrance Wyler, the food guy who was dating that movie star, was stabbed to death in his kitchen.” Panic was rising in Armitage’s voice.
“Dana’s coming back from camp this afternoon. I have to pick her up.” Raglan went back to the living room. Sun was hitting the place on the cushions where her body had made an indent.
“I hate to bug you. But you know how short I am on experienced Crowns,” Armitage said.
It was true, and partly Raglan’s fault. Last spring she’d fired two of the top Crowns, Phil Cutter and Barb Gild, when they’d gone rogue. “How about Fernandez?” she said, naming one of the best young Crowns in the office.
“Back in Chile, visiting his in-laws.”
Raglan asked about a few others she thought would be up to the task. All were either on holiday or assigned to the other three homicides.
“I know you’re not doing any more murder trials,” Armitage said. “I just need you to get things rolling. You know how important the first few hours can be.”
Armitage was right. It was crucial to have a Crown who knew what she was doing on the case right from the get-go.
“I’m picking Dana up at twelve-thirty at Yorkdale,” she said, referring to a shopping mall in the north part of the city.
“Give me one hour.”
Raglan sighed. “Who’s the OIC?” If the officer in charge of the case was lousy, something like this could turn into a nightmare.
“Greene, Ari Greene,” Armitage said. “You ever done anything with him?”
“A few things.” Raglan was glad he couldn’t see her blushing. She looked at her cooling latte and her unread novel, which had folded back shut.
“Okay,” she said. “You’ve got me. One hour.”
12
“We’re here to see Phil Cutter,” Daniel Kennicott said.
He and Detective Greene were standing at the ultramodern reception desk of the law firm of Cutter & Gild, Specialists in Criminal Law. The thin blond receptionist reached for a sleek phone.
“Gents, it’s been too long,” a voice called from down the hallway before the receptionist could say a word.
Kennicott looked over to see Cutter barreling toward them, his voice booming out ahead of him. As he approached, Kennicott was taken aback by his appearance. For years Phil Cutter and his partner Barb Gild were Crown Attorneys at the Downtown Toronto office, and Cutter was renowned for his cheap suits and squeaky soft-soled shoes. Now he wore a crisp blue Armani suit, matching tie and pocket handkerchief, wingtip loafers.
Cutter grabbed his hand and did the same with Detective Greene. “Recession’s a great time to start a law practice. We tied this place up for five years, option for another five. Landlords were begging for us to come in. And best of all, crime’s way up.”
“Lucky for you,” Greene said. Kennicott saw Greene’s mouth turn in a subtle smirk.
A female voice from down the hall caught Kennicott’s attention. “Ari, Daniel. How are you?”
It was Barb Gild. If Cutter had changed his look from high school vice principal to downtown lawyer, Gild had gone from mousy librarian to high-end fashionista. Gone were her flat shoes, bulky sweaters, greasy hair tied behind her head, and the what-me-wear-makeup look. Now she wore high heels, and a pearl necklace swished across herpatterned silk dress. Her cheeks were dabbed with rouge, and her red hair was a new shade of auburn, expertly coifed.
Gild approached and shook hands.
There was a moment of awkward silence. Cutter had been a hard-nosed prosecutor famous for his take-no-prisoners attitude, his nonstop nervous energy, and his outrageously loud voice. Gild was the office research guru. Last May they were pushed out because of their overzealous efforts to gain a conviction in a murder trial. It had been Greene and Kennicott’s case.
Cutter clapped his hands
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” she said, not able to resist.
“Last night. Four murders. Terrance Wyler, the food guy who was dating that movie star, was stabbed to death in his kitchen.” Panic was rising in Armitage’s voice.
“Dana’s coming back from camp this afternoon. I have to pick her up.” Raglan went back to the living room. Sun was hitting the place on the cushions where her body had made an indent.
“I hate to bug you. But you know how short I am on experienced Crowns,” Armitage said.
It was true, and partly Raglan’s fault. Last spring she’d fired two of the top Crowns, Phil Cutter and Barb Gild, when they’d gone rogue. “How about Fernandez?” she said, naming one of the best young Crowns in the office.
“Back in Chile, visiting his in-laws.”
Raglan asked about a few others she thought would be up to the task. All were either on holiday or assigned to the other three homicides.
“I know you’re not doing any more murder trials,” Armitage said. “I just need you to get things rolling. You know how important the first few hours can be.”
Armitage was right. It was crucial to have a Crown who knew what she was doing on the case right from the get-go.
“I’m picking Dana up at twelve-thirty at Yorkdale,” she said, referring to a shopping mall in the north part of the city.
“Give me one hour.”
Raglan sighed. “Who’s the OIC?” If the officer in charge of the case was lousy, something like this could turn into a nightmare.
“Greene, Ari Greene,” Armitage said. “You ever done anything with him?”
“A few things.” Raglan was glad he couldn’t see her blushing. She looked at her cooling latte and her unread novel, which had folded back shut.
“Okay,” she said. “You’ve got me. One hour.”
12
“We’re here to see Phil Cutter,” Daniel Kennicott said.
He and Detective Greene were standing at the ultramodern reception desk of the law firm of Cutter & Gild, Specialists in Criminal Law. The thin blond receptionist reached for a sleek phone.
“Gents, it’s been too long,” a voice called from down the hallway before the receptionist could say a word.
Kennicott looked over to see Cutter barreling toward them, his voice booming out ahead of him. As he approached, Kennicott was taken aback by his appearance. For years Phil Cutter and his partner Barb Gild were Crown Attorneys at the Downtown Toronto office, and Cutter was renowned for his cheap suits and squeaky soft-soled shoes. Now he wore a crisp blue Armani suit, matching tie and pocket handkerchief, wingtip loafers.
Cutter grabbed his hand and did the same with Detective Greene. “Recession’s a great time to start a law practice. We tied this place up for five years, option for another five. Landlords were begging for us to come in. And best of all, crime’s way up.”
“Lucky for you,” Greene said. Kennicott saw Greene’s mouth turn in a subtle smirk.
A female voice from down the hall caught Kennicott’s attention. “Ari, Daniel. How are you?”
It was Barb Gild. If Cutter had changed his look from high school vice principal to downtown lawyer, Gild had gone from mousy librarian to high-end fashionista. Gone were her flat shoes, bulky sweaters, greasy hair tied behind her head, and the what-me-wear-makeup look. Now she wore high heels, and a pearl necklace swished across herpatterned silk dress. Her cheeks were dabbed with rouge, and her red hair was a new shade of auburn, expertly coifed.
Gild approached and shook hands.
There was a moment of awkward silence. Cutter had been a hard-nosed prosecutor famous for his take-no-prisoners attitude, his nonstop nervous energy, and his outrageously loud voice. Gild was the office research guru. Last May they were pushed out because of their overzealous efforts to gain a conviction in a murder trial. It had been Greene and Kennicott’s case.
Cutter clapped his hands
Similar Books
