Thicker Than Water by P.J. Parrish Page A

Louis. “Ellie said you’re a private investigator. For whom?”
    â€œRonnie Cade.”
    â€œRonnie? He doesn’t have any money. He’s nothing but a lousy mow-and-blow guy. And his father is broke. You’re wasting your time, son.”
    Bernhardt made a point of looking at his watch. Louis felt himself starting to bristle.
    â€œJust because a man’s broke doesn’t mean he isn’t entitled to a decent defense,” Louis said.
    Bernhardt’s expression was piteous. “Oh, come on. Don’t start with that liberal claptrap.”
    â€œJack Cade—”
    â€œâ€”is a lying, murdering sonofabitch who should have been electrocuted twenty years ago. If he had, my partner would still be alive right now.”
    Bernhardt began rubbing vigorously at the spot between his eyebrows again.
    â€œYour partner was the one who got Cade the plea bargain that kept him alive,” Louis said. He could hear his words, but it was almost like someone else was saying them. Being on the other side was going to take some getting used to.
    â€œI don’t need you or anyone to remind me of that.” Bernhardt leaned forward. “Look, Cade is an ungrateful moron. He should have gotten down on his knees and kissed Spencer’s shoes. Do I think Cade shot him? Yes, I do. He’s as guilty of shooting Spencer as he was of killing that girl twenty years ago.”
    â€œYou weren’t involved in that case, Mr. Bernhardt ?” Louis asked.
    Bernhardt shook his head. “Spencer was working alone in those days. We got together about a year later. I would have never defended a man like Jack Cade. But Spencer, well, he never could resist a challenge.”
    â€œDo you think Cade really intended to sue your partner?”
    â€œNo, he intended to kill him. Revenge is a powerful, primitive emotion, and Jack Cade is a primitive man.”
    The phone intercom beeped. Bernhardt punched the button. The secretary’s voice came on. “Mr. Pearson’s here.”
    â€œSend him in,” Bernhardt said. He rose. “I’m sorry, but I have a client to see.”
    Louis pushed himself out of the chair. “Thanks for your cooperation,” he said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
    â€œOf course.”
    Louis left, passing a burly man in a business suit. The door closed behind him. Louis stood there for a moment, collecting his thoughts. What there was to collect anyway.
    He felt someone’s eyes on him and looked over to see the secretary staring at him.
    â€œDo you want to make another appointment?” she asked.
    â€œThink it will do me any good?”
    â€œNope.” The intercom buzzed. “Yes, Mr. Bernhardt?”
    â€œEllie, where’s my Rules of Court?”
    â€œOn the shelf where it always is, Mr. Bernhardt.”
    â€œNo, it’s not. I looked—”
    â€œThe shelf to your left, Mr. Bernhardt.”
    â€œWhat? Oh. Here it is.” He clicked off.
    She looked up at Louis. “His regular secretary is out on maternity leave. I’m filling in.”
    Something clicked in Louis’s head. Ellie . . . he remembered the name from the newspaper articles. Ellie Silvestri had been Duvall’s secretary.
    Louis watched as she busied herself with some papers. It occurred to him that she had the air of someone in mourning. The newspaper article said she had been with the firm for twenty-five years . . . a long time to work for one man, longer than most marriages. He suddenly remembered that Ellie Silvestri had found Duvall’s body when she came to work the next morning. Gunshot to the head. He knew what that could look like.
    â€œMrs. Silvestri—”
    She looked up at him, surprised he knew her name. “It’s Miss.”
    She had clear green eyes, unclouded by age. Eyes that probably didn’t miss much.
    â€œI was wondering if you’d be willing to answer a few questions,”