Where Serpents Lie (Revised March 2013) by T. Jefferson Parker Page A

there yapping to each other on camera behind Donna Mason, not realizing they were on.
    “You’re gonna have to get those guys some media grooming, if you’re going to put them on the air so often,” said Burns, one of Sheriff Wade’s insiders.
    “Least they weren’t drooling on Donna Mason,” said Undersheriff Vega.
    “Probably dry by then,” said Undersheriff Woolton.
    “Naughton takes care of media drool off-screen,” said Ishmael. “With Mason, anyway.”
    “Just part of the job,” I said.
    “You’re a hard worker,” he said.
    “And look what I get for it,” I said, turning my blue-black, bandaged cheek toward him.
    “You see Van Exel bump that ref last night?” said Rafter, head of Melinda’s unit.
    “They’ll cook him for that,” said Woolton.
    “Ten-hut,” said Vega. “Ish, why don’t you start us off with the CAP news.”
    “You got it,” said Ishmael. “Congrats to Terry’s unit for the bust up in Orange. They’ll arraign Sharpe and the mommy later this morning over in court three, and I’ve got Reynolds asking for no bail on either. The Sharpes got Kleo Debelius for counsel—they’d obviously been saving up their money—and he’ll knock it down to half a mil or so. Higher the bail the better—we’re figuring the happy couple as a flight risk and hopefully Honorable Ogden will see it our way. Reynolds and I listened to the tapes last night, the ones we got out of Sharpe’s house, and they’re golden. Between Terry’s testimony and the tapes, Reynolds hopes to throw a large net—child abuse, child endangerment, sexual exploitation, pimping and pandering, enticement of minor, keeping or admitting to a house of prostitution—there’s plenty of sentence enhancements for under the age of fourteen, so they’ll heave the whole book at the Sharpes. We figure Debelius will plea down everything he can, but Reynolds says we’ll hold tight. Honorable would probably like to get some mileage out of this one—just like we would—he’s on the election block next year. Next, we just got the FBI profile of The Horridus, so—”
    “—Excuse me, Jordan,” I said, “but what about the girl? Is Reynolds talking charges in juvenile court, or testimony?”
    “Both. They’ll plead her, then slap her wrist and let her help send Mommy and Daddy up the river.”
    “We’ve got some say in that, you know.”
    Ishmael nodded impatiently. “Well, say it then, Naughton.”
    “I don’t think we should prosecute her: Her parents made her what she was. She’s only ten, for Chrissakes.”
    “Noble sentiment,” said Ishmael, “and I’m sure it would sound real good on CNB, but Reynolds needs some leverage. We can’t let her go, then expect her to sink her parents.”
    “She’s not going anywhere but the hall, Jordan. That’s enough motivation for her to cooperate, I’d say. You been there lately?”
    “She’s a prostitute,” said Ishmael, “juvenile or not.”
    “Ish has a point,” said Woolton.
    “She’s also a kid,” I said.
    “Amen,” said Rafter. “Ought to be out playing girls’ hoops, but she’s cooped up turning tricks for her dad. Give her a break.”
    “Well,” said Sheriff Wade, “is she a cooperative kid or not?”
    “I’ll know this afternoon,” I said.
    “Table it until then,” he said. “Ishmael, ask for a continuance over at Juvenile while we sort this out. See how the girl’s going to act. Terry, see me after the interview. Okay. Onward to the wholesome world of The Horridus. Naughton, what do we have?”

    I passed out copies of the profile. It was a stripped-down version, without Mike Strickley’s opening or closing remarks. The room was quiet, with an occasional sigh or “mmm.”
    “How do they come up with this stuff?” asked Burns. He’s old school, but he’s tough and optimistic.
    “It’s easy for them,” said Ishmael. “They just think like creeps.”
    Sheriff Wade stared down at his page and shook his head. “Naughton? What