Thicker Than Water Read Online Free PDF Page A

do that.
    â€œAll right. Let’s go,” she said, pivoting to the door.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Louis said.
    She led Louis to a wood-and-fern bar near the courthouse called The Guilty Party. Susan left to make a call. Louis waited, stirring three packets of sugar into his coffee. He glanced around the cramped room. It was packed with blue-suited lawyers and grim civilians wearing jury buttons.
    When she came back to the table, she sat down with an irritated sigh and took a quick drink of her coffee.
    â€œProblem back at the office?” Louis asked politely.
    â€œLook, Mr. Kincaid, I don’t have time to sit around in cafes sipping cappucinos.”
    â€œIt’s just bad bar coffee.”
    â€œLet’s just get to the point,” she said. “What did Jack Cade tell you?”
    Louis sat back in his chair. “Not much. That he didn’t kill Spencer Duvall.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œThat he didn’t rape and kill that girl twenty years ago either.”
    She was sitting with her back to the window and he couldn’t make out much of her features in the glare of the sun—except for her frown. That he could see clearly.
    â€œWhy would you ask him about that?” she asked.
    â€œThe man was convicted. Why wouldn’t I?”
    â€œIt’s totally irrelevant. Surely, even a PI can see that.”
    He let the barb go. “Curiosity then, I guess.”
    She was squinting at him, like she thought he was crazy. She started to say something but was interrupted by her beeper going off. With an impatient sigh, she grabbed it. Her expression changed as she read the number, her mouth dropping open slightly. In the back light, Louis couldn’t tell if she was upset or just surprised.
    â€œExcuse me,” she muttered, rising quickly.
    Louis watched as she went to the pay phone again. She punched in a number and with a look at Louis, turned her back. A minute later she was back.
    â€œI’m sorry—” she began.
    â€œWould you mind moving your chair?” Louis asked.
    She looked at him. “What?”
    He pointed at the window. “The glare from the window. I like to see who I’m talking to.”
    She craned her neck to look at the window then back at Louis. When she shifted her chair into the shadows Louis could see that something had changed, like a mask had slipped, leaving her face unprotected.
    Back in the police station lobby, she had seemed older, pushing forty or so. But he could see now she was probably younger, with one of those hard-to-guess faces that some women were blessed with. Smooth skin maybe a half-shade darker than his own tan, a round face with a high forehead, generous mouth and eyes the shape and color of toasted almonds. Her hair . . . maybe that was what made her look older. It was black with brown streaks, swept up in one of those hard French twisty things, but with pieces of it falling out the back, like she hadn’t had a lot of time to work on it that morning.
    Susan Outlaw . . . shit, what a name for a defense attorney.
    â€œI’m sorry for the interruption,” she began again.
    â€œBoss got you on a short leash?”
    â€œNo, it was my son. Or his principal rather.”
    She seemed distracted. Louis started to ask if the kid was in trouble at school, but something in her expression told him not to. He remembered suddenly the time his foster mother Frances had been summoned to school when he was in the sixth grade. A kid had called him an orphan and Louis had taken a swing at him with a geography book, splitting his lip. Later that night, as Louis picked at his dinner, Phillip spoke to him quietly but firmly.
    You didn’t even know what the word ‘orphan’ meant, Louis. Next time, make sure you know what you’re fighting for. Learn to use your brains, not your fists.
    And Frances: I don’t know, Phil, sometimes a good punch in the mouth is more effective .
    â€œNow