Read Online Blind Man's Alley by Justin Peacock - Free Book Online Page B

She’d called Duncan five minutes later.
    “I thought Neil was your golden boy, Dunk,” Lily said. Duncan had every confidence in Neil’s intelligence, but clearly something had gone wrong here.
    “Don’t call me Dunk. I’ll talk to Neil.”
    “Do we need to tell the Blake?”
    “Let’s fix it first, then worry about the Blake,” Duncan replied as the phone in the conference room rang. “Expecting anyone?” Duncan asked.
    “I’m sure it’s good news,” Lily said dryly. Duncan nodded as he made his way over to the phone: nobody would have tracked them down here unless there was a problem.
    Duncan saw on the caller ID that it was Joan, his secretary. “Your pro bono client is calling for you,” she said after he’d picked up. “I told him you weren’t available, but he claimed to be under arrest.”
    Duncan snapped to full attention. “Under arrest?” he said. “What for?”
    “I wasn’t particularly able to understand him,” Joan said. “But he seemed to be saying it had something to do with a murder.”
    Duncan was at a loss as to what could possibly be happening. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “When you say it had something to do with a murder, do you mean that he’s under arrest for murder?”
    “I really don’t know,” Joan said. “Shall I transfer him?”
    ALTHOUGH HE’D worked on a number of white-collar cases, Duncan by no means considered himself a criminal defense lawyer. The criminal defendants the firm represented were either corporations or their senior executives: Ivy League–educated blue bloods who were worth millions of dollars. The cases were often regulatory in nature, brought by an agency such as the SEC, rather than the district attorney’s office, which handled more blue-collar crime. Defending such cases had as much to do with defending a murder as brain surgery did with oral surgery. Duncan had never even been to the city’s criminal courthouse on Centre Street before, which was far dirtier and more run-down than the federal courthouses where most of his cases were housed.
    Duncan’s main exposure to conventional criminal law had come almost five years ago, when his half brother, Antoine, had been arrested for armed robbery in Detroit. Duncan hadn’t been directly involved in the defense, but he’d ended up as his family’s unofficial liaison with the criminal lawyer they’d hired. Duncan had gotten a copy of the file, done his best to keep as close an eye on the case as he could from New York, but in the end he’d agreed with the lawyer’s recommendation that Antoine take a plea.
    Antoine had gotten out of jail just a few months ago. Duncan hadn’t seen his half brother since his release, had visited him only once in prison, and that over two years ago. They’d never been close, never lived together, but Duncan still felt guilty that he hadn’t been able to do more to help Antoine.
    It took Duncan a while to navigate his way to Rafael. Finally he was shown to a small row of stalls in back of one of the arraignment courtrooms. Duncan entered the tiny room, which barely had enough space for its lone chair, closing the door behind him. In front of him was a metal grille separating him from where his client would be.
    Rafael was brought in through the opposite door a few minutes later, looking both frail and angry. All of this was as foreign to him as it was to Duncan: other than the disorderly conduct charge coming out of the pot bust, Rafael hadn’t had any run-ins with the law. Yet here he was, suddenly in the major leagues.
    “Let’s start at the beginning, Rafael,” Duncan said, doing his best to ignore their surroundings. “They’ve really got you here on a murder charge?”
    “That’s what they say,” Rafael said.
    “Who are they claiming you killed?”
    “Sean Fowler.”
    “Fowler,” Duncan said, surprised. “The security guard who busted you?”
    “He didn’t bust me doing nothing,” Rafael said angrily. “I told you that’s