Read Online Move to Strike by Sydney Bauer - Free Book Online

how you look at it.’
    â€˜And how is Cavanaugh going to approach this?’ she asked, obviously knowing that Joe and David were friends. ‘In fact, come to think of it, how did a lawyer of Cavanaugh’s calibre become involved in the first place?’
    She knew the answer; this was just another dig at Joe.
    â€˜From what I am told,’ Carmichael went on, ‘Doctor Logan asked for a public defender, which, under the circumstances might have worked better for us considering . . .’
    â€˜Doctor Logan asked for a lawyer and we got him one,’ said Joe, refusing to explain further simply because he was not answerable to the twenty-nine-year-old upstart before him. ‘And considering the doctor confessed, my guess is Cavanaugh will play Monday’s arraignment as straight as he can – stress that this was an accident, argue for bail.’
    â€˜Jesus,’ said Carmichael. ‘What is this – a fucking kangaroo court where everyone avoids the truth?’
    â€˜No, ma’am,’ said Frank. ‘It’s called due process, it’s part of the fifth and fourteenth amendments. It’s about safeguarding the rights of every individual – even those have the guts to lie to protect their kids.’
    â€˜You actually
admire
this man, Detective McKay?’ asked Carmichael, incredulous, her big blue eyes now narrowing in contempt.
    â€˜I got two teenage kids, Ms Carmichael,’ replied Frank, with determination. ‘Let’s just say, I can see where he is coming from.’
    â€˜Christ,’ said Carmichael. ‘Well, cue the fucking violins.’
    They were silent then, Joe deciding there was no point in arguing further.
This one was dangerous
, he told himself.
Dangerous and smart and ambitious to boot
.
    â€˜Is that it?’ asked Joe at last.
    â€˜Apparently so,’ said Carmichael. ‘At least as far as you two are concerned.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, Miss Carmichael,’ began Joe, not sure what the ADA was insinuating. ‘But . . .’
    â€˜Just tell me the minute the crime lab stuff is in,’ she interrupted, now rising from her chair and moving around the desk to dismiss them. She headed straight for the entrance of her brand new office, strutting across the room like a Goddamned diva. And then she stumbled into one of Katz’s hastily packed boxes, tripping herself up so that she had to grab at a side table to regain her balance.
    â€˜
Shit
,’ she said, as she regathered her composure and stood beside the door.
    â€˜Better watch your step, Miss Carmichael,’ said Joe, as he and Frank turned to leave. ‘As the Chinese say, you keep looking at the mountains you’re gonna fall into the molehills.’
    â€˜I’ve never taken a fall in my life, Lieutenant,’ she countered.
    â€˜Well then, maybe you’re due, Miss Carmichael, maybe you’re due.’

8
    â€˜A re you sure you’re okay?’ asked David for the umpteenth time. They had just entered one of their favourite eateries, a popular breakfast and lunch café at the northern end of the harbour known as Myrtle McGee’s.
    â€˜I’m fine,’ Sara said. ‘It was just a little slip, David,’ she added, referring to her ‘slide’ down the wide stone front stairs of Suffolk County Jail barely half an hour earlier. They had been harassed by a barrage of media the moment they left the building, and Sara had been caught in the crossfire.
    â€˜What’s up, lass?’ asked a concerned-looking Mick McGee, hurrying around his counter to meet them at the door. Mick was Myrtle’s proprietor, a large, red-faced Irishman with a number two crew cut revealing a shock of bright orange spikes. He was also a good friend – and as such, now obviously concerned about the lack of colour in Sara’s pasty complexion.
    â€˜Nothing!’ she said, managing a smile in protest as Mick and