Read Online The Death Factory by Greg Iles - Free Book Online

lawyer who became a judge up in Abilene. Joe himself served two tours in Vietnam before going to Rice and majoring in history. He was decorated for bravery.”
    “I guess he came by his legal philosophy honestly.”
    “He doesn’t mince words about it, either. He’ll tell you he doesn’t know whether the death penalty’s a deterrent or not, and he doesn’t care. He sees capital punishment as legal retribution by society.”
    “Got it. So how’d he take your bad news?”
    The memory of that meeting is burned into my cerebral cortex—not merely the words, but the unsettling feeling of seeing the face of one of my heroes revealed to be a mask of sorts. “Not well.”
    I remember sliding into the chair in the little private room, watching those eyes I had always seen as the personification of tough-but-fair. Joe started with small talk, some office gossip, and I sat listening to that voice the reporters loved, the one that never dodged a question, that fired off million-dollar quotes faster than you could scribble them down. The voice that even defense lawyers trusted. I was listening the way I listened to witnesses, alert to the slightest emotional dissonance, the faintest tell.
    “What put a burr under your saddle over this Avila business?” he asked suddenly.
    “I know the family,” I said. “That Conley kid raped Mirabel Avila, and Gaines pled it down because it didn’t look like a slam dunk.” Cantor didn’t look surprised, so I gave it to him straight: “You’ve got problems at the crime lab, Joe. Real problems. Daman Kirmani’s an asshole. I don’t think he’s even qualified to be doing the science he’s doing.”
    “Are you qualified to make that judgment?” Joe asked gently. “Dr. K has a Ph.D., for God’s sake.”
    “Not in chemistry. And he had no forensic experience when he was hired for that job. If I’d known that when I worked in the office, I’d have been screaming about it back then. When was the last time you went over there?”
    “The HPD crime lab? Hell . . . it’s been a good while. Years.”
    “Take my advice: pay them a visit. An unannounced visit.”
    Joe looked wary. “Why would I do that?”
    “Because I went up there last night, and it’s a mess. Rainwater is leaking through the roof, contaminating samples. I saw blood on the floor. Open samples, overheating, you name it. Flagrant violation of standard procedures for preserving the integrity of evidence.”
    Cantor was clearly perturbed, but he held himself in check. “You went to the crime lab last night? How the hell did you do that?”
    “Is that really the issue here, Joe?”
    “It might be. Penn, you resigned from my office. You’re no longer part of my staff, and you have no right to be in that crime lab.”
    I felt my face getting hot. “Who gives a shit? Wes Conley’s semen is on that carpet. Dr. Kirmani fucked up. That’s a scientific fact, like it or not.”
    “What makes you say that? The kid has a solid alibi, and the cops never found any trace of the perp’s Sony camera or the photo he shot. If Conley had taken that picture, he’d keep it close, so he could use it to whack off.”
    I thought about Felix Vargas, who was probably swallowing Valium by the handful in the crime lab restroom. “My word isn’t enough anymore, Joe? I tell you what I just did about your crime lab, and this is your response?”
    “It’s not my crime lab. That’s HPD, and you know they’re always stretched for resources over there. If they have problems, they’ll be fixed in due course.”
    “No, they won’t. Kirmani has set up a fiefdom that operates on the Peter Principle. Everybody rises to his or her level of incompetence. Obvious problems are being ignored, and cases are being tried on their findings. The Avila plea is a perfect example of that negligence!”
    “Negligence is a pretty strong word, Penn. I need more than unsupported accusations.”
    I told him about Dr. Kirmani failing to chemically test