Aselection of the Mystery Guild and Literary
Guild
"A taut, fast-paced legal thriller so enjoyable I couldn't put it down --
a 'must read.'" Marcia Clark
"Best mystery of the summer." Digby Diehl, KLTA-TV Channel 5 News, Los
Angeles, CA
"Former trial lawyer Mimi Latt's third legal thriller has all the
ingredients for a suspenseful page turner. An attractive, bright,
ambitious heroine, complicated family ties, romantic involvements, a
murder cover-up, political intrigue and danger. Filled with surprising
twists and turns, the book is skillfully written and if you are into legal
innuendoes, one you will especially enjoy." The Sunday Oklahoman
"There's justice, and then there's justice in Latt's third legal thriller
. . . The dark family secrets (Alexandra) Locke uncovers (including
bribery, incest, rape, suicide and murder) are the foundation on which
Latt constructs her competent plot . . . Publishers Weekly
"Mimi Latt shows the talent to merge the story telling abilities of Nancy
Taylor Rosenberg with the characterizations of Thomas Harris to create a
truly entertaining and powerful novel. ULTIMATE JUSTICE is a thrilling
legal procedural where political expediency supersedes justice." Reader to
Reader
"A taut and highly intriguing thriller that focuses on the sometimes -
tough issues of loyalty and morality" Romantic Times
EXCERPT CHAPTER ONE
Alexandra Locke rushed down the gray-carpeted
corridor of the City of Hope Medical Center. It had already been a long
day, and her body was weary with exhaustion. As a Los Angeles deputy
district attorney, she'd spent most of the afternoon in court, questioning
experts in an attempted murder case she was prosecuting. She'd then had to
prepare a nervous witness for his next day's testimony. And once he was
out of the way, she had to finish drafting a motion for another case that
had to be filed the following morning. Everything was late.
Upset about her delayed arrival at the hospital and anxious to see her
mother, Alexandra was startled when a heavyset nurse stopped her in the
hallway.
" I'm glad I caught you before you went in to visit your mother," the
woman said.
"What is it? Has something happened?" Alexandra asked, suddenly alarmed
that her mother, who was undergoing chemotherapy for ovarian cancer, had
taken a turn for the worse.
"No. No. She' s the same. " The nurse, whose badge identified her as B.
Stevens, R.N., gave Alexandra a reassuring smile. "In fact, she fell
asleep a little while ago."
Alexandra inhaled deeply, and impatiently waited for the nurse to
explain why she'd stopped her.
Ms. Stevens leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial
whisper. "I was kind of hoping you'd do me a small favor."
"What kind of favor?"
"There' s a patient by the name of Erica Collins and . . . well . . .
she keeps insisting that she must speak to you," Ms. Stevens
replied. "Could you spare a few minutes?"
"Me? Why?"
"She didn't say, just that it was important."
Looking at her watch, Alexandra hesitated. As it was, she had too
little time to spend with her mother. But seeing the expectant look on the
nurse's round face, and aware that Ms. Stevens had been really kind to her
mother, Alexandra couldn't refuse. With a tired sigh, she gave in. "What
room is this Erica Collins in?"
Ms. Stevens pointed toward a door halfway down the hall.
Noticing a sign on the door restricting the patient's visitors,
Alexandra knocked softly before pushing it open.
It was dark inside, the only bit of light coming from behind the partially
closed door to the bathroom. The air in the room seemed stale and smelled
heavily of antiseptic. Alexandra glanced over at the narrow hospital bed
and saw a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties. It was hard to
tell, though, because she had no hair, and her body was hooked up to
various tubes and bags.
Clearing her throat, Alexandra said, "Excuse me, I'm Alexandra
Locke. Ms. Stevens said you wanted to see me?"
The woman's eyes flickered open, and with an apparent effort, she
turned her pale face toward Alexandra. A slight smile touched her lips.
"So you're Alexandra." She motioned for her to come closer.
When Erica spoke again, her voice was so faint, Alexandra had to
bend down to hear it. "I feel I already know you, your mother has talked
of you so much."
That explained how this woman had come to ask for her, Alexandra
thought. Although she didn't remember her mother ever mentioning Erica
Collins to her.
"You're very pretty," Erica muttered in the same faint voice.
"Except for the color of your hair, you look just like her."
Alexandra absently pushed her dark blond hair away from her eyes.
"Thank you. How do you know my mother?"
"We met here at the hospital. We both have the same kind of cancer."
Erica's words were uttered slowly, as if speaking was burdensome for her.
"I've been doing my homework on you." She pointed to the metal cabinet
next to her bed. "Take out the envelope in the top drawer and you'll see
what I mean."
Intrigued, Alexandra pulled out a bulky manila envelope stuffed with
papers, including numerous newspaper clippings.
"Go ahead and look," Erica urged.
Gazing at the first clipping, Alexandra was surprised to find that
the article was about her and the last case she'd handled as an assistant
district attorney in New York. It had been written after her successful
prosecution of a dirty cop.
Her brow furrowed, she glanced up at Erica. "I'm afraid I don't
understand. Where did you get this and why have you been reading up on my
New York career?"
Erica's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your mother mentioned she'd saved
all of the stories on the cases you'd handled, so I asked to see them. I
had to make sure you were the right one."
"'The right one for what?" Alexandra asked.
"To tell my story to," replied Erica. "You see, there's something I
have to tell, something that's been weighing on my mind for a very long
time."
Alexandra tensed; this was going in a direction that made her
uncomfortable. "Why don't I get the chaplain?"
"This is not about religion; it's about the law--it's you I must
talk to," the woman insisted. She struggled to sit up. "You see," Erica
said with difficulty, "twenty years ago my husband, my ex-husband, George
Collins, killed his best friend, Jeffrey McGrath. And I . . . I helped him
get away with it."
Startled by the nature of Erica Collins's admission, Alexandra
stood silently for a moment, considering her response. People sometimes
confessed to crimes that they didn't commit, usually because they craved
attention. That could be the case here. On the other hand, by admitting
that she'd helped someone get away with murder, Erica Collins had opened
herself up to a possible prison sentence. As a result, this type of
declaration was given a certain amount of legal weight.
To make a judgment call either way, Alexandra would need more
facts. "How did the two of you avoid prosecution?"
Erica licked her cracked lips, her gaze fixed on Alexandra. "We gave
a young deputy D.A. a lot of money--one hundred thousand dollars in
cash--so George wouldn't go to prison."
The thought of a district attorney taking a bribe sent a shudder through
Alexandra.
"I think you might be interested in the rest of what I have to say,"
Erica said, her voice still soft but suddenly sturdier, less halting. "The
deputy D.A. in charge of the case was Thomas Kendell."
Alexandra's head snapped back at the mention of her father's name.
He'd been the District Attorney for Los Angeles County for twelve. His
record was spotless. Yet this woman was accusing her father of
participating in a coverup--a charge that if proven would certainly end
his career. Was there even the slightest possibility that she was speaking
the truth?
Alexandra tried to clear her head; she had to think over this
accusation in a rational manner. "Why are you telling me instead of going
directly to the police?" she asked, fixing her gaze on the woman.
"I wanted to tell someone I could trust. I want my ex-husband to
spend the rest of his life in prison." She regarded Alexandra. "Your
mother said you'd prosecute anyone if you felt that person had violated
the law." Erica pointed to one of the clippings. "You're quoted here as
saying 'no one' is above the law. Is that true?" Her voice had become
hoarse and noticeably weaker.
"Yes, but . . ."
"So then I've chosen wisely."
Alexandra studied the woman for a moment. "You didn't tell the
authorities about this twenty years ago. Why now?"
A slight flush appeared on Erica's otherwise waxen face. "I should
have done it then, but . . ." her voice faltered, "I was afraid." She
exhaled loudly. "Now that I'm dying, it's different." She lay her head
back against the pillows, as if suddenly exhausted. "George murdered a man
in cold blood. I don't want to die with that crime on my conscience."
Still dubious about the veracity of this woman's confession, and
confused as to what she should do next, Alexandra frowned.
Sensing Alexandra's hesitancy, Erica's tone became more urgent. "I
didn't understand then what I was getting into, and I knew I didn't want
to go to prison. But I'm dying now. I've got no reason to lie." She
stopped to catch her breath before going on. "Maybe you don't care that
twenty years ago my ex-husband got away with murder, or that your father
accepted a bribe, but I'll bet . . ." Erica suddenly starting coughing.
"Should I get the nurse?" Alexandra offered.
The other woman shook her head as she strained to control her
coughing. "Don't bother," she finally managed to say, "there's nothing
they can do."
Despite her misgivings, Alexandra opened her purse and scribbled
some notes in the small notebook she usually carried.
When Erica's coughing stopped, Alexandra asked, "What evidence do you have
that your ex-husband committed this murder?"
"It's your job to find evidence," Erica responded, giving Alexandra
a brief, piercing glance. "But if you don't intend to do something about
this, I'll go to the papers with my story. I bet Frank Sanchez would like
to know about the cover-up."
Alexandra stared at the woman. Frank Sanchez was her father's opponent in
his upcoming race for re-election. Suddenly Erica's confession was
becoming more ominous. Still, she had doubts as to the truth of the
woman's story. It was possible that she wanted revenge against her
ex-husband. Or it could be that the drugs she was taking were making her
delusional. There was also the chance that she could have an old score to
settle with Alexandra's father.
Erica Collins had begun to cough violently again and it took a few
minutes before the seizure subsided. Fully aware that even an
unsubstantiated rumor by a crazy woman could be harmful to her father's
candidacy for re-election, Alexandra leaned forward. "If I promise to look
into the matter, can we keep this between us for now?"
Fingering the thin blanket, Erica appeared pensive. Finally, she
spoke. "I don't have long. I'll give you seventy-two hours to let me know
exactly how you plan to proceed."
"Impossible," Alexandra replied, taken aback by the woman's
ultimatum. "It will take at least a week to check out your charges."
The door opened and a nurse entered. "Time for your medication, Mrs.
Collins. Could you excuse us for a little while?" she asked.
"Of course." She looked at Erica, whose gaze hardened.
"Seven days, Ms. Locke, no longer."
* * *
A short time later, Alexandra stood by
her mother's bedside, waiting for Roberta Kendell to open her eyes. Her
hospital room was filled with the heady fragrance of roses and other fresh
flowers that stood in vases and baskets, a startling contrast to the
cheerless room where Erica Collins lay dying.
Peering outside into the night, Alexandra considered her bizarre
encounter with Erica Collins. Deeply immersed in her own thoughts, she
jumped at the feel of her mother's warm hand touching her own.
"Hi," Roberta said softly to her daughter. "Have you been here
long?"
"No," Alexandra replied, shaking her head. She smiled lovingly at
her mother. Without the silver turban she usually wore to hide what chemo
had done to her once-luxurious brown hair, Roberta looked older than her
fifty-three years. She was also painfully thin--another upsetting reminder
of her serious condition.
Alexandra helped her mother sit up, then fluffed the pillows behind
her back and smoothed out the tangled sheets. She did her best to put a
hopeful expression on her face before speaking. "Tell me what the doctor
said today."
Roberta explained the details of her latest chemotherapy results. It
was all very technical, but Alexandra had become as well-versed as her
mother in the terminology and vicissitudes of this particular cancer and
its treatment. For the umpteenth time, Alexandra tried not to ponder the
injustice of why this disease had attacked her mother.
Ms. Stevens came in to check Roberta's condition. When she was
through, she smiled at Alexandra. "I appreciate your taking the time to
see Mrs. Collins."
"No problem," Alexandra said.
As soon as the nurse was gone, Roberta gazed at Alexandra, a
questioning look in her large hazel eyes. "So . . . you met Erica?"
"Yes," Alexandra nodded. "What in the world did you tell her about
me?"
"Just how you left your job in New York City where you were a star
prosecutor in the political corruption unit, to come home because I was
sick." Roberta's shoulders lifted with pride. "Erica was surprised that a
child could be so unselfish."
"I'm hardly a child, Mother. I'm thirty-two years old."
"You'll always be my baby," Roberta countered. "Anyway, I guess I
was bragging to her," she admitted with a grin. "But then, I'm very proud
of you."
Her words filled Alexandra with a sudden warmth. The one constant
in her life had been her mother's unconditional love and the threat of
losing that now brought tears to her eyes. Turning away so her mother
wouldn't see how upset she was, Alexandra masked her fears by posing
another question. "Does Erica have any family?"
"She's divorced and has no children." Roberta's voice echoed with
pity. "I don't think anyone comes to visit her."
"Sad . . .," Alexandra murmured. Her mother's reply reinforced her
sense that Erica could be starved for human contact. That would explain
why she might fabricate a story, just to garner some attention.
"Poor Erica," Roberta continued. "She apparently slaved for years to
put her ex-husband through medical school, only to have him dump her once
he was established."
"He's a doctor?"
"Yes," Roberta said. "An orthopedic surgeon. According to Erica,
he's also a real louse." She lowered her voice. "Not long after he finally
opened his own practice, the good doctor asked for a divorce so he could
marry another woman."
This bit of information bolstered Alexandra's impression that Erica
Collins might be seeking revenge. Hell hath no fury, and all that.
Wondering to what extent Erica had confided in Roberta, she asked, "Did
Erica ever mention why she was interested in talking to me?"
"She said that her husband murdered a man but was never prosecuted."
Alexandra's eyebrows shot up. Was it possible that her mother knew
the whole story, including the part her husband might have played? No, she
decided. Roberta would have mentioned it at the first opportunity. Still
Alexandra needed to make sure. "Why didn't Erica speak to Dad about this?
If anyone has the power to re-open an old case, it's him--not me."
Roberta's eyes focused on her daughter. "I suggested that to her,
but Erica made me promise not to discuss it with him. That's when she
started asking me questions about you."
Alexandra was silent for a moment. "Did Erica say anything about
her having played any part in the crime?"
"Not exactly," Roberta responded. "But I could tell that she felt
guilty about something and wanted to make amends."
Offering her mother a glass of water, Alexandra watched as she drank
it greedily. "Mom, did Erica ever mention how her ex-husband escaped
prosecution?"
"No," Roberta replied, shaking her head. "She never said a word
about that to me. Why?"
"Oh no reason," Alexandra muttered, shrugging her shoulders. Going
over to the window, she gazed again into the dark night as she tried to
sort out her thoughts. There was no way she could tell her mother about
the accusations Erica had leveled against her father. Not when Roberta was
so sick.
"Alexandra?"
She turned around to see an anxious expression on her mother's face.
"Did Erica say something that upset you?"
"No, Mom." Alexandra forced herself to smile. "I'm fine. Really."
"You look tired, darling," Roberta said. "It's after nine. Get a cup
of coffee before you start the drive home. And don't bother to come
tomorrow. I know how busy you are."
"It's no bother, Mother. I like to come," Alexandra insisted. "And I
can't believe you're worrying about me."
Roberta smiled. "Once a mother, always a mother, no matter what.
Besides," she said, lifting her chin, "I'm going to beat this thing, you
know."
"I believe you," said Alexandra, praying that her mother was right.
She glanced at her watch. "Is Dad coming?"
"I don't know."
"Was he here last night after I left?"
"No," Roberta said, rubbing the sheet between her fingers. "He got
tied up at a speaking engagement. Winning this fourth term as District
Attorney is very important to your father. By the time he finished with
his speech and the dinner, it was just too late. It's at least an hour's
drive from where the event was held."
Alexandra felt some of her old resentments against her father
resurface. Now that her mother was so ill, she wished he could curtail his
campaigning and spend a little more time at the hospital. And she wished
her mother would stop making excuses for him.
When Roberta became sleepy, Alexandra gave her mother a kiss and a
gentle hug so as not to dislodge her IV, then headed out into the hallway.
Passing Erica Collins's room, she hesitated. If Erica had been
speaking the truth, her confession--if made public--would have powerful
repercussions. There were more questions Alexandra wanted to ask the
woman, but a "Do not disturb" sign now hung on the door. She decided it
might be wiser to first do some sleuthing on her own.
As Alexandra walked to her car, she thought about her charismatic
father. Although she loved Thomas Kendell, she'd never felt as close to
him as she would have liked. As far back as Alexandra could remember, her
father had always been busy, too preoccupied, and too driven to succeed to
have much time for her. But while her father certainly had his
flaws--could he ever have done anything as heinous as taking a bribe to
cover up a murder?
CHAPTER TWO
As soon as the judge adjourned court for
the noon recess in the trial she was prosecuting, Alexandra grabbed her
briefcase and rushed out of the courtroom. The corridor was crowded with
the usual assortment of defendants, witnesses and attorneys, all waiting
out the sluggish grind of justice.
Jostling her way through the throng, she eyed the large number of
people standing at the elevators and felt a shot of impatience. It could
easily take ten minutes to get upstairs to the Los Angeles County District
Attorney's offices that occupied the seventeenth and eighteenth floors of
the Criminal Courts Building in downtown L.A., time Alexandra didn't have
to waste.
When Alexandra finally exited the elevator on the seventeenth floor,
she noticed a cluster of deputy D.A.s standing together, talking and
joking. As soon as they saw her coming, the hallway suddenly became eerily
quiet.
The silence only added to Alexandra's feelings of alienation. In New
York, where she'd spent the previous eight years as a prosecutor, she'd
been one of the office's biggest and most popular rising stars. But here
in L.A. her working environment was less than welcoming. Since she'd
arrived six months earlier, the other prosecutors had been polite, but
none had been really friendly. She assumed it was because her father
happened to be their boss. Still, she wasn't sorry for making the move to
L.A., knowing how important it was to be nearby while her mother was so
ill.
Reaching her small office, Alexandra was relieved to see that her
appointment hadn't arrived yet. Pushing aside some of the papers on her
cluttered desk, she made room for her briefcase.
"Here are your messages," said Geena, her secretary, coming into
Alexandra's office with a stack of telephone slips.
Alexandra sighed. "There's not enough time in a week to return all
those calls, let alone in an hour."
"Yeah, I know," Geena smiled sympathetically. "But the good news is
that the witness you were supposed to see during your lunch hour had to
cancel."
"Hallelujah!" Alexandra said, grinning at the gray-haired,
dark-skinned woman. She was grateful to Geena not only for her competence,
but for treating her just like any other prosecutor in the office, and not
like the boss's daughter.
After Geena left the room, Alexandra leaned back in her rickety
chair and rubbed her sore neck, the souvenir of an old taxi accident in
New York. Her pain seemed to get worse when she was tense, and she'd been
up all night, unable to get Erica Collins's story out of her mind.
Since her lunch hour was now free, she debated whether there was
enough time to go to the downtown library and still get back before court
reconvened. She opened her purse and reviewed the notes she'd made in
Erica's room. She'd better start now. With the clock running on the
deadline Erica had given her, Alexandra had to find some answers--and
quickly.
* * *
On the eighteenth floor, directly above
Alexandra, Los Angeles County District Attorney Thomas Kendell was staring
at the newspaper. A tall, rugged-looking man of fifty-seven, he sported a
tanned complexion and a ready smile that he didn't hesitate to use when
setting out to charm voters.
He glanced up when his campaign manager, Dale Jensen, came into his
office. Pointing to a headline, Thomas said, "I'm tired of reading about
our courtroom losses. Why can't they write about our ninety percent
conviction rate, or that crime in the county has dropped significantly?"
Jensen, short and stocky with an astute mind that Thomas had come to rely
on, squinted at Thomas. "Because negative news sells more newspapers."
"I've done a great job, I shouldn't have to put up with this,"
Thomas insisted. He thought about the four challengers he was facing in
the June primary, now less than six weeks away. One of them, Frank
Sanchez, was a deputy D.A. from his own office. Thomas's dark, bushy
eyebrows drew together in an angry frown as he pushed the paper across the
desk toward Dale. "Did you read the quote from Sanchez?"
"Yeah. He's coming down hard on you for accepting large
contributions from powerful people," Dale agreed, shaking his head. "It's
clever on his part. Since he can't attract the big givers like you can, he
plays holier-than-thou by putting a five-thousand-dollar cap on donations
to his campaign."
"And he's trying to make it look like the well-to-do can buy
themselves access to the D.A." Thomas stood, drawing himself up to his
full height of six feet two inches. "Sometimes I wonder why I need this.
Plenty of law firms in the city would be more than happy to take me as a
partner. I'd earn a million dollars a year instead of the lousy
hundred-twenty-seven thousand I make here."
"True," Dale nodded. "But my guess is you like it here too much to
leave voluntarily."
Thomas knew that Dale was right. He'd been the D.A. for Los Angeles
County for the last twelve years. He was proud of his record, but he
wasn't done yet--there was a lot more he wanted to accomplish. With over
a thousand prosecutors, his was the largest local prosecutorial agency in
the world. He'd be damned if he was going to let someone else take his
place and reap the benefit of his years of hard work.
"Should I order your car?" asked Dale, breaking into Thomas's
reverie.
The D.A. glanced at his watch. He had another luncheon speaking
engagement today. "Fine." He nodded.
A few minutes later, the two men rode down to the basement of the
building while Dale outlined Thomas's itinerary for the rest of day.
"You haven't left me a moment to breathe," muttered Thomas.
"We can't slack off," Dale said. We've got to garner enough votes
in the primary to make sure you're not forced into a runoff in the general
election."
The mere thought of a run-off filled Thomas with resolve. He
couldn't let it happen. It would be too demoralizing.
Dale regarded him. "'Course, chances are nobody would have had a
shot at beating you if you hadn't allowed your daughter to be hired."
Thomas squared his shoulders. He didn't like being reminded that
hiring Alexandra had hurt him politically. He'd known it might cause
trouble with some voters, but Roberta had asked him to do it. How could
he refuse his wife anything when she was so ill? Unfortunately, he'd been
fighting very public charges of nepotism ever since. "It was a committee,
not me, who interviewed the applicants and made the choice. Alexandra had
outstanding qualifications. Why can't you get that message out?"
"We'll go over strategy again this Sunday," Dale promised, opening
the door to a large, dark sedan. "I'm sure we'll be fine. The nepotism
issue will stay quiet as long as Alexandra continues to do a good job and
as long as she doesn't cause any kind of controversy . . . " Dale gave
Thomas a meaningful look as his voice trailed off.
Rubbing his eyes, Thomas chose not to respond. He trusted his
daughter completely. She would never do anything to bring the media down
on her, and consequently, down on him.
* * *
Los Angeles Deputy D.A. Frank Sanchez
was standing amid a group of colleagues, discussing the upcoming primary,
when he saw Alexandra Locke hurry by. Since arriving here in L.A.,
Alexandra had earned a reputation for being willing to tackle cases other
prosecutors felt were too complex to win. Nevertheless, she was the
D.A.'s daughter, and Frank hadn't quite figured out yet if she was friend
or foe.
"The D.A. says large campaign donations don't pose a conflict of
interest, but he's full of you-know-what," Frank said, clearly aware that
he had the moral support of many of the other deputies in the office on
this particular issue.
"Watch what you say," one of the other prosecutors warned as he
nodded toward Alexandra. "She might be reporting back to her old man."
After Alexandra was gone, deputy D.A. Elizabeth Nathan smoothed down
the skirt of her red suit and ventured her opinion. "You should be
grateful to Alexandra, Frank. If not for her, you wouldn't have any
chance against Thomas Kendell."
Frank scowled at the diminutive woman with the sharp tongue. He cut
Elizabeth some slack because she'd had a tough time. First her husband
had left her for a girl barely out of her teens and then a drunk driver
had killed her only child.
"Thomas was wrong," Frank countered. "Favoritism is a bad thing.
It only fuels the public's growing distrust of our justice system."
Soon, the group around him disbanded, leaving only Elizabeth. Her
dark eyes appraised him. "With the exploding Latino population here in
L.A., the time is ripe for a Latino D.A."
"I'd like to think that's a plus on top of my other qualifications,"
Frank stated. As one of ten children born to migrant farm worker parents,
he'd been the first in his family to graduate from both high school and
college. While he was proud of his heritage and was actively courting the
Latino community, he felt strongly that it wasn't all he had going for
him.
"So--with these other qualifications, how come you've never been
offered a top post in Thomas's administration?" she said.
He gave her a wary glance. "What's your point?"
"Just that criticizing our boss is not the path to power."
"True, but I call it like I see it," he said, adjusting his tie and
pulling at his collar, which seemed to be getting tighter around his
throat. His wife Bianca's cooking was steadily putting the pounds on him.
"And I have to use all the ammo I've got in this race, Elizabeth. You
know that."
"I hope you realize that if you lose against Thomas, he'll probably
demote you to issuing criminal complaints in the Antelope Valley."
He knew she was referring to a branch office in the farthest reaches
of L.A. County, about thirty miles east of downtown L.A. "Is that what
happened to you?"
"For one lousy year," she said. "I was just having too many
courtroom victories, and Thomas Kendell doesn't like to share the
spotlight. On my last big case, while I worked my ass off in the
courtroom, Thomas went in front of the news cameras every night, hogging
all the credit. I haven't seen a good case since."
Frank wasn't sure how much of her story was valid. He'd heard that
she'd had an affair with a defense lawyer and that was why she'd been
demoted. But who really knew the truth? The D.A.'s office was always
awash with rumors and gossip.
"How are you doing in the polls?" she asked.
"Coming up, but I still don't have enough name recognition or
money," Frank admitted. "Thomas has been wooing voters for many years. I
need to get on television where more voters can see and hear me."
She flashed him a rare smile. "I have some ideas. Why don't we get
together after work one night? We can have a drink, and I'll give you the
benefit of my wisdom."
"Sure. I'll check my calendar and get back to you."
"Do that," she said.
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