Free The Death Factory by Greg Iles Page B

eyes on my shirt. “It’s getting kind of cold. You want to get back in the car?”
    “Can we pull it out here on the grass?” Jack asks. “Watch the sun go down with the heat on?”
    “We’re not supposed to. But I did it all the time as a teenager. Hey, the mayor ought to get some perks, right?”
    Walking back toward the car, I say, “We were waiting for the funeral home people to collect Sarah’s body, and the doorbell rang. When I answered it, I found Joe Cantor standing there. Joe had no idea Sarah had died. I’d finessed her condition the day before. He was stunned. He asked to come in and pay his respects, but I told him no. I took him over to the porch swing where I’d sat when I talked to Felix Vargas two days earlier. That already seemed like weeks ago.
    “‘I’m so goddamn sorry,’ Joe said. ‘To intrude like this, I mean. But you gave me that deadline. I wanted you to know I’m moving to get that plea vacated.’
    “‘What do you mean, “moving to”?’
    “‘You know that’s not an overnight process. But I’ve spoken to Conley’s defense lawyer, and I’ve spoken to the judge, and I can tell you we’re going to get to a new result.’
    “‘Which is . . . ?’
    “‘I think they might be willing to take a seven-year sentence for aggravated battery.’
    “I forced myself to think about that. ‘No sexual component? No registering as a sex offender?’
    “Cantor shook his head. ‘No. But a sure seven years in Huntsville. No federal country club. The alternative would be to try the case. I told them that’s what would happen if they didn’t take the prison deal. In fact, I told him I’d try the case personally, and I’d nail the kid’s ass to the barn door. Between you and me, though, I’d rather not do that, if I can avoid it.’
    “‘So you don’t risk the crime lab being looked at too closely?’
    “‘For a lot of reasons, honestly. For one, I hinted that we might have that picture.’
    “My heart thumped in my chest. ‘They didn’t start screaming that was impossible?’
    “Cantor gave me his cagey look. ‘Not as quickly as they should have, in my estimation. But I’d like to close this out before Evan White gets too curious and starts calling my bluffs.’ ”
    Jack stops beside the passenger door of the BMW and looks at me over the roof. “Who’s Evan White?”
    “One of the top criminal defense lawyers in Houston. I told Cantor that White must be curious already. Then I asked him how the hell he was getting this new deal arranged. ‘You can’t really get a plea vacated simply by calling in favors, can you?’
    “‘Let me worry about that,’ he said. ‘You just give me the okay.’
    “I thought about it. The offer was tempting, but it wasn’t up to me to say yes or no. ‘I’m not sure the Avilas would settle for the guy not admitting the rape.’ I told him.
    “‘Surely you can influence them on that?’
    “‘That’s not my place, Joe. Maribel Avila was the one who got raped, not me. And not you, either, no matter how you may feel right now.’
    “Joe was about to argue with me when a long black hearse rolled down the street and turned into our driveway. He shook his head, then got up and started to give me a hug, but I couldn’t do it. ‘Christ,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Sarah. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.’ ”
    “Goddamn,” Jack says, opening the passenger door and climbing into Dad’s car.
    I get in and start the engine, then pull the big sedan out within a few yards of the edge of Jewish Hill and park, leaving the motor running. In the distance, the sun seems to be dropping faster, flaming orange filling the clouds above the river where it winds through the still-green fields.
    “The next days were a blur,” I recall aloud. “Sarah’s wish was to be cremated, and Annie started having nightmares about fire. I wasn’t sure what to do. I comforted her as best I could, and we all