Free Executive Privilege by Phillip Margolin

Clarence Little had hacked away at every inch of her neck with a machete or similar object, tearing the skin to ribbons; there was a subdural hemorrhage over the brainstem for which the examiner could find no source, and not satisfied with simply killing the unfortunate young girl, Little had sliced off several body parts after Erickson was dead.
    The temptation to view photographs of the ghastly crime drew Brad to the envelope in the same way a freeway accident drew the eye of every driver who passed by. What argued against opening the envelope were the autopsy’s gory details and the fact that he’d recently ingested three slices of pepperoni pizza. In the end Brad’s morbid curiosity won out. He pulled the envelope to him, opened the flap, and slid the top photo out while averting his eyes so he didn’t have a clear view. Then he turned his head toward the photograph slowly so he wouldn’t have to take it in all at once. The picture showed a young woman with skin the color of wax who was stretched out naked on a stainless steel table with her arms at her side. It took Brad a moment to register the hideous nature of the wounds the poor girl had suffered. When he did he grew light-headed, his stomach rolled, and he wished he’d followed his instincts and left the autopsy photos in the envelope.
    “What have we here?” Ginny Striker asked from the doorway. Brad jumped in his seat and dropped the envelope. A torrent of truly horrid pictures spilled onto his blotter.
    “Eeek,” Ginny shrieked in mock terror. “Is that a plaintiff in one of our toxic spill cases?”
    Brad’s hand flew to his chest. “Geez, Ginny, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
    “And a great worker’s comp case. Why are you looking at these disgusting photographs?”
    “Susan Tuchman saddled me with a habeas corpus appeal,” Brad said. Then he waved a hand at the files that covered his desk. “As if I don’t have enough to do.”
    “An associate’s work is never done. He must toil from sun to sun.”
    Brad indicated the open pizza box. “Want a slice? These photos made me lose my appetite.”
    Ginny grabbed a piece of cold pizza and a napkin and sat down on one of Brad’s client chairs. She was a few years older than Brad, a tall, slender blonde from the Midwest with large, blue eyes. Ginny was aggressive, funny, and smart and had started at Reed, Briggs a month before Brad arrived in Portland. During his first week on the job, she’d showed him the ropes. Brad thought she was cute but rumors of a boyfriend in medical school back east and his own tragic history with Bridget Malloy had kept their relationship platonic.
    “I didn’t know you were so squeamish,” Ginny said.
    “I’ve just never seen anything like this before. Have you?”
    “Oh, sure. I was a nurse before I went to law school. I’ve seen more than my share of gaping wounds and internal organs.”
    Brad blanched and Ginny laughed. Then she took a bite of pizza while Brad gathered up the gory photographs and stuffed them back in the envelope.
    “What’s your case about?”
    Ginny’s mouth was half full of pizza and it took Brad a moment to figure out what she’d just said.
    “Clarence Little, my newest client, is a serial killer whose current address is death row at the Oregon State Pen. He’s there for murdering several women, including an eighteen-year-old girl named Laurie Erickson. I’ve been told that the Erickson case was very high profile out here when it happened because the victim was babysitting for the governor when she disappeared.”
    “I heard about that! Wasn’t she snatched from the governor’s mansion?”
    “That’s what they think.”
    “They did a whole hour on one of the prime-time news shows about it. It was a few years ago, right?”
    “Yeah, a year before Nolan picked Farrington as his running mate.”
    “This is so cool, and why are you complaining? A murder case is way more interesting than the usual shit we have to work