Free Sudden Death by David Rosenfelt

does not come close to a proof of murder. He could be protecting his public image, but his current incarceration on first-degree murder charges has blown that out of the water much more effectively anyway. It is extraordinarily unlikely that the police have conspired to frame him by faking the blood tests, though I will look into any possible motivations for their doing that.
    The other possibility of course is that both the police and Kenny are being honest and that the drug was slipped to him. I need to consult an expert to find out if that is possible.
    “Could someone have slipped you the drug without you knowing it?”
    He grabs on to this like a life preserver. “Yeah, that must be it! Somebody put it in my drink or food or something. Maybe Troy did… he was there.”
    Once again the persistent “why” question rears its ugly head. “Why would he do that?”
    He shakes his head, having discovered that this particular life preserver can’t support his weight. “I don’t know. But there’s gotta be a reason.”
    I have Kenny rehash his relationship with Troy Preston, starting with their meeting at the high school all-star weekend. It turns out that they also spent a couple of days together at the NFL combine before they were drafted. The combine is a place where rookies come to demonstrate their physical skills to assembled NFL executives.
    Kenny claims to have racked his brain trying to think of something relevant to Preston’s murder, but he just can’t come up with anything. “There’s… there’s just nothing.”
    I detect a hesitation, mainly because there was a hesitation. “What were you going to say?” I ask.
    “Nothing. I’ve told you everything I know.”
    I’ve gotten pretty good at reading my clients, and for the first time I think Kenny’s holding something back. Holding something back from one’s defense attorney is akin to putting a gun to one’s head and pulling the trigger, but my pressing Kenny for more information gets me nowhere.
    Before I leave, I broach the subject of Adam Strickland becoming an employee of my office so that he can observe what’s going on and perhaps someday write about it.
    “But he can’t write anything we don’t want him to?” Kenny asks.
    “He can’t reveal any privileged information without our permission.”
    “What if he did?”
    “You could sue him, and nothing he says could ever be used in court against you.”
    Kenny shrugs, having lost interest. He has no desire to focus on any subject that can’t get him out of his cell. “Whatever you want, man. I don’t care either way.”
    I tell him I’ll decide one way or the other and then let him know. I head back to the office, where Laurie is waiting for me. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she has something to tell me, though my hunch is helped along considerably by her saying, “Wait till you hear this.”
    I decide to take a guess first. “Your old boyfriend changed his mind and offered you a job as a school crossing guard. And you said no, because they’re giving you a bad corner and making you buy your own whistle.”
    “Andy,” she says, “you’re going to have to try harder to deal with this.”
    I already knew that, so I say, “What were you going to tell me?”
    “Preston wasn’t just using. He was dealing.”
    This is potentially huge. If Preston was dealing drugs, he was involved with big money and very dangerous people. The kind of people that kill other people. The kind of people that defense lawyers love to point to and say, “My client didn’t do it; they did.”
    “Who told you?”
    She smiles. “Police sources.”
    “Police sources” is Laurie-speak for Pete Stanton. Pete has long been a reliable source of information for both of us. He would never say anything damaging to the department, but nor does he have that knee-jerk police reaction not to have anything to do with anyone on the defense side of the justice system. There would be no downside at all