Free The Defense: A Novel by Steve Cavanagh Page B

planned. It was almost as if he’d taught himself restraint in order to mask his true nature. He lit a cigar and let it burn down while he thought about his answer. Finally, he said, “They told me that, on its own, it’s not enough to convict me.”
    “Right, but they didn’t tell you it might be enough to blow your bail and get the prosecution a retrial, even if Benny’s dead.”
    He said nothing. I pressed on.
    “And your old lawyers had months to work on this guy’s evidence, right?”
    “Right.”
    “They couldn’t challenge him, right?”
    Volchek sighed. “Right. What’re you getting at?”
    “I’m going to obliterate the expert’s evidence, and you’re going to give me a chance to win this case without making Little Benny into soup.”
    I told Arturas to let Volchek read Goldstein’s paper. He flicked through the article on Arturas’s iPhone, and cigar ash fell over the screen.
    “This is nothing. How does this help?”
    “Leave that to me. If I wipe the floor with this guy, you’ve got to give me a shot at Benny. I’ll do whatever it takes to save my daughter. She’s my world, my life, and I’ll go to jail to protect her. But I’m not relishing spending the rest of my life in an eight-by-six. Give me a shot at Benny. Let me cross-examine him, and if it doesn’t go well, I’ll press that button and blow him to hell myself.”
    The first rule of the hustler’s bible—give the people what they want.
    Before he whipped his head around to Arturas, I saw fire in Volchek’s eyes. He didn’t want to have to blow up a witness in live court. The risk was huge. Running was just as big a risk. He’d given up all hope of winning this case a long time ago. And I was giving that hope back to him.
    “There is no chance you can win this case, lawyer. Better, smarter lawyers looked at all of this before,” said Arturas.
    “It doesn’t cost you anything to let me try. At least with Goldstein, I have no choice. I’ve got to work on his evidence or your boss loses his bail.”
    The room became silent. I could hear Victor’s heavy breathing. The hum from the photocopier fans. A car horn outside. Volchek wanted this, I could tell. I was the answer to his prayers.
    “There’s one more thing,” I said.
    “What?” barked Arturas.
    “You haven’t brought me my coffee yet,” I said.
    Tipping the ash from his cigar onto the floor, Volchek said, “Victor, get Mr. Flynn some coffee.”

 
    CHAPTER TEN
    Lunch had taken an hour and fifteen already.
    I checked my watch and saw twenty-six hours left on my clock. The watch was a twenty-dollar digital with an LCD display. Cheap, nasty, and I loved it more than any other watch that I’d ever owned. Amy and I shared the same birthday—September first. I had picked her up on the morning of our last birthday and taken her shopping. Christine and I had been separated since late June. I’d felt awkward going to the house in Queens that I’d once shared with my family, and Amy and I went out instead. I’d had no idea what to buy for a ten-year-old, so I thought she should pick something out. As we passed a little jewelry store off Broadway, I felt Amy tugging at my sleeve. In the store window she saw digital watches for sale. We went in and she said she wanted two exactly the same—one for me and one for her. I told her I already had a watch, a gift from her mom. She put her mane of white-blond hair on the glass counter and studied the watch she’d chosen. Christine often worried about how serious our daughter could be; I hadn’t listened. I thought Amy was just more mature than most girls her age and that she had an adult’s intelligent curiosity.
    Amy curled her little fingers around the watch and said, “Daddy, you’re going to stay with the doctors to get better, right?” She was talking about the residential alcohol clinic that I’d tentatively signed up for, at Christine’s insistence. The store clerk walked in back, giving us some room.
    She