Free The 7th Canon by Robert Dugoni Page A

Parnisi.”
    “I heard he’s a tough old bird; I didn’t hear he was stupid.”
    “Oh, he’s not stupid,” Ramsey said. “But he’s also not your typical church bureaucrat, either. He’s his own man. He’ll see honor in standing behind Father Martin, damn what the eventual financial and political ramifications might be.”
    “When is he coming?”
    “He’s not. He’s sending Larry Carr.” Ramsey checked his wristwatch. “Within the next twenty minutes.”
    “Carr’s not bad,” St. Claire conceded. “I’ve tried a few cases against him before he went into private practice. I thought he handles only white-collar stuff now?”
    “He does, but if one of the wealthiest institutions in the world calls, do you turn them down?” Ramsey asked.
    “So, how do we play this?”
    “We advise Larry the evidence against Father Martin is substantial, but we might be open to considering something so as not to embarrass the church. Carr will be duty bound to bring the information to the archbishop. With all the recent press about priest indiscretions, the archbishop won’t be able to ignore such an opening. He’ll also be duty bound to talk to those in power above him.”
    “And if the archbishop doesn’t see the wisdom of it?”
    Ramsey turned his gaze to the window. In a few years, there would be a new county jail there, but at the moment, he had a view of the 101 Freeway and, beyond it, the San Francisco skyline. Farther to the east awaited the capitol in Sacramento. “Then you’ll get your shot at Father Martin.”

    Donley walked down a light-green marble floor and stepped through double-wide oak doors, the words D ISTRICT A TTORNEY stenciled in black block letters on the smoked glass. He asked to speak with Gil Ramsey and provided the woman behind the counter with his name and a business card. The woman made a phone call, repeated Donley’s name twice, and hung up. After a few minutes, a second woman, this one identifying herself as Ramsey’s assistant, met Donley in the lobby and led him through a maze of narrow hallways lined with metal filing cabinets to a corner office.
    Ramsey looked very much like the man whose face was bombarding voters on television and plastered around the city on large billboards, sometimes alone and sometimes with his father, the former governor. A pronounced shadow extended from just under Ramsey’s cheekbones to a point somewhere below the collar of his starched white shirt. Ramsey sat with both feet propped on the edge of a large mahogany desk, a document in hand, reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. In a chair across the desk sat an attractive blonde woman who also looked familiar, though Donley could not place her. From their surprised expressions, he could tell they’d been expecting Larry Carr. Ramsey finally removed his feet and stood, motioning for Donley to enter with a wave of his hand. “Please, come in.”
    The assistant took Donley’s umbrella and placed it in a container near the door.
    Ramsey introduced himself. He was taller than Donley had expected, over six feet, with a marathon runner’s physique. Ramsey gestured to the empty chair beside the blonde with the sour face. She’d also stood and now thrust out her hand like she was going to remove Donley’s kidney.
    “Linda St. Claire.”
    The name and the staccato voice clicked. St. Claire had been a television commentator during a recent high-profile trial of a man accused of kidnapping, raping, and murdering a twelve-year-old girl from a northern county. The trial had attracted national headlines.
    “You’ll have to excuse us if we appear a bit caught off guard. We were expecting Larry Carr,” Ramsey said.
    Donley smiled. “Sorry to disappoint.”
    “Do you work with Larry?”
    “No, I don’t.” Donley removed two business cards and handed one to each. Ramsey lifted the bifocals dangling from the string around his neck onto the bridge of his nose and held up the card. The