Free Primal Fear by William Diehl Page B

bunch, she had pretty much called the shots for the six years she had been assistant D.A. It had been an acceptable compromise until recently. As long as he had Venable, Silverman and Torres to keep him afloat, Yancey was in the driver’s seat. But Torres had left earlier that year and Vail had destroyed Silverman. A month ago, Venable also had decided to escape the crumbling empire, seduced by the promise of a comer office on the twenty-eighth floor, a six-figure salary and a senior partnership in one of the city’s platinum law firms.
    Most of the rest of Yancey’s bunch didn’t know a writ from a birthday card, so he was in trouble and looking at another election eighteen months hence. But if he was worried about his future, he didn’t act like it. He was his usual smiling self. He waved to a chair and Venable sat down across from him, crossed one leg over the other and massaged an aching foot with her hands.
    “Listen, so you’ll know,” she said, “I just spent the morning in a hospice talking to a dying woman, it’s about twenty degrees outside, the city’s turned into an ice skating rink, and my feet are killing me. I’m not in a real good mood so whatever’s on your mind better be good news.”
    “Oh … well, maybe we can wait until later when you—”
    “No, no, Jack. Don’t give me that. You started, you can’t stop now.”
    “I really didn’t start yet.”
    “Of course you did, when you invited me down here for this intimate little chat, so just spit it out. What’s on your mind?”
    “A little favor.”
    Venable eyed Yancey suspiciously. After six years, she knew him too well.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Don’t think what?”
    “I don’t think I’m granting any favors today.”
    “I haven’t said anything yet!”
    “I know, but I don’t really have to hear any more to know the answer is no. You know why? Because I don’t trust you, Jack. You’d lie to yourself if it was expedient. So whatever you’re going to ask, if it requires this little sit-down, the answer is definitely no. N-fucking-O. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do. I’m out of here in twenty-eight days and I have a lot of cleaning up to do.”
    “It’s the case of a lifetime.”
    “Case?
Case!
I don’t have time for any case. In twenty-nine days I will be in my own comer office on the twenty-eighth floor, making a vast sum of money as a partner in—”
    “I’ve already talked to Warren.”
    “Warren? You talked to Warren Langton? About what?”
    “Just listen to me. I’ll farm off all your other cases. Forget them. I want you to concentrate on just one thing until you leave.”
    “Which is?”
    “The Rushman case.”
    “The Rushman case? What Rushman case?”
    “You haven’t read the morning papers?”
    “I saw about two minutes on TV. Rushman murdered, suspect in tow.”
    “It’s yours. It’s your only problem. Get it done and you leave with my blessing.”
    “Archbishop Rushman. You’re giving
me
the Rushman … damn it, I have a job to go to in less than a month! That thing could go on forever. For Christ sake, the poor man just got done in last night. He hasn’t even been buried and you’ve got me in court already.”
    “This case is going to trial as fast as the judge can get it on the calendar. Everybody wants it over and done with.”
    She jumped angrily to her feet.
    “I’m sorry,” she bellowed. “I can’t do it. You can’t do it to me. I’m on notice. You’ve got me for twenty-eight more days, period. Then I am out of here, Jack.”
    “Look, Blanding, Langton, et cetera, et cetera, will eat this up. You go in a hero. Lots of publicity for the firm… national publicity.… This is a headline maker, Janie. Hell, I thought you’d be delighted.”
    “I don’t have time!”
    “Sure you do, Janie—”
    “And lay off that Janie soft talk.”
    “Warren and I are in perfect agreement. This case is too important for you to pass up. You don’t start with them