The Fury - Jason Pinter [57]
house won't take care of itself. Bills don't send their
own checks."
"People can help you and her, Dad."
"We don't need people. We're fine."
"Clearly."
"These public defenders," my father said. "Do they
know their ass from their elbow?"
"Depends," she replied. "A lot of lawyers go the PD
route because they believe everyone deserves a fair trial
and good representation. Believe it or not, a lot of
lawyers enter the profession for the nobility of it. Of
course, a lot of them go the PD route because it's a guar
anteed paycheck, as opposed to private practice where
you run the risk of getting stiffed on your bill by a client
who can't pay. And..." She trailed off.
"And what?" James Parker said.
"And some of them, well, let's just say that govern
ment work does not always attract the best and the
brightest." My father slumped into his chair. I got the
feeling he thought this Marvin Fleischman fit the latter
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category. "But seriously, Mr. Parker, every lawyer is dif
ferent. You could get great representation from a PD."
"So," I said, "let's hope you got a guy who graduated
from Harvard Law with a summa cum laude in nobility."
The noise my dad made said he wasn't quite expect
ing that to be the case.
"Listen, Dad," I said, "we've found out a lot. About
Stephen, his family. I think he was mixed up in some
pretty bad stuff."
"You're telling me. Remember, I knew that mother
of his."
I didn't have the heart to tell him that unless Helen
Gaines was a junkie back in Bend, she'd only gotten
worse. Two peas in a pod, her and James Parker.
I filled him in on what we did know. About Helen
and Beth-Ann Downing. About Rose Keller, and the
Vinnie brigade.
"We need to know more about the night you saw
them," I said. "We know Helen wanted money from
you, and she told you it was for rehab, but I don't think
that's the case. Think about your conversation with
Helen. Specific words. Gestures. Clues that might give
us a lead as to where the money would actually be
going, or what was running through Helen's mind when
you saw her."
He rubbed his head, either thinking very hard or
working very hard not to think. "Henry, it was a rough
night. I remember the big things. The gun, this woman
I hadn't seen in years looking like she was hopped up
on something."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, I'm not a doctor. But her eyes were
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red as all hell and she had a bad cough. That girl was
not in good shape."
I looked at Amanda. That would jibe with the pos
sibility that Helen was still using.
"Anything else?" I asked.
He tapped his thumb against his cheek, tongue
flicking against his upper lip. "One thing seemed
strange," he said. "Helen."
"You mean besides the jitters and the gun? What
about her?"
"She was a mess, but she was scared, too," my father
said. "And not of me. Kept looking around, like
someone could burst through the door at any moment.
I could tell from her eyes something was wrong. Now,
does that make sense? She wants to check her son into
rehab, seems to me that'd be a cause to have hope, you
know, these two chuckleheads finally getting their act
together. But Helen wasn't like that. When she didn't
think I was going to give her the money, she just...
freaked out."
"Maybe that's why she took the gun out," Amanda
said. "She was worried that if she didn't get the money
from you something terrible was going to happen."
"What?" my father asked.
"I don't know, but you're right about her being
scared. Granted, I've never been to rehab, but you'd
think fright isn't the number-one emotion running
through a mother's head when helping her son. Unless
she was scared of you. Is that possible?"
"Oh, she was scared of me at the end of the night,
I'll say that, but this was there when I got to the apart
ment. Something else scared Helen."
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Amanda said, "I'd be surprised if what scared Helen
didn't kill her son."
We both looked at her, knowing she was on the
money.
Turning back to my father, I said, "Please, Dad, think
hard.