Part 21 (2/2)

Rayner said, ”We could release some equivalent to the minutes-”

”Any sophisticated doc.u.ment would be laden with clues for the press and the authorities,” Tim said.

”No,” the Stork said. ”No way we make a statement. Too great a risk.”

”It's irresponsible not not to give the public our rationale,” Rayner said. ”Without it they're left with nothing but the aftermath of a lynching.” to give the public our rationale,” Rayner said. ”Without it they're left with nothing but the aftermath of a lynching.”

Dumone said, ”Lane's death was all about restraint, precision, circ.u.mspection. The public will be able to distinguish it as an execution, not a hit.”

”Who cares if it's distinguished?” Robert said.

”The difference,” Dumone said sharply, ”is everything.”

Rayner said, ”A communique would clarify matters precisely precisely.”

”If you're with us, toot your car horns on your morning commute,” Tim said.

”It wouldn't be that vulgar, Mr. Rackley. We're trying to force meaningful dialogue from a recalcitrant public here. How does society feel about criminals who get off through loopholes? Should the system be amended? Was Lane's execution justice?”

”Yes,” Robert said.

Tim felt a familiar pull-instinctive resistance in the face of Robert's unequivocality.

”We know it. Anyone who studies the record knows it. That's good enough for me,” Mitch.e.l.l said. ”And those who don't get it now will will after the next execution. We'll soon establish a pattern. We don't need to turn over potentially d.a.m.ning evidence.” after the next execution. We'll soon establish a pattern. We don't need to turn over potentially d.a.m.ning evidence.”

”You're going to be in high demand, I'm sure, for talking-head appearances,” Dumone said to Rayner. ”And, if you'd like, you can always steer conversation in the appropriate direction. Keep dialogue on track-without giving anything up. But we're not exposing ourselves at this stage. We can revisit the issue later.” giving anything up. But we're not exposing ourselves at this stage. We can revisit the issue later.”

Ananberg leaned back in her chair, thin arms woven across her chest in an inadvertently prudish show of frustration. Rayner tilted his head, his expression one of concession.

Rayner's financial supremacy and facility with armchair social theory ostensibly put him in the driver's seat, but it was ever clearer that Dumone was the on-the-ground chief. When Rayner talked, the others listened; when Dumone spoke, they shut up.

”Can we get to voting?” Robert asked. ”I didn't exactly come down here to talk about missives and Oprah f.u.c.kin' Win-”

Dumone fanned a flat hand, a gesture that was at once soothing and firm, and Robert cut off midsentence. Robert offered his brother a face-saving smirk as Rayner opened the safe and removed another binder from the stack. It hit the table with a slap.

”Mick Dobbins.”

”Mickey the Molester?” Robert said. He shot Ananberg a look. ”Listen, sugarbritches, Mickey the Alleged Alleged Molester just don't have the same ring.” Molester just don't have the same ring.”

Dumone held the binder before him in one hand like a psalm book, letting it fall open. ”Groundskeeper at Venice Care for Kids. Indicted on eight counts of lewd acts with a child, one count of murder one. Before the incidents, he was beloved by kids and staff.” He pa.s.sed the detective progress reports to Tim. ”IQ seventy-six.”

”Does that preclude capital punishment right off the bat?” Tim asked.

Ananberg shook her head. ”Two independent psychiatric evaluations failed to cla.s.sify him as mentally r.e.t.a.r.ded. I guess it doesn't just come down to IQ, it has to do with level of functioning and other stuff.”

The remainder of the papers were segmented and pa.s.sed around the table.

”Seven girls, ages four to five, claimed they were molested by him,” Dumone said.

”How?” Tim asked.

”Genital and a.n.a.l touching. Some digital insertion. One girl claimed to have been sodomized with a pen.”

”Intercourse?”

”No.” Dumone shuffled through the pages, glancing at the lab results.

”How's this a capital case?” Ananberg asked.

”Peggie Knoll was admitted to the hospital with high fever, shaking chills. Evidently it was a bladder infection-by the time they caught it, it had turned into a kidney infection. She died of”-he flipped open the hospital report-”overwhelming urosepsis.”

”Did they do a rape kit?”

”No. Knoll never claimed to have been molested. It wasn't until after her death that the seven girls came forth, said they and Knoll were molested, put Knoll's molest a few days prior to her hospitalization. The DA backtracked-paraded out a few expert witnesses who said if a molest-especially a.n.a.l-v.a.g.i.n.al-occurred in that time frame, it was a proximate cause of the bladder infection.”

”How did Dobbins get off?” the Stork asked. He blushed deeply, hiding his face by sliding his gla.s.ses farther up his nose. ”The trial, I mean.”

”The jury found him guilty, but the judge was underwhelmed with the merits and threw the case out for insufficiency of evidence.”

”They're overturning juries now,” Robert said with disgust.

”There was a decided lack of physical evidence,” Dumone said. ”Nothing in Knoll's medical records. The search of Dobbins's apartment turned up nothing. The case detective noted a stack of p.o.r.nography in a bathroom cabinet. Several issues of the magazine Barely Legal. Barely Legal.”

”I know it well,” Ananberg said. Six sets of eyes fastened on her. Mitch.e.l.l looked distinctly annoyed; Tim alone wore a half smile.

”p.o.r.nography don't mean s.h.i.+t,” Robert said. ”What else? What about the medical reports on the other girls?”

The Stork raised his hand, his eyes, s.h.i.+ny through his gla.s.ses, focused on the sheet in front of him. ”Medical examinations were inconclusive. No tearing, no scarring, no bruising, no bleeding, no trauma a.s.sociated with penetration.”

”But penetration was just digital,” Mitch.e.l.l said. ”That would cause less trauma.”

”On a five-year-old girl, something would still be detectable,” Ananberg said.

”How long after the alleged molestation were the girls examined?” Tim asked.

The Stork flipped a sheet over. ”Two weeks.”

”Plenty of healing time.”

”Especially if there were just superficial tears or light bruising,” Mitch.e.l.l added.

”No DNA, no nothing?” Ananberg asked. ”Anywhere?”

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