Page 36 of Motion to Dismiss

“No, there are three.”

I say nothing.

I just stare at the folder, leaving it untouched.

“Oh, no you don’t.” She strolls over to me, opens it herself, and shows me an aerial shot of Lucas’s massive estate. Three gray spots are circled in red.

“I, uh…” Her voice trembles. “I waited until nightfall to open the first one. I tried to slide my camera down to take pictures, but it didn’t get too far because it was full.”

I flip the page.

A stack of charred human remains fills the photograph.

“What the fuck?” I stare at the image in disbelief.

“That’s the oldest one,” she says, her voice still shaking. “The other two have some newer additions that are still decomposing, and the maggots are chomping away.”

I flip the page again and realize she’s being more than generous with her description.

“So much for no body, no crime, right?” she asks. “I counted at least fifteen between the wells, but I’m sure there are more. I just couldn’t stomach staying much longer.”

“Thank you, Rachel.” I shut the folder.

I counted at least twenty-six bodies, but I won’t tell her that.

And I won’t dare admit that everything Scarlett told me about him was true.

At least not now.

“This means you’re dropping him as a client, right?”

Possibly.

“Why the hell would I ever do that?”

“Because you’d be standing in open court telling the judge and jury he isn’t a murderer when you know damn well he is.”

“Then I’ll tiptoe around that line,” I say. “You know how I operate.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” She looks at me like I’ve slapped her across the face. “Right now. Tell me.”

“I’m going to do the job he hired me to do,” I say, because I’m still working on my plan and need to figure out my final play on my own. “I’m going to give him one hell of a defense and do my best to keep my winning record.”

“Your winning record?”

“Yes,” I say. “That thing that you and Scarlett seem to forget that I care about.”

“Scarlett left you over this, remember?”

“Her loss.” I shrug. “When I win this case, I’ll be at⁠—”

“Nine hundred and sixty-fucking-seven, I know.” She crosses her arms. “And I know that also happens to be the exact number of clients Peter Hansel had, including your father when he was convicted. I know you hold that number close to your chest, and you feel like you’re doing the world a favor by trying to balance the scales of justice⁠—”

“That’s exactly what the fuck I’m doing—it’s what the fuck I’ve always done.” I interrupt her. “And if you were ever in my position, you’d do the exact same thing.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t.”

“You didn’t feel this way when I helped your mother beat her charges.” I stand. “Did you?”