He would. I knew that. And that was the thing about this act. He could slice and dice and still make you like him. I'd seen him do it before. You'd think at least some of the jury would consist of homophobes and that they'd hate or fear him. But that wasn't how it worked with Flair. The female jurists wanted to go shopping with him and tell him about their husbands' inadequacies. The men found him so nonthreatening that they thought there was no way he could pull anything over on them.
It made for a lethal defense.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
Flair grinned. "You're nervous, aren't you?"
"I'm just hoping to spare a rape victim from your bullying."
"Moi?" He put a hand to his chest. "I'm insulted."
I just looked at him. As I did, the door opened. Loren Muse, my chief investigator, walked in. Muse was my age, midthirties, and had been a homicide investigator under my predecessor, Ed Steinberg. Muse sat down without a word or even a wave. I turned back to Flair. "What do you want?" I asked again. "For starters," Flair said, "I want Ms. Chamique Johnson to apologize for destroying the reputation of two fine, upstanding boys." I looked at him some more. "But we'll settle for an immediate dropping of all charges." "Dream on." "Cope, Cope, Cope." Flair shook his head and tsk-tsked. "I said no." "You're adorable when you're macho, but you know that already, don't you?" Flair looked over at Loren Muse. A stricken expression crossed his face. "Dear God, what are you wearing?" Muse sat up. "What?" "Your wardrobe. It's like a frightening new Fox reality show: When Policewomen Dress Themselves. Dear God. And those shoes..." "They're practical," Muse said. "Sweetheart, fashion rule one: The words shoes and practical should never be in the same sentence." Without blinking an eye, Flair turned back to me: "Our clients cop to a misdemeanor and you give them probation." "No." "Can I just say two words to you?" "Those two words wouldn't be shoes and practical, would they?" "No, something far more dire for you, I'm afraid: Cal and Jim." He paused. I glanced at Muse. She shifted in her seat. "Those two little names," Flair went on, a lilt in his voice. "Cal and Jim. Music to my ears. Do you know what I'm saying, Cope?" I didn't take the bait. "In your alleged victim's statement... you read her statement, didn't you?... in her statement she clearly says that her rapists were named Cal and Jim."
"It means nothing," I said.
"Well, see, sweetie, and try to pay attention here because I think this could be very important to your case, our clients are named Barry Marantz and Edward Jenrette. Not Cal and Jim. Barry and Edward. Say them out loud with me. Come on, you can do it. Barry and Edward. Now, do those two names sound at all like Cal and Jim?"
Mort Pubin answered that one. He grinned and said, "No, they don't, Flair."
I kept still.
"And, you see, that's your victims statement," Flair went on. "It really is so wonderful, don't you think? Hold on, let me find it. I just love reading it. Mort, do you have it? Wait, here it is." Flair had on half-moon reading glasses. He cleared his throat and changed voices. "'The two boys who did this. Their names were Cal and Jim.'"
He lowered the paper and looked up as if expecting applause.
I said, "Barry Marantz's semen was found in her."
"Ah, yes, but young Barry, a handsome boy, by the way, and we both know that matters, admits to a consensual sex act with your eager, young Ms. Johnson earlier in the evening. We all know that Chamique was at their fraternity house, that's not in dispute, is it?"
I didn't like it, but I said, "No, that's not in dispute."
"In fact, we both agree that Chamique Johnson had worked there the week before as a stripper." "Exotic dancer," I corrected. He just looked at me. "And so she returned. Without the benefit of money being exchanged. We can agree on that too, can't we?" He didn't bother waiting for me. "And I can get five, six boys to say she was acting very friendly with Barry. Come on, Cope. You've been around this block before. She's a stripper. She's underage. She sneaked into a college fraternity party. She got nailed by the handsome rich kid. He, what, blew her off or didn't call or whatever. She got