School Days - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,7

a slice of pizza, from the pointed end of which she took a small bite.

When she had chewed it and swallowed, she said, "He believes in good and evil."

"One of those," I said.

"One of those."

"He says there's no insanity defense."

"He got a shrink?"

"School psychologist."

"You talk to him?"

"No."

"Well, even if the shrink is good, and sometimes they're not," Rita said, "oversimplified, an insanity defense is going to go something like this:

"Expert: Because of a flopp to the fanottim, the defendant suffers from irresistible compulsion.

"Cleary: How do you know he has a compulsion?

"Expert: I've interviewed him.

"Cleary: And he told you he had a compulsion?

"Expert: Yes.

"Cleary: How do you know it's irresistible?

"Expert: He acted on it. He couldn't help himself.

"Cleary: So if somebody commits a crime, and claims compulsion, the commission is proof that the compulsion was irrvsistible?

"Expert: Well . . ."

I held up my hand. "Got it," I said.

"A good defense lawyer and a good expert, or maybe several, can shape this, make it work better than I've described," Rita said. "But there's no reason to think this guy is a good defense lawyer. If the kid is a credible witness on his own behalf, it would help."

"I haven't seen him yet, either."

"You sound like you're getting stonewalled," Rita said.

"Local Police chief doesn't want me around. I figure that's because he botched the thing badly and doesn't want attention called."

"So why doesn't the kid's lawyer want you around?"

"Doesn't want me screwing up the kid's plea, if I had to guess."

"Which you do," Rita said. "Not having anything in the way of facts.

"He doesn't want me talking to the kid," I said.

"Bethel County Jail?"

"Yeah."

"I know people out there, you need any help."

"Healy can get me in there," I said.

"I'm sure he can," Rita said. "You talked to the parents yet?"

"Not yet."

"That might be interesting."

I nodded.

"Know a lawyer named Alex Taglio," I said, "works for Batson and Doyle?"

"Alex Taglio, yes. Used to be a prosecutor in Suffolk County before he decided to make money."

"Not unlike others," I said.

"I was a prosecutor in Norfolk County before I decided to make money. There's a huge difference."

"I can see that," I said. "He any good?"

"Yes. Alex is a good lawyer. Works hard. Who's he represent?"

"The other kid," I said, "Wendell Grant."

"He and Leeland get along?" Rita said.

"Leeland indicated no," I said.

"Perfect," Rita said. "They being tried separately?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Probably not. Same crime. What's Grant's defense?"

"Don't know yet," I said.

"What do you think of Grandma?"

"Smart," I said. "Tough."

"Not old and losing her grip?"

"No. Leeland sort of implied that, but I don't believe him. She seemed right there when I talked with her."

"Why would the parents want to discourage an attempt to find their son innocent of multiple murder charges?"

"Don't know," I said.

"You don't know shit," Rita said, "do you?"

"No," I said. "But it's okay, I'm used to it."

Chapter 8

IT HAD BEEN a rainy summer, and it was raining again. It was a good late-summer rain, warm, no wind, but not so hard that it overcame your defenses. I wished I was walking in it, holding Susan's hand. Susan of course would rather face gunfire than walk in the rain and ruin her hair. But fantasy wouldn't be fantasy if it was simply factual. As we walked, I'd sing "Here's That Rainy Day" and sound great.

But Susan was in Durham, and Pearl refused to go out in the rain, whether I sang or not. So I sat at my desk in my office, with the overhead light making the gray day look grayer out my window, and made a list of people I still needed to talk with about Jared Clark. I had some sense that it would be wise to talk with Jared last. I hadn't taken the time to figure out why I felt that. But I saw nothing wrong with it. So I put his name last on my list. Of the others, the closest was Alex Taglio, the other kid's lawyer.

I put Pearl on her leash, and we went down the back stairs to the alley where I parked my car illegally. But I had drunk coffee with the meter maiden a couple of times and exposed her to my compelling smile, so she gave me a bye on the parking issue. At the door, Pearl spotted the rain and sat down suddenly.

"You're a hunting dog," I said to her. "Born for the rugged outdoor life."

She didn't move. I tugged gently. She continued to sit. I picked her up. She weighed seventy-five pounds,