Page 92 of Fish in a Barrel
“Pissed-off,” Jackson told him thoughtfully. “Wanted to know what sort of chicken outfit we were running out here in the Wild West anyway.”
Cartman’s color went a little wonky. “You threatened me with that on Friday, and nothing’s happened,” he said from lips that looked nearly blue.
“Oh, I’d say plenty’s happened,” Ellery said, laughing. “Lots of fantastic investigative journalism for one. And now your office is under investigation by the Department of Justice, and if you haven’t been given notice, it’s probably because you’re in here, being arrested for a traffic ticket.”
“Which, on the whole, is much less frightening than an obstruction of justice charge, which is coming,” Jackson bluffed.
“Or a sniper’s bullet, which probably has your name on it,” Ellery added sweetly.
Oh, that was it. Cartman’s hands had started to shake.
“The sniper is probably not interested in me,” he said, and his voice was shaking along with his hands. Jackson and Ellery met gazes because they heard the unspoken word there.
“Anymore?” Jackson added delicately.
“How come you’re picking on me?” Cartman yelled suddenly, as petulant as a child. “Why isn’t Brentwood in here answering your stupid questions?”
Jackson and Ellery met eyes again. Interesting. Jackson nodded at Ellery to keep going.
“How do you know he hasn’t been?” Ellery asked. “We’re investigating everybody on the case—the better to facilitate the DOJ’s efforts.”
“Oh, you people always think the judge is the big grown-up in the room,” Cartman sneered. “Some grown-up. Man can’t even parent his own goddamned children.”
“Hunh,” Jackson said softly, and Ellery nodded. Interesting.
“What do Brentwood’s children have to do with it?” Ellery asked, laughing slightly. “He’s a devoted family man. What’s the harm in that?”
“They make you weak,” Cartman said sulkily. “Vulnerable. Guy thinks he’s got all the principles in the world until you threaten to bring down the press on his kid.”
“You blackmailed him?” Jackson asked, not surprised but disgusted nonetheless.
“I put pressure,” Cartman said, adjusting his lapels. “If you live a clean life, you’ve got nothing to hide.”
Jackson tilted his head. “That’s a lie,” he said. “It’s usually a lie told by someone with the blackest soul and the most skeletons. You were blackmailing Brentwood by applying pressure to his kid, which was why he originally let your choirboys get away with, well, murder, am I reading that right?”
“They didn’t kill anybody!” Cartman retorted.
“Jackson, show him your back,” Ellery said, his voice so cold Jackson had to look at him twice to see if he meant it.
“Ellery….” He didn’t want to whine. He didn’t. God—one more time?
“This is the last time,” Ellery said softly. “Go ahead.”
Gah! Jackson turned around so he didn’t have to see the mockery in Cartman’s eyes and hauled his shirts over his head. In the reflection of the two-way glass he saw Ellery at Cartman’s shoulder, forcing his eyes to track the layers of bandages.
“See that part up near the scapula?” Ellery growled. “That was where the knife hit bone. If McMurphy had hit soft tissue, or Jackson’s spine, Jackson would be in the hospital or dead or paralyzed right now, but he didn’t. Instead, McMurphy just slid that sharp, illegal knife down through his skin and muscle like butter, until he got to the soft tissue under the rib cage. See that? That’s where the knife went through, and he was lucky. He’s put on a few pounds since June, or McMurphy would have perforated intestines or organs, and Jackson wouldn’t have made it out of there. He’d be dead, and so would Cody Gabriel. This wasyourguy, Cartman, underyourorders. You’re getting a little pale. Does it look painful? Does it look like it hurts? It does, right? You can see the blood seeping through. He was almostdead,you piece of shit, andyoudid it—you called the shots. That makes you responsible. So tell us the lie again, okay? Jackson’s stood naked twice for something he didn’t do.Lie to us again!”
Jackson hauled his shirts back over his head and turned to see Ellery, his face an inch away from Cartman’s, his mouth open as he shouted.
And Cartman curled like a salted slug. “Boehner was good at finding the pressure points,” he gasped. “The cops he pulled for duty were all on the take, and he knew. He had the proof—he’d defended them. Goslar, McMurphy, they were on the line for unnecessary force, but the case wouldn’t go to trial for another month. It was his say-so whether they hang or walk. I asked for a puppy, he asked me what breed.” And this right here explained why Freethy and Brown had gone running for another lawyer Friday night. Knowing that Cartman was displeased about how the trial had ended, they hadn’t wanted to place their fates in Charlie Boehner’s hands for another nanosecond. It was all starting to come together.
“And what breed was Clive Brentwood?” Ellery snarled, but at that moment, they heard Adele Fetzer demand to see someone’s ID.
Jackson and Ellery locked eyes, and judging by Cartman’s smug expression, they all knew his lawyer had arrived.
“You can’t hold any of this against me,” Cartman sneered, and Jackson rolled his eyes—but Ellery spoke.
“Do you think the DOJ isn’t going to get this already? You may have just saved your miserable life, which could be the worst thing I’ve done all day.”