The Viper

“Indeed. But the particular difficulty of the case from our point of view was the fact that the primary witness against Slade was the murder victim. Lenny Lerman’s extortion plan, about which he left no doubt, established the perfect motive for Slade to kill him. Lerman drove to Slade’s lodge at a time that Slade was there by himself—with zero alibi. The physical evidence was simple and concrete. And Stryker’s narrative was seamless.”

“You couldn’t come up with a competing narrative?”

Thorne shook his head. “If you’re going to posit an alternate theory, you need facts, which we didn’t have. Otherwise, its weakness enhances by comparison the strength of the prosecution’s narrative. And, of course, Stryker had the bonus of the weapon. Juries love a bloody weapon.” Thorne flashed a chilly grin. “And when it comes to bloody weapons, it’s hard to beat an axe.”

“Had you considered making the argument that Slade was too smart to have committed such a sloppy crime?”

Thorne emitted a high-pitched, metallic-sounding laugh. “That argument goes nowhere. Worse than nowhere. Smart is not an endearing quality. It doesn’t conjure up thoughts of innocence. Now, if a defendant seemed too stupid to have engineered a particular crime, something could be made of that. Stupidity suggests harmlessness. Cleverness suggests danger.”

“Why no character witnesses for the defense?”

“It would have let the prosecution bring in anti-character witnesses from Slade’s past, and that would have been a horror show.”

Gurney nodded. “Slade’s mountain lodge—that’s not his main residence, is it?”

“He has a horse farm in Dutchess County and an apartment in the city—which is where he spent most of his time before the murder last year, when he wasn’t at Emma Martin’s place.”

“Why did he happen to be at the lodge the day of the murder?”

“It was the day before Thanksgiving. He went to the lodge that morning to start preparing a big dinner for the following day.”

“Big dinner for who?”

“A group of Emma Martin’s patients, clients, disciples—whatever she calls them.”

“The dinner actually took place?”

“Indeed.”

“You spoke to the guests?”

“Of course.”

“How did they describe Slade’s emotional state?”

“Calm, pleasant, untroubled, but that didn’t help our case. A sharp prosecutor like Stryker could turn that around and convince the jury that Slade’s serenity was the natural facade of a murdering psychopath.”

Gurney couldn’t argue with that. Juries hated calm killers. “Speaking of Stryker, do you know why she called Lerman’s daughter, Adrienne, to the stand, but not her brother, Sonny?”

Thorne made a mirthless chuckling sound. “Daughter’s an automatic jury favorite. Cuddly, emotional. Sonny, on the other hand, is an obvious piece of garbage. Did two years for assaulting a police officer. Currently on parole. Slimy like his father, and more explosive.”

Gurney sat back in his seat and gazed out the wall-sized window. A late-season wasp, lethargic from the cold, was making its way across the glass. Thorne lifted his phone halfway out of his shirt pocket and glanced meaningfully at the time.

“Just a couple more questions,” said Gurney. “Considering the case against your client, I assume you considered making a deal with the prosecutor?”

“I recommended it. Slade refused. Said he wouldn’t plea to something he didn’t do. Said he wasn’t willing to lie. So, instead of fifteen-to-twenty, which I think I could have gotten him, he’s doing thirty-to-life.” Thorne’s grin returned. “Principles. They can really fuck you.” He paused. “What’s your game, Mr. Gurney?”

“You mean, why did I get involved? Emma Martin asked me to find cracks in the case that could be pried open.”

Thorne uttered a harsh little laugh and shook his head.

“You think I’m wasting my time?”

“Time billed at an appropriate hourly rate is never wasted. But as for finding cracks in the case? Cracks that could be leveraged into a successful appeal? Not likely. And even if an appeal did result in a retrial, you’d still be stuck with Slade’s unsavory history.”