Jackson, but we knew Clarissa was trying to find a job for Melvin.
Susan may very well have made the request on her behalf. And from what
our shrinks were telling us about Susan, she was far more likely to
kill in a rage triggered by what she saw as Clarissa's betrayal. The
more closely we looked into her background, the more stories we were
hearing like the one Grace had told me about Susan burning her
husband's favorite humidor. My best guess was that, in Susan's
screwed-up mind, she'd done Clarissa and Townsend a favor by hooking
them up with Gunderson.
"I don't think we'll ever know," I said, "but my gut tells me it
wasn't."
"Well, you've always had good instincts." More awkward silence. "So
I'll see you later, I guess."
"Yeah, maybe."
He stopped me before I walked out. "I know it's not my business, but I
couldn't help but notice that you came with Forbes."
I followed the direction of his glance to Chuck and my father in the
parking lot. "You're right. On both counts."
He nodded. "I guess the two of you always were close."
"Uh-huh." It wasn't the most articulate response, but talking to my
ex-husband about my boyfriend was awkward, to say the least.
"You know, Sam," he said, "it might not matter to you anymore, but I do
feel bad about what happened between us."
So that's what he'd been hemming and hawing about. As if "what
happened" had involved both of us?
"If it makes it any easier, she didn't even mean anything to me."
I looked at the floor while I summoned my patience. There was nothing
to gain by fighting him. "I always knew that, Roger. And that's why I
couldn't stay with you."
I left him then, wondering if I'd ever get over the fact that a man who
loved me as much as he knew how to love another person had thrown it
all away for someone who hadn't even mattered.
Outside, I was greeted by the sun for the first time in weeks. Dad put
his arm around me. "You OK there?"
"I'm good," I said, walking to the car. "Less sad than I was a few
hours ago. Maybe it's because the rain finally stopped."
"Maybe," he said. He gestured to the lobby. "What was that about?"
I paused, wondering the same thing. "Nothing that mattered. We talked
about the case a little." I looked at Chuck and smiled.
"You mean the case where you're the star witness?" I could always
count on Chuck to lighten the mood.
"That would be the one." I was still off the case I couldn't testify
and prosecute but Russ had assured me I could help plan the trial.
Looking Susan Kerr in the eye and giving evidence against her would be
even more rewarding than sitting first chair.
If my first two weeks in MCU were any indication, my first major trial
would come soon enough. In the meantime, I was happy to wait it out.
Author's Note
Striking the optimal balance between fact and fiction is a real writing
challenge. Readers notice when a defendant gets off on inconceivable
grounds or when the cops get a warrant with nothing approaching
the other hand, too much loyalty to reality makes for dry novels.
Samantha Kincaid's life is based on fact. Unless I mess it up, you
won't find her making nonexistent objections or prosecuting laws that
would never make the books. Along the way, I even ask for help to make
sure I've got my facts straight. For the answers, I thank Larry
Lewman, Deputy State Medical Examiner for the State of Oregon;
Multnomah County Deputy District Attorneys Josh Lamborn, Jim Mclntyre,
and John Bradley; and Hofstra Law School professors Nora Demleitner and
Matt Bodie. If I bungled something they told me, it's my fault, not
theirs.
The smart growth plan at the heart of Missing Justice is also based on
fact. When Samantha Kincaid describes Portland's urban growth boundary
as the "secret ingredient in Portland's warm gooey cinnamon bun," she
speaks from my heart. I did, however, exercise some artistic license.
The legislation creating Portland's urban growth boundary is not called
the Smart Growth Act; the Metro Council is not just a part-time gig;
and there is neither an Oregon suburb called Glenville nor a Portland
neighborhood called the Railroad District, let alone a development
licensing program based in it. In other words, the book's still
fiction.
And a better book it is thanks to the continued dedication and talent
of Jennifer Barth, Maggie Richards, and John Sterling at Henry Holt.
Their support, hard work, and creativity have made all the difference,
and I'm forever grateful.
A former deputy district attorney in Portland, Oregon, Alafair Burke
now teaches criminal law at Hofstra School of Law and lives in New York
City. She is the daughter of acclaimed crime writer James Lee Burke.
Missing Justice is her second novel. It follows her acclaimed debut
judgment. Calls.
www.alafairburke.com
Also by Alafair Burke Judgment Calls
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