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flashes of superiority he directed at the world in general and women in particular.
    I didn’t want to know what gang affiliation the ugly, violent tattoo of a dripping knife on his upper arm indicated he had. It wouldn’t be from a hood. No, his would be a hate affiliation.
    My client might not be guilty of rape, but I would lay odds that his sins were of the dark variety.
    He gave me a self-satisfied smile, one I always wanted to smack off his face. I’d noticed he reserved it for when we were alone, never in public. I hoped he maintained that policy—a jury could convict on the expression alone.
    “So the judge is allowing the photographs?” Larry asked.
    I forced myself to focus on the case at hand.
    “Yes. I have to arrange for them to be cropped and let the judge inspect them again, but your birthmark made the photos probative of the victim’s identification.”
    “Good.” He studied his laced fingers. “When are you deposing her? ”
    Another irritating thing about my client. He never said the victim’s name. Hell, he rarely said my name. It was as if by denying a woman’s identity, he could demean her.
    “I’m taking Ms. Sheree Greiner’s deposition Friday.”
    “Good. How do you plan to shake her testimony?”
    I had to give it to him on this score. He’d become a real jail house lawyer, reading legal how-to books and taking a closer interest in my handling of a case than any other client I’ve ever had. He wanted to know and plan every detail. We’d discussed that the discovery deposition of the victim would be crucial to throw her identification of the rapist into question. After all, there was no forensic evidence to convict.
    The attacker had been very, very careful, wearing a condom and apparently shaving his body before the attack. No forensic evidence to link Larry to the crime.
    The victim. Here I was depersonalizing her, but I needed to do so in order to do my job. But at least I knew Sheree Greiner was an eighteen-year-old concession stand worker who didn’t deserve to have her world tainted by a brutal rape.
    “I plan to establish clearly she never saw a birthmark on her attacker.” My gaze flicked to the edge of Larry’s tattoo showing from under the sleeve of his jumpsuit.
    “Unfortunately, the man wore long sleeves so the presence of your tattoo isn’t important. Shame. That would have been the clincher.”
    Larry leaned forward, intensity a cold fire in his eyes. “Ridiculous. You have to do more. I’m your typical American male.”
    “Not so typical that she was able to pick you out of a line-up,” I pointed out.
    “Only because there were only two blond men in the line-up. I also bet the police tainted it by showing her a picture of me ahead of time.”
    “Yes, I’ve requested a photograph of the line-up. I plan to question the lead detective about it at trial.”
    “Show this woman a college yearbook and I bet she’ll find a hundred pictures of me,” he said with derision.
    A college yearbook…no, but I could do something else at the deposition. Excitement thrummed through me. The idea was certainly within the guidelines and, in this case, just might rattle the identification enough for the state to want to make a deal.
    Larry cocked an eyebrow. “What? I can see you’re onto something.”
    “I need to think through it some more. I’ll see you next week after the deposition. Call me if anything comes up.”
    His lips twisted in a wry smile, making him seem human and almost vulnerable. “I’m not going anywhere.”
    No, he couldn’t. The bond set by the judge had been based more on the news media’s intense coverage of a possible serial rapist than the evidence presented. Larry would be cooling his heels here until trial. Fortunately, that meant his case got priority on the judge’s calendar. Also, his prison time would be taken into account for his sentencing should he be convicted.
    But I wouldn’t think that way. My client would get a fair trial. Just