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was shot to death as he watched, held back from trying to stop her death by police procedures. It was a reminder of how desperate he was the day he put the Glock 9mm into his mouth. The scar was a reminder of his wife’s face that flashed in his mind’s eye a split second before he pulled the trigger. The flashing of her face, causing him to turn his head, had sent the bullet ripping through the side of his face, and not through his brain.
    “Okay,” Crown said. “For once, you’re right about something. I am going to fly out to see my son but as soon as I see him, speak with his father and make sure you get your asses out there, I’ll come back here. Don’t get the idea that you being right makes me wrong. It’s just if I see how bad you fumble your way around the investigation, I may fire you from the case.”
    “Crown,” Derek said, “you can’t really fire us since we’re not charging your son for our time.”
    “You bet your sorry ass we’re gonna charge,” Crown snapped. “We’re charging my son and we’re charging his cheating shit-headed father. Plenty. We aren’t a charity, Cole. We’re a business and we need to charge for our expertise.”
    Nikkie said, “I have a feeling you’ve already made travel arrangements.”
    “Of course I did,” Crown said. “Nikkie, you and I are flying first class. Cole, since you’re so concerned about costs, I booked you in coach. Middle row, of course. Flight leaves tomorrow at ten thirty six in the afternoon.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Louis Randall had practiced law for nearly thirty years, most of it behind a desk and seldom in front of a jury. He believed that a client who stands before a judge and jury has a moron for an attorney. Louis was a master of three things. One, finding egregious flaws in police procedures. Two, finding or creating loopholes that set District Attorneys around the Northeast United States head’s spinning. And third, persuading his clients to take a plea over facing a jury.
    His standard practice when accepting a criminal case was to have one of his associates meet with the client while he contacted and then contracted with a private investigator or investigative firm to begin the monotonous and, at times, dangerous tasks of field and background investigation. But when he was contacted by his ex-wife, Victoria Crown, and was told that their son had been arrested, his adherence to standard practice went out the door.
    “I’ll have him out in three hours,” Louis had told Crown. “Four, on the outside.”
    “This isn’t a contest, asshole, and if you try to make this all about you and how the entire law world should bow down before your greatness, I’ll lace your afternoon martini with horse sperm and spread rumors about your beastiality addiction. This is our son, and while you sucked at being a husband, I know you care about Bo. Get him out of that horrible jail and get him out of trouble.”
    “Glad to see you haven’t changed a bit, Crown,” Louis said. “Don’t worry, Bo will be fine. I’m heading down to the county jail now and will use my normal PI for ground work.”
    “Bullshit,” Crown said. “We’re using Derek Cole and his team. He’s better than any of the shitheads you work with.”
    “But mine have relationships with the sheriff’s department. Cole may be good and he may have solved some high profile cases, but he’s also known to go freelance too often and to piss off police departments. My guy does things by the book and doesn’t alienate police.”
    “Good for him,” Crown said. “He sucks some cop dick and makes everyone happy. Cole is taking this case. End of story.”
    Louis paused several seconds. As talented as he was as an orator, he had learned that arguing with his ex-wife was as futile as trying to empty the ocean using a spoon. “Fine,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Cole can take the case. I’ll meet with him as soon as he gets here. Have him contact me when he arrives.”
    “Good