Capitol Murder
lawyer in Portland, and I’m representing Clarence Little. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I won Mr. Little’s postconviction cases. His convictions in the Benford and Poole cases have been set aside.”
    “I assumed Clarence would get someone to attack the rest of his convictions once it was established that the jurors who convicted in Benford and Poole could have been influenced by evidence concerning a crime he didn’t commit.”
    “That’s what the judge held. You made my job easy by proving Mr. Little didn’t kill Laurie Erickson.”
    “You know it was another lawyer who won the appeal in the Ninth Circuit.”
    “I know you weren’t the attorney of record when Little’s conviction in the Erickson case was thrown out,” Millie said. “But everyone knows that it was you and Dana Cutler who provided the real basis for the reversal.”
    “That’s ancient history. When I moved to Washington, D.C., to clerk at the Court, I lost track of what was happening in Oregon. I haven’t been involved in the case for some time, so why have you called me?”
    “I’ve been prepping for Mr. Little’s trials, and I had a question about something that happened while you were representing him.”
    “It’s about the jar with the pinkies and the two bodies you found. I’m confused about how you found them.”
    “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that.”
    “All I want to know is who told you where to find the jar and the bodies.”
    “I’m sorry, Miss Reston. I can’t help you.”
    “Does that mean you’re protecting a confidence of Mr. Little’s?”
    “I can’t comment on that,” he said.
    “We both represent Mr. Little, so you won’t be violating a confidence if you answer my question.”
    “Look, Miss Reston, I can’t even be sure you are who you claim to be. You could be a reporter looking for a story and pretending to be Mr. Little’s lawyer. But even if you are who you say you are, I can’t help you. I don’t even know why you’re asking me about this. Clarence is your client. Ask him.”
    There was dead air for a moment, and Millie thought Brad was going to hang up. Instead, he asked her a question.
    “When were you appointed to handle Clarence’s postconviction cases?”
    “Shortly after the Ninth Circuit reversed in the Erickson case.”
    “That was a month or two before the presidential election, wasn’t it?”
    “I just received a letter in the mail from your client. It’s similar to a letter from Mr. Little that was hand-delivered to me on the evening of the presidential election. Did you have anything to do with those letters?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Millie answered a little too quickly.
    “Do you know who helped him send them to me? They weren’t mailed from the penitentiary.”
    “No, I don’t. I’m sorry I bothered you,” Millie said, ending the conversation abruptly. She hadn’t expected Brad to ask her about the letters, and she was scared to death that he would talk to someone at the prison about them. She was sorry she’d called Brad. She might have put herself in harm’s way if he followed up. Even worse, although he had not come out and said it, Miller certainly acted like a man protecting a client’s confidences.
    Millie went back to the files after she hung up on Brad Miller, but she had trouble concentrating, because she could not help thinking about their conversation. Miller was no longer involved with Clarence’s case. Why would he refuse to answer her question? The only reasonable explanation was that Clarence had revealed the locations as part of a confidential communication, which the law forbade Brad to reveal.
    That evening, Millie tossed and turned for almost an hour after getting into bed and slept in fits and starts. She was exhausted when she woke up, and had no appetite. She dreaded confronting Clarence about the pinkies, but she had to know if everything she believed she and Clarence had

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