Witness for the Defense by Michael C. Eberhardt

planting evidence, it would likely be impossible to prove. I’d need to take some time investigating, ruling out the possibility that the cops framed Jared, then working out a satisfactory plea bargain. Actually, I would be getting the better end of the stick. Needing my limited savings to live on, I wasn’t sure I could afford Sarah anyway.
    “Are you sure this is what you want?”
    Sarah nodded. “I’d really appreciate it.”
    The tingly feeling was back. I turned to look out the window. The moon was just beginning to show over the ridge of redwoods to the north.
    “Dad will clean this place tomorrow,” she said. “You’ll see. It won’t be so bad.”
    The mention of her father doing something for me woke me up. I understood why the two of them had been so friendly, insisting I stay for dinner and boozing me up. She’d do anything for her father. And he needed me.
    “I get it….” I began, but stopped myself. What was I thinking? I needed her help more than she did mine. I had no room to complain.
    “Let’s give it a try,” I said.
    “Great, we’ll start tomorrow.” Sarah gave me a quick peck on the cheek. A twinkle appeared in her eye. “Now I have to leave before my bladder explodes,” she said and rushed out the front door.

Chapter 8
    The San Francisco County District Attorney’s Office had an eerie coldness about it. I felt like a stranger sitting in front of Michael Patterson’s desk, flanked by Sarah and Steve Ogden. This time I wasn’t fishing for some poor slob who’d had his sorry butt hauled in for something he deserved. This time I wasn’t one of two adversaries doing their traditional dance around the court’s maypole. This time it was my ass on the line, and I didn’t like the feeling.
    We had been waiting for Sergeant Musgrave, the investigating officer assigned to my case.
    Ogden sat very still, his hands folded in his lap. Except for how the allegations reflected on the integrity of the public defender’s office, I figured he didn’t give a damn what happened to me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have put me on immediate suspension.
    Patterson, on the other hand, fidgeted in his chair as he contemplated his next move.
    During our long drive, Sarah and I had agonized over how much I should say to him. Like most defense attorneys, we were aware that anything I said could be twisted. But we were also aware I had nothing to hide.
    “Let’s get started without him,” the D.A. finally said. His voice had a smoker’s gravelly sound to it. “Miss Harris has informed me you are willing to discuss the allegations that Bobby Miles and Salvador Martinez have lodged against you.”
    “If that’s what it takes.”
    Patterson slowly thumbed through the open file on his desk, exposing the yellow tobacco stains from his three-pack-a-day habit.
    “These are very serious charges,” he said, as if he were reading them for the first time.
    “All lies,” I responded.
    With a raised eyebrow Patterson fixed his gaze on me. “I better advise you of your rights.”
    “Come on, Mike.” I looked at Ogden for help, but he was adjusting the shoelaces on his newly polished wingtips.
    “Is that really necessary?” Sarah asked. “I thought this was just an informal meeting.”
    “It is,” he said. “But you both know it’s required.” Patterson probably thought I’d come in cowering, begging for his understanding. But that was his fault—just as marching into his office thinking the matter would be informally resolved was mine. We both should have known better. He pulled a card from his top pocket. “You have the right—”
    I grabbed the card from his hand and signed at the bottom. “I’ve heard it a thousand times,” I said and flipped the card at him. It whizzed past his head and fell harmlessly to the floor.
    Patterson’s face hardened, as did mine. Sarah scooted forward in her chair to say something but I waved her off.
    “I signed it,” I said, “so let’s get