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“But she didn’t finger Santa Claus, did she? She fingered your client.”
“Because he was the only Mexican in the lineup. I can’t wait to see what a judge has to say about that.”
Turner shook his head in disgust. “Jesus, you’re just as bad as all the other defense attorneys, you know that? I thought a divorce attorney might have more sense.”
She started to snap back another smart-ass comment, but then his words sunk in. “How do you know what kind of lawyer I am? I never mentioned it to you.”
“What, are you keeping it a secret?” Turner shot his partner a furious look and then pushed back from the table. “This conversation is over. And don’t call me again. If you want to talk to me, you can do it in court.” He stormed off.
Barnes smiled awkwardly as he stood. “Sorry about that, Ms. Wentworth. He gets a little excited sometimes.”
“It’s fine.” She studied him for a second, more than a little intrigued by his discomfort. “Tell me something, Anthony. If Turner hadn’t been pushing for it, would you have arrested Diego Sanchez for murder?”
“Absolutely.” His voice was firm, resolute, but his eyes never made it past the bridge of her nose. “I have to go now.”
“I know. Thanks again for meeting me.”
“No problem.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet, but she stopped him.
“Don’t worry about it—coffee’s on me. It’s the least I can do after pulling you down here for nothing.”
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