“I can’t afford you, Mr Bera,” said Millie flatly.
“For now, let it be pro bono. If things go well, Dr. Hunter, and you are found of unsound mind when you shot your husband, you will enjoy a very large income from royalties. I would then send in a bill for my customary fee,” Bera said crisply.
“You look a little like Captain Carmine Delmonico.”
“A compliment. He’s a handsome man. Will you accept my offer, Dr. Hunter?”
“Yes. I don’t see why Jim’s ungrateful family should reap the rewards of a book I happened to write.” She looked satisfied. “I can prove I wrote A Helical God, and I have Dr. Tinkerman’s essay proving that Jim didn’t. Jim took the papers when he shot Mrs. Tinkerman, but he didn’t destroy them.”
“Am I able to lay my hands on these documents?”
“Yes.” She pushed a card across the table. “Give this to Pedro Gomez, who has a convenience store on the corner of State and Caterby. He’ll give you a manuscript box.”
“Excellent,” said Bera on a purr. He extracted a notepad from his briefcase. “Now, Millie, I am going to put you through a worse interrogation than the Holloman PD.”
“You should know,” Millie said, eyes tearing, “that a few days before I shot Jim, I received the worst news any woman of child-bearing age can receive. From my gynecologist, Dr. Benjamin Solomon. The details are horrible.” She wiped her eyes.
Bera stiffened, his dark eyes gleaming. “Ah! Naturally I need a detailed explanation, my dear, but that’s no hurry. Just take your time … in full, Dr. Hunter.”