Close Case (21 page)

“And he’ll tell you the same thing,” she said, turning to face me. “We met this morning. It’s a united front. With no confession and no cooperation from either of us, we’re willing to take our chances in court.”

When I returned to my office, I found a handwritten note on my chair.
Russ wants you to call him. Sorry.—Alice.

Poor Alice. Russ had been calling her every couple of hours for updates on the entire unit’s work. Not surprisingly, he wanted information on Crenshaw.

“I’m fine here. Get back down on the couch and tend to your bull’s-eye rash and flulike symptoms.”

“What happened on the motion?”

When I filled him in on Lesh’s ruling and my conversation with Lisa afterward, he provided his expert legal analysis. “You are totally fucked.”

“I’ve still got a lot of evidence.”

“We’ve talked about this. It’s not enough. You
will
broker a deal, and I don’t care which one of those assholes gets it.”

Not so long ago, my response to a direct order at work was to think about, and most often threaten, quitting. But at some point during my time in MCU, I had come to see my relationship with the DA’s office as a marriage. Or, more aptly put in my case, a marriage where one of the partners wasn’t misusing his penis. The point is, I had come to accept that I wasn’t leaving, even in rough times.

On the other hand, even the best couples argue. “I can’t. She made it clear I’d be bargaining with myself until I got down to Man Two, which I’m not about to offer.”

“And I’m not telling you to give her Man Two. I’m telling you to make a deal. Man One with six to ten is fairly standard when you need a guy to flip. Offer it. That united front she built? Your job is to break it. If Lopez is being a stickler, I know you can out-scare a pussy like Braun.”

“No way. Hanks is the one who brought the bat.” He was also the one with prior convictions, the one who reduced a man like Percy Crenshaw to a racist epithet, the one who’d spit at me when he was arrested, and the one who was most likely a date rapist to boot. I did
not
want to give him a deal.

“Then convince Lopez.”

“Trust me. I know her. I just talked to her. It’s not going to happen.”

“Jesus, Kincaid. You’re worse than this rash. Pick one of them. I don’t care who it is. Or call them both and tell them your rock bottom offer goes to the first one who takes it. Just get one of them to turn.”

Alice Gerstein walked into my office and handed me a note.
An attorney is waiting to see you—Lucas Braun.

“Russ, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you right back.” I could still hear him in the handset when I disconnected.

I didn’t even know Lucas Braun, and I could tell he was nervous. It’s basic body language. Through the glass window of the room where he waited, I watched him fiddle with the pad on which he’d written his notes, his lips moving subtly as he rehearsed the lines he’d composed for himself. When I walked in, he couldn’t even rise to shake my hand without adjusting his out-of-character striped tie and stroking the tips of his shoulder-length hair like a security blanket.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Braun?”

“Well, first let me thank you for taking the time to see me without an appointment. I know how busy the DDAs get in MCU.”

Inwardly, I winced at his attempt to impress me with law-enforcement acronyms. “Not a problem. What’s up?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you speaking with Ms. Lopez after the hearing in Judge Lesh’s courtroom.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know the two of you handle more cases than I do, so you’re probably quite comfortable with each other by now. I just wanted to stop by to talk—you know, to make sure my client wasn’t at a disadvantage when it came to communications among the lawyers.”

He apparently didn’t know the personality dynamics well enough to realize that Lisa and I weren’t exactly girlfriends, but he had picked up on the possibility that Lisa was a snake who’d sell out her united front in a heartbeat to benefit her client. So here he was, selling her out first. I knew what he wanted—a deal for his racist, spitting, date-raping, murderer client.

There were plenty of reasons why I’d hate to be a defense attorney, but this struck me as one of them. My ethical obligations aren’t particularly complicated: Get bad guys, don’t get good ones. But in the shoes of Lopez or Braun, I’m not sure where my loyalties would lie. If both defendants kept quiet, both stood a good shot at an acquittal. But if one stepped to the plate, he could buy his way out of the gamble at the other’s expense. Which one should go home feeling guilty? Lucas—ready to take the one and only deal I was willing to put on the table—or Lisa, who had turned it down moments ago?

“If there’s something you want to say, Lucas, you should probably get to the point.”

“I’ve spoken to Trevor. He’s willing to testify against Corbett. In exchange, you accept a plea to Robbery One with a sentencing recommendation of three years.”

“You need to quintuple that number and start talking about a homicide charge.”

“My guy says it was Corbett who took all the swings.”

“And you know that doesn’t matter. Robbery plus dead body equals felony murder.”

“Man Two, three years.”

“No, Lucas.”

“Man One, four years.”

“Didn’t you hear me before? You’re still way off.”

“Man One, five years. That’s my final offer.”

He’d finally stopped bidding against himself. It was time for me to get specific. “Man One, ten years.”

“I won’t recommend that to him. We’ve already talked about the options. Any more than seven years, and he wants a trial.”

“He’ll do the seven? Waive all rights to appeal? Contingent on truthful testimony?”

“Yeah.”

I thought about Russ’s directive. I had to make a deal, and seven years was in the suggested range. I thought about the possibility of getting something better from Lisa. No, I’d seen how determined she was; given time, she might even be able to pull Braun back into the united front. This was my only choice.

“Have your guy ready to talk to me tomorrow at two. If I don’t like what he has to say, no deal.”

As soon as I left the conference room, Alice informed me that Russ had called twice since I hung up on him.

“Sam?” he answered.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t hang up on me when I’m trying to supervise you.”

“Sorry about that. Alice—”

“Alice doesn’t run the unit. You know, I’ve put up with a lot of shit from you this year. And I haven’t gone running to Duncan with it like Rocco used to.”

Russ didn’t need to remind me that he was the only supervisor I’d managed to get along with—for the most part. “I know, but—”

“And I know you don’t want to cut a deal, but when I’m giving you a direct order—”

“Russ. I hung up because Lucas Braun was here to see me. I did what you told me. Hanks is testifying. Man One, seven years.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that? You listened to me?”

“Yes.”

“OK! Very good. All right, just make sure you tell your cops before they find out somewhere else. Warning: They’ll be pissed.”

As it turned out, they already were, but for an entirely different reason.

When I called MCU to check if the guys were around, I could tell from Mike Calabrese’s tone that something was up, but I assumed he was still mad about Lesh’s ruling. If I’d known there was more to the story, perhaps I would have been less breezy when I walked into the MCU office.

“Hey, guys,” I said casually. “I had a chance to talk to both of the defense attorneys on Crenshaw, and I wanted to tell you in person where things stand.”

It was when Mike Calabrese grunted under his breath that I realized he was staring coldly at me, arms crossed in front of his chest. Ray Johnson was still typing at a computer terminal, apparently ignoring my entrance. Jack Walker was fiddling with his pants pockets, avoiding my eyes. And Chuck—well, Chuck did his best to save me from my own mistake.

“Sam, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. A court reminder came into the property room today for a grand jury appearance on Geoff Hamilton. It had your name on it, so everyone’s sort of wondering—but I know your guys’ names wind up on each other’s files all the time.”

This was bad. Very bad. In a perfect world, I would have mitigated the conflict with MCT by telling them all up front I had inherited the Hamilton situation. As it stood, I hadn’t even told Chuck.

“Um, yeah, they do, but actually I
am
covering that hearing. I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it earlier,” I said, looking directly at Chuck. “It just happened yesterday. Russ is out sick for a while.”

This morning, Chuck had been paged away before I woke, staying just long enough to kiss me goodbye and wish me luck on the Crenshaw motion.

My apology was met with silence from everyone but Chuck. “Well, all the better for Hamilton. Better you than Russ, right?”

This time, I was the one who was silent. And now the guys were staring at Chuck, not just me.

“All I’m saying is that Hamilton stands a better chance with Sam. At least she knows what it’s like for a cop out there.”

“Is that true, Sam?” Mike asked derisively. “Does Hamilton really stand any better chance with you in the room instead of Russ Frist?”

“Look, I told you guys, I’m sorry I didn’t bring up the reassignment. I knew there were strong feelings in this room about the case, and as your friend I should have said something.” I pretended not to hear Mike’s scoff at my use of the word
friend
. “Beyond that, it would be incredibly inappropriate—and in fact illegal—to comment on the impaneling of a grand jury. I came over here to talk to you about the Crenshaw case, and, if it’s OK, that is what I would still like to do.”

Chuck closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“As I’m sure the rest of you know by now,” I said, looking at Walker and Johnson, “Judge Lesh suppressed Corbett’s confession. I managed to avoid a motion to dismiss the case outright.” Mike sighed from his seat at the table, and Chuck threw him a correcting glance. “You didn’t get to see Lesh’s reaction, because you rushed out of the courtroom. He may have denied the motion to dismiss, but he made it clear that without the confession he didn’t think much of the State’s case. I agree with him. Long story short, Hanks agreed to flip. I had to give him a rock-bottom deal, but this way we’re assured convictions for both of them.”

“And what’s a rock-bottom deal?” Mike demanded.

“Seven years. It’s not that unusual when we need the cooperation.”

“You mean when you don’t want to go to trial.”

It was times like these that I wished prosecutors occupied a link somewhere squarely within the chain of command of the police hierarchy. It was never quite clear where we stood with one another when push came to shove. Sure, rookie cops knew not to cross a Russ Frist, but only because they’d eventually feel the heat from someone on high. And baby DAs knew not to rankle a captain, or Duncan would hear about it. But in a straight-up pissing match between Calabrese and me, I didn’t know whether to dress him down or not.

“That is totally unfair. If anyone should know I’m willing to go out on a limb, it’s you guys. But walking into a trial to crash and burn is not an option. Without that confession, we were screwed.”

“We lost that confession because you did all Lopez’s work for her. What was up with all those questions? And why didn’t you get her off my back about my IA file?”

“I didn’t ask you for anything other than the truth, Mike. It’s not my fault the facts were what they were. And I told you she had the complaints. If it weren’t for me, she would have had the entire file; she would have been all over you about your transfer from NYPD.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“This is getting out of control,” Chuck interjected.

We both ignored him. “It means I left out the part of the file where a precinct commander might have cut a couple of corners to get you into the bureau. I was trying to protect you, and it still wasn’t enough.”

“Protect me? You don’t know shit about why I moved here, and you’d be smart never to mention it again.” Mike’s voice was louder and shriller than I’d ever heard it. “You cut a deal, and you want to blame it all on me.”

“I didn’t say anything to blame you, Mike. And, in case you didn’t notice, I took a beating in there at least as much as you did over that entire fucked-up interrogation, so don’t pretend like I don’t have something riding on this too. And, more important than either of our fragile fucking egos is the fact that I’m the one who has to call Percy’s parents tonight and explain to them why a redneck piece of shit like Trevor Hanks will be out by his twenty-fifth birthday.”

The room was silent. None of them—except Chuck, of course—had seen me truly angry before. I knew from experience what they were seeing: my cheeks reddened, my eyes piercing, my jaw set, and the white cotton of my blouse seriously pitted. I had, in short, lost it in front of them for the first time.

“OK, then,” I said. “I’ve told you what I came to say. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Chuck actually caught up with me in the Justice Center staircase. Damn heels.

“Talk to me, OK? I think you owe me at least that. Do you know how stupid I felt when they asked me about that grand jury notice?”

“I know. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. But I was so relieved last night when you weren’t mad at me, and I just wanted to be with you and get a hamburger, and—” I felt tears starting to form, threatening to violate my hard-held no-crying-in-the-courthouse-halls rule. “Please, Chuck,” I said quietly, “just please let me go. I promise we’ll talk at home. I’ve got a ton of work I have to wrap up, and then I really do just want to be at home with you.”

“Well, I won’t be there.” He could tell from my expression that I was confused. “I called Matt to see how he’s holding up. We’re meeting for a beer a little later.”

“Two cops commiserating about their broken relationships?”

“We’re not broken, Sam. Talk to me about what’s going on with you, please?”