Tell No Lies (12 page)

Earl came from behind the desk and stood against the front of it. "That's where you keep getting hung up, Jack. You keep telling yourself you're doing what
I
want you to do. Once you accept that you're doing what
you
want to do, everything else will get a lot easier."
 

CHAPTER FIVE

BY THE TIME he and Earl started out on foot for Dunne's office the following Tuesday, Jack had decided there was no point in keeping his options open if he didn't take the time to explore them. He would clarify his position, as he and Claire had agreed he should, but then he would listen to their advice and at least consider whatever he'd need to do, within reason, to win. After all, maybe he was unrealistic to think he could run for office without compromises.

The clock in the foyer struck eleven when they arrived, but a receptionist led them into a conference room where lunch was already laid out. Dunne, Stuart Katz and Pat Sullivan were admiring the food when Jack and Earl entered. Dunne approached Jack to shake his hand as Katz and Sullivan casually greeted Earl.

"Jack, how are you?" Dunne asked enthusiastically, his free hand on Jack's back. He pulled out a chair for him as he momentarily directed his attention to the receptionist. "Kelly, get this man a drink, will you?" To Jack again: "What'll you have?"

Jack tried to digest the unexpected attention being lavished on him. Had he not known better, he might have thought they believed he'd already decided to run.

They spent most of the meeting going over the mechanics of the campaign. Everything seemed much more grassroots than Jack had imagined, and he was relieved. A few fundraisers, flyers, yard signs, possibly some short interviews or profile pieces. When he expressed his surprise, they reminded him that the election of a DA was small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. He wondered if Earl had told them to stress that fact. The less consequential the election, the less consequential the sell-out.
 

"You'll want to choose people you trust to help you out. You need someone to handle your PR, and someone to keep track of the money." Jack noticed again that Dunne spoke as if he had already decided to run. "And, of course, you'll need a campaign manager. Someone to oversee everything so you can spend your time at fundraisers and just getting your name out there. Plus, you'll want to have the time to keep doing what you do best—trying cases. Every case you win will help your PR."

"How much time are we talking about? At fundraisers, I mean." Jack had never been one to enjoy the forced camaraderie of large legal functions, and he imagined fundraisers to be ten times worse.

"Believe me, Jack, you'll grow to love them." It was Katz talking now. "People want to be associated with a winner, and if they think you're that winner, they fawn over you. You'll be amazed at how good a fundraiser can make you feel."

Jack doubted the accuracy of Katz's claim, and he didn't like to think he might be susceptible to such false flattery, even if it was true.

Earl must have sensed this; he jumped in. "Don't worry. It's just a few months between now and November. We're talking District Attorney, not President." He smirked, and Jack knew he was thinking back to their conversation on Thursday. "There won't be too many events. You'll still have time to go out with your wife on the weekends."

Nice thought, except Jack couldn't even remember the last time he and Claire had hired a sitter so they could go out alone together. He remembered an argument they'd had a couple months ago, just after breakfast on a Saturday morning, about something as silly as whose job it was to book the babysitter. Come to think of it now, they hadn't been out since before that argument. Was Claire engaged in some sort of mutiny of which he hadn't even been aware?

He'd been gently nodding his head in agreement with whatever they'd been saying to him, even though, deep in his thoughts, he wasn't paying attention. But when he heard Stuart jokingly mention the Barnard case, it had the effect of someone splashing cold water on his face. He sat up straighter and tried to piece together the conversation. He relaxed only slightly when he figured out that Stuart had addressed Earl.

"That's not how I make my decisions, Stuart," Earl said.

"I'm thinking it might take the heat off of Jack a bit."

"Jack can take the heat. I'm not going to let Barnard be influenced by November's election." Earl's tone was steady, but firm.

Jack guessed from Earl's cold response that Stuart must have suggested that Earl ask for death in the Barnard case to quench the public's thirst before the election. The idea disgusted Jack, and he decided this was a good time to bring up his own concerns, when there might be a chance that Earl would sympathize with him.

"Since you've brought it up, let's talk about me taking the heat. What about the death penalty?" He braced himself for their reaction.

"What about it, Jack?" Dunne leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table.

"You know my views about it." He hesitated. His next sentence should have been,
I won't misrepresent myself to get elected
, but instead he said, "How am I supposed to reconcile those views with the public's desire to elect someone who's in favor of it?"
 

Dunne started to speak again but Pat Sullivan motioned with his hand to interrupt him. "Jack, the way I understand it, you don't like the law, but you know you're ethically bound to follow it, and will do so if the situation calls for it. Is that right?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then you've already reconciled it. It's that simple." Pat grabbed a handful of peanuts and sat back. "If the issue comes up—"

"
When
the issue comes up," Jack interrupted.
 

"Okay, I'll give you that. It probably will come up this year, with the Barnard case all over the news. When it comes up, you just reiterate what you've explained to us. No one is asking you to say that you support the death penalty. You need to understand that."

Jack nodded, though he wasn't too sure he agreed with the last claim. He felt that misrepresenting himself was
exactly
what they were asking. Dunne pursed his lips and stared at Earl with impatience. The meeting had taken a turn that Dunne obviously hadn't anticipated.
 

"I do understand that," Jack said suddenly.

Dunne turned to him. "Good. It's very important you understand that. But it's more important for you to understand that you can't come right out and say that you oppose it, either. Like it or not, Mr. Hilliard, running for office is like walking a tightrope."

Jack swallowed. When did they revert back to a more formal, last-name basis?

Dunne stood and walked over to the food. "If you aren't ready to master that skill now, you should give up. Don't waste our time." As he talked, he placed a sandwich on his plate without inviting the others to join him. Jack scanned their reactions. Dunne clearly had the floor and they were deferring to him.
 

"This country is pretty much split down the middle on the issue, as I'm sure
you
know," Dunne continued, as he piled on more food. "The majority leans one way or the other depending on whether there's been a gruesome crime in the news lately. Unfortunately for you, the tables are currently tipped in favor of the death penalty. I'm sorry about that. There's nothing I can do. So you just have to make up your mind whether you want to deal with it, or wait another four years and hope the climate changes." He turned to face them, balancing his full plate in one hand as he motioned with the other. "Of course, by then you'll also have to deal with running against an incumbent without the support of this party."
 

Jack watched Dunne take a bite of his sandwich as he leaned, still standing, against the food table. As he chewed, the two of them stared at each other, and Jack grew angry that Dunne had started eating while the rest of them remained seated and hungry.

Jack finally stood and motioned to the food. "May we?" He walked toward the table even before Dunne's stunned "of course" had left his lips. The others began shuffling their chairs and moved to follow him. When Jack reached Dunne's side, Dunne scooted to the side a bit to make room, but Jack felt his eyes on him. After he'd filled his plate, he approached a long, polished wood filing cabinet in front of the window. An expensive wood, perhaps cherry or walnut. He pushed a showy edition of Black's Law Dictionary to the side and, as casually as if he was in his own office, took a seat on top of it. He popped open a fresh can of soda. As he took a sip directly from the can, his eyes met Earl's, who had just sat back down in his own chair.
What the hell are you doing?
his expression asked. Jack turned to Dunne without acknowledging the look.
 

"Once I make the decision to run, I'll be more than ready to master the skill, Mr. Dunne," he said. "But I'm not going to make that decision without knowing exactly what's expected of me, what 'mastering the skill' means. If you believe that's tantamount to wasting your time, so be it. I'll have my lunch and be on my way."
 

Stuart pulled out a chair next to Earl and said, "Jack, what you're saying is—"

"Excuse me," Dunne said tersely in Stuart's direction. He was done massaging the potential candidate. He turned to Jack. "It means being able to address the issue without polarizing the public. That's the only way to get elected. Do you think you can do that?"

Jack relaxed slightly. Dunne hadn't called his bluff. He struggled not to let Dunne see his relief.

"I
know
I can do that, Mr. Dunne. I simply haven't made up my mind if I
want
to."
 

Dunne glanced at his watch. "Well, let's see. We're already into the middle of May. Do you think you could make up your mind by the Friday before Memorial Day?"

"If that's when you need to know, then that's when you'll have your answer."

The meeting had lasted longer than expected. By the time they returned to the courthouse, Jack had just enough time to grab a file from his office before heading to the eighth floor for a hearing in Judge Lehman's courtroom. He was a half hour into the hearing when the defendant's attorney requested a break to deal with an emergency on another case. Jack approached the bench to chat with the judge and his clerk while they waited for the other attorney to finish his calls in the hallway.

"Did you decide whether to run, Jack?" Judge Lehman asked. He took his glasses off and rubbed the lenses with a small, white cloth.

"Not yet. What do you think, Judge? Are the rewards of winning an election worth the gruel of a campaign?"

The judge smiled and placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. "Can't help you there. Judges know the only ones who bother to vote for us are the lawyers, so a campaign like you'd face is practically nonexistent." He looked at something behind Jack's shoulder and raised his voice for his next statement. "Mr. Hilliard, I think you have your own little cheering section." He nodded to the benches behind Jack.

Jack turned around and grinned; Claire was sitting in the back row of the empty courtroom. "Excuse me, Judge," he said and went to greet her.

"We'll resume in ten minutes," the judge announced and exited a side door to his chambers.

"Hey there." Jack slipped into the row with Claire, and she stood to greet him. He touched her cheek and kissed her briefly. "This is a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?"

She smiled, too, clearly pleased that he was happy to see her. "I don't know. I decided it'd been a while since I'd seen you in action."

He kissed her again. "No class?"

"I canceled it. Justice O'Connor was speaking on campus today, so I knew no one would show up, anyway."

His eyes widened in disbelief. "And you didn't want to go?"

"Well, it
was
a tough choice. Handsome husband or stodgy old jurist."
 

"You flatter me." He nudged her foot teasingly with his own. "We'll be done soon. You can wait in my office if—"

"No, no. I want to watch."

He held her hands down low in the space between them. She still wore her work clothes, or what for Claire constituted work clothes. Her dress was a terracotta color, a shirtwaist style that loosely followed her figure. She seemed out of place in the courtroom, although at one time she'd spent long hours there, too. But it wasn't just her clothes; her body language lacked the defensiveness that many attorneys unconsciously carried with them at all times. "You look pretty."

"How did it go this morning?"

Jack realized, somewhat guiltily, that he hadn't even thought to call her to report on the meeting. Not that he'd had the time.

"It went well, I think." He squeezed her hands. "I got a good lunch out of it."

"Did you make up your mind?"

"Without talking to you? Of course not."

"What'd they say when you clarified your position on the death penalty?"

Jack glanced back at the clerk. She was on the phone and paying them no attention.

"Jack?"

"Listen, when I'm done here we'll go get a bite to eat and I'll tell you everything we talked about, okay?"

Her shoulders fell and she took her hands back. "You didn't talk about it, did you?"

"Yes, we talked about it."

"What'd you say?"

"I'm in the middle of a hearing."

"No, you're in the middle of a ten-minute break from a hearing. Plenty of time to explain the gist of what was said."

He leaned against the seat back of the row behind him and crossed his arms. He turned again briefly to look at the clerk. "We talked about it. We talked about how to deal with the media on the issue—you know, how to answer any questions."

"You need them to tell you how to do that? How hard can it be? You answer honestly."

"You're not that naïve, Claire. Give me a break."

"It's naïve to want you to be honest?"

"No one said I'm going to be dishonest."

"Maybe you should start over, then." Her tone was sarcastic. "I've misunderstood."