Tell No Lies (19 page)

"No, ma'am, I haven't. I hope to complete my review of the evidence and the statute by the end of the week. I will announce my intentions then."

Earl was well aware of the evidence in the case and could recite the relevant section of the statute by memory, if he wanted to.

"So it is a possibility?"

"It's always a possibility in a first degree murder case."

"There have been very few cases in your tenure for which you'd sought death. Why's that?"

Sweat ran down Jack's back as if someone had turned on a faucet. These questions may have been pitched to Earl, but Jack was on deck.

"Despite the sometimes apparent heinous nature of the crimes that have crossed my desk, there have been very few for which I thought the circumstances justified the death penalty under our statutes. My job for this city has been to prosecute criminals to the fullest extent of the law, as that law was written by our state legislature. I can't substitute my own wishes or the wishes of a few vocal citizens for the intent expressed by our elected representatives."

This sounded good to Jack, but this lady wasn't having any of it.

"Well, Mr. Scanlon, if the Barnard case doesn't satisfy the requirements of the statute, what type of case would?"

"As I explained, I'm still deciding whether Barnard does, in fact, satisfy the requirements of the statute." Then, with finality, Earl declared, "I'll have that decision for you within days."

Jack considered whether to turn and continue up the steps, as if he, too, believed the interrogation was over. Earl would like that. Some sort of decisiveness on Jack's part, an effort to take control. But maybe not. He thought of what Claire had suggested:
Maybe he wants to make sure you can handle it before it gets too close to the election
. He could handle it, Earl knew that. It was Claire who doubted him.
 

Jack looked the reporter in the eye to acknowledge that he knew the next question would be directed to him, and that he welcomed it. The microphone moved swiftly from Earl to Jack.

"Mr. Hilliard? I'm sure the electorate would like to know how
you
would handle this case."
 

He considered lobbing a pat response about how it wasn't his decision to make, but he knew she'd persist, and by not answering the question right away, he would be seen as evasive and weak. Anyway, hadn't he been expecting this question for months? He was ready for it.

"Ma'am, I'm not going to stand here and tell you I like the idea of the death penalty. I don't." He intentionally looked past her at the small group of protesters so that he could also steal a glance at Earl. Earl was listening to Jack, but without any evidence of concern for what he might say. He'd completely, with full trust, relinquished the floor to him. Emboldened, Jack continued.
 

"Although I know some believe otherwise, I really don't think any prosecutor relishes the thought of asking for the death penalty. But despite a DA's personal views about the appropriateness of such a punishment, he or she is ethically bound to follow the laws of the state in which he prosecutes crimes." He attempted a deep breath but, because of the stifling heat, managed only a shallow intake of air. "So to answer your question, how would I handle this case? I would handle this case in the same way any conscientious and ethical DA would handle it. Like Mr. Scanlon, I would review the totality of the evidence in light of the statute and make the difficult but informed decision as to whether the facts of the crime indicate it should be a capital case."

The muscles in Jack's shoulders began to relax and he almost imagined a cool breeze tickling the nape of his neck. But then the young man who'd been talking to the reporter when they'd first approached spoke. "That's bullshit," he sneered, his voice easily carrying over to them in the morning's relative silence.

The reporter ignored him but used his comment as an excuse to press on. "And, in your opinion, Mr. Hilliard, do the facts of the Barnard case indicate it should be a capital case?"

"I don't—"

"Surely you are privy to all of the relevant facts of the case. You're asking this city to let you wear Mr. Scanlon's shoes. Aren't the voters entitled to know where you stand?"

"Yes, of course they are." He felt the tension rising at her insinuations. He struggled to follow the first advice Earl had ever given him, years before: don't let a reporter goad you into anger. "I think—"
 

"Clyde Hutchins kidnapped twelve-year-old Cassia Barnard at her bus stop, then raped, tortured, stabbed and strangled her. Then he left her out in the brutal elements of a January winter to die, just in case that hadn't already been accomplished. I'm merely asking, Mr. Hilliard, is this a case for which
you
, as a candidate for District Attorney of this city, would ask for death?"
 

What
would
he do? He remembered the conversation he'd had with Jenny that night, so long ago, it seemed:
If there was ever the perfect argument for the death penalty, isn't this case it?
And what had his answer been?
I don't think there will ever be the perfect argument for the death penalty
. And then he thought of Dunne's comment:
Your goal is to get elected, not to make everyone think like you do
.
 

He looked at the group again. They stood quietly, ready to pounce. How to make them understand he was on their side? Maybe he was asking too much.
Your legacy will be made in office, not on the campaign trail
. There was only one response to the question. He stared hard at the reporter before answering.
 

"Absent mitigating circumstances of which I may not be aware, since I'm not working on the case" —he paused, not for effect, but to gather the nerve required to say what he planned to say— "I think it may be an appropriate case." He ignored the rising murmur and looked at his watch. "If you'll excuse us, I have a meeting in ten minutes," he lied.

The reporter made an effort to ask more questions, but Jack and Earl turned together and trotted up the steps to the entrance of the courthouse as if they had previously choreographed it.

It was the comment of one of the protesters—a female this time—that caused Jack to stop abruptly just as he gripped the handle of the massive door.

"Then you're no better than Cassia Barnard's murderer!" she called, her voice laced with contempt.

Before Jack could react, Earl spoke quickly and quietly to him. "Don't respond. Don't even turn around or you'll erase every gain you just made down there." When Jack still didn't move, he commanded, "Open the door."

They'd passed through the metal detector and stepped into the empty elevator before Earl spoke again. "You know," he said with a chuckle, "getting you through to November is a little like trying to thread a rope through the eye of a needle."

Jack glanced at him, expressionless, and then, as if the force of his touch would make them get there faster, pressed the elevator button hard. He crossed his arms, leaned against the wall, and stared at the chipped linoleum tiles on the floor of the elevator.

"Don't look so miserable. You handled that well."

"Yeah, well, put in a good word for me if you get to the gates of St. Peter first."

"Spare me, Jack. You knew you'd have to put up with comments like that."

Jack didn't bother to respond. He couldn't deny it—he had known he'd get comments like that. But that didn't mean he had to enjoy them. He thought again of what Claire had said that morning and suddenly wondered whether he'd just been set up.

When they stepped off the elevator, Jack said, "I didn't say I'd ask for death."

"No, you didn't," Earl agreed.

He expected Earl to say more. Instead, they walked down the quiet corridor toward their offices. Jack stopped short at the door to the men's room. Perspiration drenched his shirt and he wished he kept an extra one in his office for times like these. Right, times like these. Despite the city's sweltering summers, he couldn't remember ever before sweating like this.
 

In the bathroom, he wet a few paper towels with cold water and wiped his face. His cheeks were flushed, the way they looked after a long run. He folded the towels and placed them on the back of his neck. He remembered that Newman had showers in the men's room. If he won the election, maybe he'd have showers put in these offices, for everyone. He laughed, because he knew it wasn't even an option. He'd have the first say over whether defendants should live or die, but he wouldn't have the power to get a shower installed for his staff.

"What's so funny?"

Earl stood in the doorway. Jack hadn't heard him come in; he wondered how long he'd been there. He'd assumed Earl had continued on to his office.

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. Everything. Life. Death. This summer. The campaign. The reporter. That girl's inability to read between the lines."

"Nope. She doesn't even realize that you're her man, does she?" He paused, and then grinned when he saw the hint of a smile on Jack's face. He stepped all the way into the bathroom and let the door close behind him. "People hear what they want to hear, what they expect to hear."

Jack nodded as he pulled down more towels from the dispenser and began to wipe his face and neck all over again. "Maybe I have no right to ask, but what's her mom want?"

Earl remained quiet for a moment. He knew Jack meant Cassia's mother. "I don't know."

"Maybe you should ask her."

Earl smiled a bit and nodded. "Okay." Then: "Jack, I meant it when I said you handled it well."

"I know." He unbuttoned his shirt halfway and rubbed the towel down his chest. "Hey, do you think I'd be able to get showers put in if I win the election?"   

Earl laughed. "You could always try, I suppose."

"What would you have done differently?"

"Huh?" The question seemed to have caught Earl off guard, and Jack realized he thought he was referring to Earl's time as DA. Jack leaned against the sink, facing Earl.

"My response to the reporter's questions. Would you have handled it any differently?"

"You were perfect, Jack. Keep it up and before you know it you'll be moving your junk into my office."

November seemed a long way away.

CHAPTER TEN

ON THE THURSDAY afternoon before the weekend of the state bar's annual Bench & Bar Conference, Earl called Jack into his office. Jack was certain he wanted to discuss Barnard; for anything else he would have just stopped him in the hall. Jack wondered if Frank Mann had been invited to the meeting, too.

He found Earl sitting behind his desk, his feet propped on the corner. A stapled packet of papers rested on his lap but he wasn't reading. His eyes were closed, and Jack thought maybe he'd dozed off, although that would have been very uncharacteristic. He rapped softly on the door.

"Close the door behind you," Earl said, skipping any greeting.

Jack motioned to the papers in Earl's lap. "Pleasure reading?"

"Psychological report."

"Barnard?"

Earl nodded.

"Why isn't Mann in here for this meeting?" Jack asked.

Frank had been ecstatic when Jeff McCarthy accepted Jack's invitation to be his campaign manager. Earl had pulled Jeff off the Barnard case as second chair and Frank figured he wouldn't have to share the glory. Jack knew Frank wouldn't appreciate a meeting about the case in his absence.
 

"Because right now this has to do with your campaign. I'll invite him to join us in a few minutes."

Jack sat across from him and waited.

Earl brought his feet to the floor and leaned forward over his desk, hands clasped. "I want you to try it."

Jack shifted in his seat. All the reasons he
shouldn't
try it began to explode like fireworks in his mind, but he was determined to stay calm.
 

"More importantly," Earl continued, "Dunne wants you to try it. He thinks it's a ready-made publicity opportunity we can't squander."

Jack nodded slowly. They both knew he wasn't agreeing to anything; he was merely indicating he understood Dunne's position. He motioned again at the report. "Did you make any decisions yet?"

"Yes. But I want to know if you'll try it regardless of my decision."

At that moment Jack knew Earl intended to ask for death.

"And if I say no?"

Earl shrugged. "Then I guess perhaps you will have given Steve Schafer quite a gift."

Jack looked away at the mention of his Republican opponent. Steve Schafer was an older trial lawyer, the founder of a small defense firm with an excellent reputation. Schafer himself had forged a Perry Mason-like persona over the years; even as he represented defendants, he always appeared to be on the good side of the law: "Of course I'm in favor of putting the bad guys behind bars, but my client's not the bad guy" seemed to be his motto. In line with this philosophy was his expressed support for the death penalty, when appropriate. Jack thought it all seemed a bit too convenient.
 

"Look," Earl said. "I'm not asking you to decide whether this should be a capital case. I'm merely asking you to take my decision and run with it. Win the case. Someone in this office is going to; it might as well be you, since you're the one trying to get elected."

"What happened to 'the man who makes the decision should be the one to try it'?"

"I'm making an exception." Earl stared hard at Jack, reminding him that the exception was being made for his benefit.

Jack tried to imagine Claire's reaction if he agreed to do it. Would it matter to her that the decision had been Earl's? Was it enough of a distinction for Jack, even? Could he live with himself, knowing he'd played a part in the outcome, even if the choice of outcomes hadn't been his?

"The slippery slope just keeps getting steeper, doesn't it?" Jack tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but he didn't succeed. He took a deep breath. "The answer's no. I won't try it regardless. I'll try it only if you're asking for life." With a raise of his eyebrows, he added, "Can I see the report?"