David Ellis - The Hidden Man

My intercom buzzed . “Smith on 4407 . ”

Smith. Again. I didn’t think I’d be hearing from him so soon, if ever. He’d given me explicit instructions on what I was and was not allowed to do on Sammy’s case, and I’d given him explicit instructions to shove his demands up his ass. What had he said?

When you change your mind, I’ll be in touch .

When .

I did a slow burn. Adrenaline filled my limbs. I reached for the phone tentatively, pausing a moment, doubting it, but then sure of it. It was not a coincidence that Smith was calling me the day after Pete had been arrested.

“Smith,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

“I heard your brother had a spot of bad luck.”

Pressure points , he’d said last time. Everyone has one .

I rubbed my eyes, rage filling my throat.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But I can help with that, Jason. I can make sure your brother never spends another night in a cell. I’ll help you if you help me .”

I was set up , Pete had told me. I hadn’t believed him, at least not in the way he’d meant it.

“If you haven’t noticed, the people I represent have the ability to make a number of things happen, or not happen,” he continued. “You were a prosecutor. You know there are plenty of ways a case can collapse. I’ll make that happen for Pete. As long as you follow directions on the Cutler matter.”

My mind was racing, trying to imagine how Smith had manufactured this case against Pete. There were many possibilities, but I couldn’t be sure of anything. And now was not the time. Listen and learn , I’d been trained. The less you say, the more they say, the more you learn.

“I laid out your assignment the other day, at your office. I’ll find you a scapegoat, an empty chair. And I’ll handle the eyewitnesses. You work on the confession and a reason Cutler was parked near the murder scene. You do your part-you stick to your role and we get Cutler off those charges-then your brother walks. If not, he’s looking at ten years, I’d suspect. I thought I was being pretty goddamn clear last time we talked, Counselor. Am I being clear now?”

I didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure I was capable of doing so.

“You forced my hand, Jason. But I can walk this back. Just do as I say. And listen, if this all works out, there’ll be a bonus on the back end. We’ll give your brother twenty-five grand for his troubles. Not too shabby for a guy who has trouble holding down a job.”

He was offering me a light at the end of the tunnel. He was playing hard, but he was trying to appear accommodating, too. He wanted me to believe that this could all turn out okay.

“Isn’t this the part where you tell me not to call the cops?” I said.

He laughed. “You wouldn’t be that stupid. We’d just let Pete go down. Who’d believe you?”

He was right. The prisons of this state were full of people who claimed they’d been set up.

I tried to play it out. I had time on my side. Pete’s case wouldn’t go to trial any time soon, not if I didn’t want it to. He had a noose around my neck, but it was a long rope.

I said, “I’ll withdraw from Sammy’s case. I’m out as his lawyer. So I’m not a problem for you. The second you get my brother’s case kicked, I withdraw.”

I wasn’t sure if I meant it. Would I drop Sammy to save Pete? More than anything, I just wanted to hear Smith’s response.

“Quit fucking around,” Smith said. “Cutler wants you. It sure as hell wasn’t my idea. His case is going to trial in three weeks with you as the lawyer. I’m doing most of the work, so I don’t see where this is going to be too hard for you. You try to withdraw and it’s your brother who suffers. No continuances. No withdrawals.”

Right. Smith had told me that, at our first meeting-I’d wanted a continuance and he’d objected. It made me valuable. It gave me leverage.

I said, “Then you do what you have to do to get Pete’s case dropped before Sammy goes to trial. That’s the deal. First Pete, then Sammy. Otherwise, I have no guarantee that you’ll step up for Pete. I’d hate for you to forget about me and my brother after you get what you want.”

Smith was silent for a long time. He probably didn’t expect a counteroffer. “No,” he said. “You do your part; then we’ll do ours.”

“No deal,” I said.

“You’re not thinking this through, Jason. Pete gets us what we want. Once we get that, we want to rid ourselves of you. The way to do that is to clear Pete, and give him some sorry-for-your-trouble cash. We’ll do that.”

There was some sense to that, I had to concede. “No deal,” I said.

“This can get worse, son. You don’t want to find out how much.”

“Neither do you.” We were fighting for control. This was, in many ways, just another negotiation. It was hard for me to tell who had more leverage. Only Smith knew that answer. For now, all I could do was trust my gut.

“No deal,” I said. “And Smith, you better sleep with the light on.”

With that, I hung up the phone. I backed away from it, like it was radioactive, my heart ricocheting against my chest. I grabbed my cell phone and made a call.

ISPENT THE NEXT HOUR dissecting that conversation with Smith, trying to ignore the escalating guilt I was feeling toward my little brother. He was in the soup because of me. Pete had been duped into a serious criminal charge because of my stubbornness.

But it was done. There was little I could do to reverse it. I couldn’t drop Sammy’s case. The die was cast, as Smith had said. I was counsel of record now, and any change of counsel would likely require the case to be continued. That, apparently, was unacceptable to Smith.

I had three weeks to win this case for Sammy and hope that Smith would do his part for Pete. Alternatively, I realized, I had three weeks to figure out who Smith was.

At four-thirty, I went down to the sixth floor, to the building’s conference room that any tenant can reserve, and which was obviously open on a Sunday. I had a meeting scheduled, and something told me not to have that meeting in my office. I was trying not to indulge in paranoia, but Smith clearly had someone following me, and I didn’t know the extent of his surveillance. I couldn’t rule out the possibility that he had bugged my office.

A few minutes later, Joel Lightner strolled into the conference room. Joel was the private investigator we used in Senator Almundo’s trial. There was no one better.

Lightner threw his jacket over a chair and took a seat. He was a former cop, the guy who solved the Terry Burgos murders on the southwest side with Paul Riley. He still had that sideways look a detective can shoot you, but he had obviously polished up over the years spent in the private sector. He was wearing a plaid button-down and jeans, the most casual I’d ever seen him. Then again, it was a Sunday afternoon.

“How ya been, buddy?” Joel and I hadn’t been particularly close, having just met when I was added to the Almundo defense team. But you get to spend a decent amount of time with a guy in the heat of trial, and Joel was one of those who could command a room with his stories. Many a late night, prepping for tomorrow’s day of trial, Lightner would have us in stitches.

He’d come to Talia’s and Emily’s funeral and even called one time a month after, asking about lunch. But it didn’t happen, and we hadn’t talked since.

“Riley told me you resurfaced at your own shop. He was sorry to see you go. You didn’t have to, you know. I mean, after Almundo ? You were a rock star at that firm.”