David Kessler - No Way Out

“Strictly off the record.”

This was one of Martine’s haunts. She had invited Alex here as a contrast to the slumming they had done last time, opposite the snooker hall. But Alex had no intention of letting her pick up the tab.

“We used a bit of gentle persuasion.”

He didn’t really feel comfortable telling her about the incident. It would probably make him sound like a bully. But the practice of law was a dirty business. They both knew that.

“We?”

Martine raised her eyebrows with a delicate smile as her hand — holding a piece of brioche toast — paused in mid-air, awaiting his answer.

“Paul Sherman and I.”

“You mean you blackmailed her?”

“I prefer to call it bribery,” he said with a guilty smile, after a short pause.

He attacked his own hors d’oevres of Farmers Market Butter Lettuce and Steamed Spring Vegetable, a light starter to allow room for his Filet Mignon and Roasted Fingerling Potatoes.

“So what was the carrot?”

This was a pun, alluding to piece of carrot poised at the end of his fork.

“I sold it as a fight for a man’s right to a second chance.”

His facial expression was nervous, as if he was expecting a torrent of skeptical laughter or a cutting verbal response. But Martine’s smile was both piercing and bewitching.

“And what did Sherman use as the stick?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come off it Alex. You were playing Good Cop / Bad Cop.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness, caught in the glare of Martine’s headlamps.

“Okay,” he acknowledged reluctantly. “You’ve got me. We did a little arm twisting.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. It must be pretty hard for her, with her lover working at a rape crisis center.”

“That’s a personal matter, They’ll just have to work it out for themselves.”

“You make it sound so easy. Imagine what it must be like for Eugenia Vance: one minute she’s doing her job, next minute she gets handed an injunction telling her she’s not allowed to have any contact with the victim.

“I’m sorry. I may have sounded a bit callous. But the judge didn’t exactly have a choice. He had to do it to avoid a conflict of interest.”

Martine’s face turned suddenly serious.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Alex had an uneasy feeling when he heard the words… and the tone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I also have a conflict of interest. I can’t cover the case and carry on going out with you.”

It was quite late when Andi arrived home. She had spent the day going over the case-file with Alex and then stayed on for a few hours after he left. It had been exhausting. They were racking their brains trying to figure out how they could refute the DNA evidence. All the other evidence could be effectively challenged and the seeds of reasonable doubt sown.

But the DNA was a problem — a real problem. It couldn’t just be swept under the rug. In the past, they might have been able to attack the science itself or throw up smoke screens to confuse the jury. But post O. J. Simpson, that was no longer an option. Most defense ploys are like magicians tricks that succeed because of their sheer surprise value, but can never be repeated.

But all of this was still way down the line. First they had to resolve the issue of trial venue. That was the big question that was going to come up at the pre-trial in two weeks time. And that was what Andi had to focus on now.

Gene was lying on the bed in her underwear in the dimly lit room, watching the wall-mounted TV, when Andi entered. Andi took off her street clothes in the walk-in closet by the door and then shuffled back into the bedroom barefoot and in her underwear, expecting Gene’s usual warm welcome. But this time Gene, lying on her side, didn’t even turn to look at her, leaving Andi hurt and confused. Gene was never cold like this, even if she was in a bad mood.

“Where have you been?” asked Gene, her eyes glued to the TV.

Andi was still perturbed by the fact that Gene was only presenting her with her back. She sensed that Gene had had a bad day as she climbed into onto the bed behind her lover, gently massaging Gene’s raised shoulder.

“At the office. I had a lot of paperwork to clear up. I’ve just started on a major case.”

“I know. I had a visit from a process server.”

Andi stopped massaging, but left her hands in place. She knew now what this was about.

“I was going to tell you. I didn’t think they’d serve it that quickly.”

“Are you angry?”

Gene turned round, brushing off Andi’s hands in the process. There were tears of anger in Gene’s eyes. This surprised Andi. It was very rare for Gene to cry.

“What do you think? I quit my job in the Big Apple and crossed the continent with you ’cause you couldn’t make it in New York and now you stab me in the back by getting them to serve me with an injunction so I can’t even do my job and help a rape victim?”

“It wasn’t my idea to get the injunction. I tried to use you as an excuse to refuse the case.”

“Use me as an excuse?”

“Conflict of interest. But they wouldn’t buy it. They said you could step aside.”

“You think maybe I didn’t want to step aside?”

“It wasn’t my decision.”

“ You could have stepped aside! No one forced you to defend a rapist!”

“It’s my job,” she snapped, leaping off the bed. “And it’s alleged rapist!”

With these words, Andi stormed out of the room. With tears now streaming down her own cheeks, Andi went downstairs to the living room. She crossed over to the alcove that housed a desk and bookshelves, which they had set aside as a study and office. On the desk was a laptop PC, a docking station and a large monitor. Andi switched on the computer and waited for it to boot up.

When it had gone through its start-up routine, she clicked on an icon to launch an E-mail program and then clicked on a menu item to download her E-mail. It took a few seconds more for the computer to connect to the broadband and download the eMail. There were five messages. Four were from old, distant friends wishing her luck in her new job. But it was the fifth message that startled her. It read:

That rapist scum-bag Elias Claymore is unworthy of your assistance and deserves everything he gets. Make sure that you are not around when justice is finally delivered or you will only have yourself to blame.

Lannosea

An alarm bell went off inside her head, and the words “hate mail” flashed across her mind’s eye. But who sent it? And from where? Maybe they could be tracked down via their service provider. She scrolled up to the “From” field, and saw that it had come from a webmail address. It could have been sent from a public library or an Internet cafe. There would be no way to trace it to a person.

A range of emotions swept over her like a quick succession of waves. The first was a wave of fear; the second, anger. But if the first was a surfer’s tube-ride, the second was a tsunami.

And who the fuck was Lannosea?

Monday, 15 June 2009 — 10:25

“What’s she doing here?”

Elias Claymore’s reaction appeared to border on paranoia when Alex first brought Andi into the room at the Ventura Pre-Trial Detention facility that had been allocated for their conference.

“Allow me to introduce my co-counsel on this case,” said Alex. “Andi Phoenix.”

Claymore’s eyes darted away to Alex for a moment before returning to Andi, the suspicion lingering in his eyes.