David Kessler - Mercy

“Holy shit!”

“My sentiments exactly,” said David. “It shows that she booked a one-way flight from Mexico to Luton Airport in the UK. The booking was made on May 19, 1998 and the flight date was May 24 of that year — the day after she disappeared.”

“So how do you manage when there’s only three of you?”

The crowd in the deli was thinning out, but Juanita and the young man were still engaged in earnest conversation.

“We’re a small office. Sometimes even three’s a crowd.”

“Yes, but I mean … in a case like this? One minute, you’re running up to DC to argue a motion before the Supreme Court, next minute you’re meeting the governor here in San Fran.”

“That’s the way Alex likes to operate. At one time he didn’t have anyone, it was a one-man band. He did everything, research, interviews, drafting briefs, litigation.”

“Why?”

“He’s an individualist. He likes to run his own show.”

“But isn’t it risky? I mean, what if something comes up and he needs to go back to the Capitol to get a ruling?”

“We can go to the Federal District Court. But we’ve also got a partner firm on standby up in DC.”

“But I thought Mr. Sedaka went there in person to argue the motion? He was on the TV outside the court afterward.”

“Yes, he went there for that because that was the last-chance saloon as far as the court proceedings were concerned. But if anything new comes up that the District Court can’t or won’t handle, we’ve got another firm on standby to file a motion and even argue it if it’s called for.”

The young man shook his head.

“That seems like kind of a strange way to operate — for a big case like this.”

“You have to remember that until recently we didn’t have any cases as big as this.”

“What about that case with the girlfriend of the drug baron?”

“Estella Sanchez? That wasn’t really a big case in terms of workload.”

“ People magazine called it ‘a landmark case.’”

“The media like to exaggerate. I suppose it did set a precedent, but the same could be said of any case that goes before the Supreme Court — or at least every successful case.”

“Still … it must have taken some serious work to win it.”

“All we really had to do was file the certiorari motion and one well-written brief. That hardly puts it in the same league as murder with special circumstances. We’ve never dealt with a capital case before.”

Juanita knew that time was ticking by. This was originally supposed to be a short lunch break. But she sensed that she was making some progress here, even if the flow of information so far was going from her to him. It was almost as if he was pumping her for something. But she knew that she was getting somewhere, and she had to hang in there. She had to find out what he was looking for.

“So why did you take on a capital case this time?”

“We didn’t so much take it on as inherit it. The white-shoe firm that had it before us saw it as a sure-fire loser and were looking to unload it.”

“ You didn’t have to take it on.”

“Oh there’s kudos even in losing — if you put up a brave enough fight along the way.”

“Brave enough and public enough.”

Juanita smiled.

“Touche”

“So why did the big league firm want out?”

“They got cold feet.”

“And you were the only ones who wanted to touch it?”

“ Oh no, plenty of others were ready to pick it up.”

“Then how come you beat the competition — if you’re such a small outfit?”

“It was Burrow’s decision. I guess he heard about the Sanchez case and decided we were flavor of the month.”

“So the client came to you — you didn’t ambulance chase?”

“Certainly not! But I think Nat was kind of enthusiastic about.”

“Nat?”

“Nathaniel Anderson, our legal intern.”

“Why would he want it?”

“The follies of youth.”

Jonathan looked confused.

“Nat’s an idealist,” Juanita explained.

“He thinks Burrow is innocent?”

“I wouldn’t say that. But he believes that even a sucker deserves a break. Like I said: he’s idealistic.”

“So how come he isn’t in the office?”

“Who says he isn’t?”

“Well I didn’t see anyone else back there in the office.”

Juanita felt a tingling sensation, as she remembered how Jonathan had looked round in the office. Was he spying on them?

Getting stuck in traffic is a pain in the ass at the best of times. But when you’ve got a client on death row, with the execution scheduled for just over nine hours’ time, it was a nightmare. That was the position in which Alex found himself now. He was still in Marin County and the bridge wasn’t even in sight.

Plus — and this was the kicker — he felt as if he wasn’t making any progress with Burrow either. The logjam that his car was stuck in seemed, in some way, like paradigm for the case. His client was as stubborn as ever and seemed determined to die. Burrow was putting on a brave face. But Alex could sense that he was scared. The only question was, if he was scared, why didn’t he take the bait? Why didn’t he grab the lifeline that the governor had thrown him?

Was he protecting his mother? He’d have to talk to Nat and find out what he’d got from Sally Burrow. He was about to call the office when his cell phone rang. It was his daughter.

“Hi, Debbie,” he said.

“Hi, Dad,” she replied through clenched teeth. He was the only person in the world who could get away with calling her Debbie — and live. To everyone else, she was Deborah. It was nothing personal, more of a professional requirement. When you’re a hotshot corporate lawyer with a leading Wall Street firm, you can’t afford to be taken anything other than seriously.

“Are you calling from work?”

He knew that two thousand seven hundred miles away she was smiling.

“Dad, I’ve been at my desk since quarter past seven.”

“Sorry.”

He knew that she’d probably been there since half past six. She was ambitious and she worked hard. Like father like daughter.

“Listen, I…” She trailed off. There was always an awkwardness between them. It had been there since long before his wife died, but the killing had been a blow from which their fragile relationship still hadn’t recovered. Melody had been the bridge between them.

“I just wanted to wish you … good luck. With the Burrow case.”

He wondered if she had heard about the clemency offer and if he should tell her about Burrow’s unexpected rejection of it. He decided not to. He could consult her about it as a lawyer — if she had any relevant expertise to contribute — but he couldn’t tell her as his daughter.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t know what else to say. He often thought about things he wanted to talk about when they next talked, but somehow he always seemed to dry up and forget what had been on his mind when one of them picked up the phone and the conversation actually took place.

“Look, I know you’re busy today. But if you need to — if you want to talk to anyone — I’m here for you.”

A soft center inside a hard shell — the exact opposite of her mother.

“Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, Debbie.”

He felt a desolate loneliness as he pressed the red button on the cell phone. But it wasn’t just Debbie he was missing; it was her mother. He wondered if Melody had felt fear when she looked down the barrel of the gun.

She had been working the graveyard shift at A amp;E in the hospital nine months ago when the two gang members were brought in. Normally they try to separate gang members from rival gangs and don’t bring them in to the same hospital. But when a gang shootout left two victims — one from each side — knocking on death’s door, time was of the essence. So fate would have it that Hector Ramirez and Esteban Delgado were brought in to the A amp;E Department of St Mary’s Hospital, without any one of the overworked doctors so much as knowing that it had been Delgado who shot Ramirez, before getting shot himself.