John Lescroart - Damage

In the short time she’d been gone, the phones had become one of Farrell’s more constant problems. He really had to get another person sitting out there at the reception desk, but in spite of his warning to Treya that he couldn’t guarantee her job when she got back, what he wanted was to have her out there again as soon as she felt it was safe.

And he really didn’t want to promote someone on a temporary basis to cover his phones and, to some extent, share his secrets, mostly because once they were in, they might make a stink and try to fight to stay and piss around with the union when Treya reappeared; but also because he was starting to get some appreciation of the value of trust. And he trusted Treya. The person he chose to sit in for Treya might very well turn out to be a spy of some kind for his political enemies. Or at least able to be turned.

Farrell didn’t want to risk it.

But now the phone was ringing on the table in his office and he didn’t know who it was and he really couldn’t justify not picking it up. And so, sighing, that is what he did. “DA’s office,” he said. “This is Wes Farrell.”

“Mr. Farrell”-an unmistakable voice-“I’ve heard some very disturbing news. This is Cliff Curtlee.”

“Mr. Curtlee. How are you?”

“Well, not too goddamned well, if you want to know the truth. I thought we had some kind of an understanding, you and I.”

“In what way?”

“In the way that you were going to cut out all this bullshit surrounding my boy. I thought it got all worked out pretty well at that charade of a hearing last week, Ro’s back out on bail, when I know goddamn well you could have gone in and told the judge no way. So, given that bail got granted, I thought we-you and me-we were still working within the bounds of our understanding. That you had to do what you had to do politically, but that basically Ro stays out of jail until the retrial. Wasn’t that it? I know it was.”

“Well, not exactly…”

“Yeah, but close enough. Now it’s unconscionable what that madman Glitsky put my boy through when he arrested him, but even then, okay, he’d had his shot and it didn’t work and I thought with you riding just a little bit of herd on him, that would be the end of it until we got back to the retrial, whenever that turned out to be. And then next thing I know, my lawyer and Theresa and I are sitting with Ro through another interrogation.”

“That was a police decision, sir. Not mine.”

“All right, all right. I’m not going to split hairs with you on that. But what I am concerned about, and the reason I called you directly, is one of my reporters here told me that you’re planning on using some kind of fancy legal strategy to go to the grand jury and get my boy behind bars again.”

“I can’t comment on that, sir. Grand jury proceedings are confidential.”

“So you’re not going to confirm to me that you’re planning on taking a case to the grand jury and yanking Ro back into jail?”

“I’m neither going to confirm or deny it. I’m not going to comment.”

“Well, you’ll understand if that makes me feel just a little bit as if you’re going to go ahead and do it.”

“It’s no comment, sir. Either way. I can’t undermine the foundation of how the grand jury works.”

“My reporter had it on very good authority,” Curtlee said.

“Well, whoever told her has a big mouth. You want to tell me who that was?”

“Even if I did know, and I don’t, I couldn’t reveal my reporter’s source. You know that.”

“Well, then,” Farrell said, “I guess we’ve both got our secrets.”

A silence hung on the line. Then: “I want to make something very clear to you, Farrell. You and I had a deal about my son not going back to jail…”

“Not saying we did, sir, but if we did, that was before he started killing people.”

“Oh, make some sense, Farrell. You believe that?”

“The evidence inclines that way.”

“Fuck. There’s no evidence or Glitsky would have his ass in chains already. So don’t give me evidence. So here’s what I’m saying to you. I don’t want this grand jury thing to move forward. It would be a bad thing for you personally if it did.”

“Are you threatening me, Cliff? ’Cause we’ve done some very recent research into the legal penalties for making threats to officers of the court.”

“Now you’re threatening me. All I’m saying is you’ll be happier if this grand jury thing stops right now. Assuming it’s going on, of course. And if it’s not, then there’s nothing either of us has to worry about.”

Eztli and Ro were stationed at the bar at MoMo’s, a popular eatery where they’d just had lunch across the street from where the Giants played ball. Eztli didn’t drink much, but here in the early afternoon Ro had already put away four shots of Jack Daniel’s and a couple of draft beers along with sharing two joints of Eztli’s very good marijuana. Still, the younger man seemed little the worse for wear.

Ro was chatting up one of the cocktail waitresses named Tiffany, a fresh-faced, young, tawny-haired woman with a terrific smile and an aggressive bosom. “No, it’s absolutely true,” he was saying. “I was away for nine years.”

“No way.” She looked past him at Eztli. “Is this the truth?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “And finally released on appeal.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “I mean, it’s cool and all that they finally let you out, but nine years! How could you have stood that?”

“I just kept telling everybody who’d listen that I was innocent,” Ro said. “I guess I just never lost faith that this is maybe the one country in the world where if you’re truly not guilty, you can finally get to some kind of justice. Sometimes it takes a while, but I’ve got to believe that the system really does work.”

Tiffany touched the back of his hand, resting there on the bar, with a well-lacquered perfect fingernail. “Well, you are way more together around it than I think I could ever be. If it were me, all I’d think about was how much of my life I’d lost. I’d be just so incredibly bitter, I think.”

“That’s one way I could be, I suppose, but really, think about what a waste that would be. I mean, look at me now, sitting in a terrific restaurant in the world’s greatest city, young and healthy, having a conversation with a beautiful woman…”

“Oh, now…”

Ro held up his good hand. “It ain’t braggin’ if it’s the truth, dear. I hope I’m not being too forward, just stating an obvious fact. And my real point is I don’t want to spend one day of my life looking back in regret. All that other stuff is behind me. I’d rather be looking forward with hope. And life is so good right now, my goal is to work like the devil to keep it that way forever. Are you allowed to drink if you’re still on your shift? Can I buy you one?”

She tossed her hair and favored him with a megawatt smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Again, she brushed the back of his hand with her fingers. “Back in a second,” she said, “I’ve got to run, check my tables.”

After she’d moved off, Ro turned to Eztli. “You were right. I thought if I mentioned prison, she’d run like the wind.”

He shrugged. “Some do. Most don’t. Depends on how you play it.”

“If things work out from here,” Ro said, “I’ll just get a cab home from her place. Or stay there and catch up with you tomorrow.”

“Cool. Whatever.” The cell phone chirped at his belt and Eztli picked it up, read the screen, and said, “Your dad.”

“He’s living with a woman named Sam Duncan,” Cliff said. “She runs the Rape Crisis Counseling Center out on Haight Street.”