Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“Are you telling me Victor’s not getting indicted because he won last year’s popularity contest?”

“No, he’s not getting indicted because you don’t have the evidence.”

“I have some evidence.”

“Tate, you don’t have a case. And until you do, morality has to take a backseat to reality. Be thankful you went four-for-five and leave it at that.”

“It’s still not right.”

“Neither was what happened to Conrad.”

Sara refused to reply. It was something she was going to have to get used to. “Anything else?”

“We decided not to suspend you for goading Rafferty into shooting at you. And trust me, that was a gift – if you hadn’t riled him up, that cop might’ve never been shot.”

“I’m not saying it was a smart move, I just didn’t want to give him another crack at exploiting the system.”

“And what about Doniger’s gun?”

“What about it?” Sara asked.

“I went down to the evidence room this morning. There were six bullets in it.”

“So?”

“So it was supposed to be empty.”

“What can I say? Some bluffs work, some don’t. You should just be happy the rest of us are safe.”

“No, you should be happy our committee overlooked that one,” Flam said. “And just so there’s no confusion, Conrad was our friend, too.”

Sara realized that even when Guff went off to law school, she wasn’t going to be alone. “Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t thank me. From what I hear, you’re going to make a great ADA.”

“I plan to,” Sara said.

When she was done at Flam’s, Sara walked back up the hallway to Conrad’s office. It had been less than twenty-four hours since the last time she was there, but when she stepped inside, it already felt different. The sofa was still in the same place, the desk was still uncluttered, and the out-box still held more paperwork than the in-box, but something was clearly wrong. Despite the fact that it was filled with furniture, the room was empty.

Sara shut her eyes. Memorizing the smells of the office, she tried to picture his face. It was easy – easier than she’d thought. But she knew that that too would fade. And this was different from Lenny Barrow. She didn’t have an old picture to fall back on. So she made one.

Sara moved toward the sofa and opened her briefcase. Inside was her portrait of Conrad – just like the ones she had done of Jared. Pulling it out, she stared at his face. And for that moment, he was back again. She could hear him yell, and rant, and teach, and scream. It had taken her all night to get it perfect, but he deserved no less. Carefully, she set it down on his spotless desk. She’d frame it later, but for now, it belonged here. “Good-bye,” she whispered as she left the office.

As she closed the door behind her, she turned around and read the two quotations still attached to the translucent glass: “ Crimine ab uno disce omnes – From a single crime know the nation” – Virgil; and “Fame is something which must be won; honor is something which must not be lost” – Arthur Schopenhauer. She pulled the quotes from the door, being careful not to rip the tape which held them there, and headed back down the hallway.

As soon as she reached her office, she slapped the quotes onto her own door and pressed them into place. Stepping back, she admired the new view. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start.

“He wouldn’t have had it any other way,” Guff said.

“Someone’s got to do it,” she replied. Without even opening her door, Sara walked down the hallway.

“Where’re you going now?” Guff asked.

“To the hospital. But before I do that, there’s someone I want to see.”

When the elevator arrived on the sixteenth floor, Sara stepped out and walked up the well-lit hallway. Noticing the corridor’s expensive carpet and intricate moldings, she made a mental note to herself. There was no way anyone on a government salary could afford this place without outside funding. At apartment 1604, she covered the peephole and rang the bell.

“Who is it?” a man’s voice asked.

“Sara Tate,” she replied.

When the door opened, Victor shot Sara a thin smirk. “Nice to see you, Ms. Tate. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I just want you to know one thing,” Sara said bluntly. “I know you set me up. And no matter how long it takes, I’m going to eventually prove it.”

“Prove what?” Victor asked.

Ignoring the question, she continued, “The committee may not be ready to indict, but that doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. By the time I’m done, this suspension is going to seem like a-”

“I’m not suspended,” Victor interjected. “I took an official leave of absence. And if what you’re doing is threatening me, you better walk away before I file my own harassment complaint. You may think you’re Super ADA just because you saved the day, but you still have a lot to learn about the game. And just so you know, I don’t sweat rookies.”

“Keep giving me that attitude,” Sara warned, “I’m going to bury you with that cockiness. The truth isn’t hard to find – even the best ADAs can’t afford posh apartments on the Upper East Side without a little extra income.”

“Sara, let me give you a free philosophy lesson. There’s a subtle difference between truth and fact. Fact is objectively real, while truth must conform to fact. So if you can’t find the facts, you can never prove the truth. Understand what I’m saying?”

“There’s no such thing as a perfect crime, Victor. If I can’t prove it on this case, I’ll find another. Either way, I’m never giving up. No matter what you do, or how much voodoo philosophy you spout, I will never, ever, ever stop. I’m annoying like that.” Turning away from Victor’s door, Sara headed back toward the elevator. “Enjoy the rest of your day, asshole. All the rest of them are mine.”

Stopping by the nurse’s station before she entered Jared’s room, Sara asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Just great,” a short, bespectacled nurse answered. “With some love and a little physical therapy, he’ll be back on his feet in a few weeks. He seems to perk up when he’s getting attention.”

“He’s been whining to you, hasn’t he? He’s horrible when he’s sick.”

“All men are crybabies,” the nurse said. “He hasn’t been that bad, though. He’s saving all the good whining for you.”

“I’m sure he is,” Sara said as she walked toward the room. She pushed open the door and saw Jared sitting up in bed. His left arm was in a sling, and his right arm was hooked up to an IV, but color had finally returned to his face. Although Jared had been told to take it easy, he was busy writing notes on a legal pad. As soon as he saw Sara, he stopped.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m better. Now.”

“And your back?”

“Don’t worry about my back,” Jared said. “How’re you doing with Conrad?”

“I’ll get there,” she said. “It’ll take awhile, but I’ll get there.” Sara noted the pained but concerned look on her husband’s face. It was still a hard issue for him, and even as she tried to maintain a convincing facade, she couldn’t bear to see him like that. In an instant, she was slammed by an onslaught of emotion. Through gritted teeth, she could feel it working its way up from the bottom of her stomach. Not for Conrad, but for Jared.

“I’m really sorry about him…”

“It’s not him,” she insisted as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “It’s never been him.”

Jared leaned forward, stretched his IV tubes to their limit, and embraced his wife. As he pulled her close, he knew he’d never let her go again. “Sara, I-”