John Lescroart - A Certain Justice

'And?'

'And I won. Fight of my life, case of my life. And I won it. Got out of the trenches. Mark was mega-high profile, put me on the map. Got two murder referrals in the next year and it looked like I was going to start making some money.'

Melanie nodded. 'But he did it, didn't he?'

He blinked back the dim shine in his eyes. His voice thick, he had to begin twice. 'The… the son of a bitch… the son of a bitch told me, said he didn't want the fact that he had killed his wife to get between us, we were still…' He wiped a hand over one eye, swore.

'So that's why,' she said finally.

He nodded. 'Yeah, that's why.'

After the speech and its aftermath – the supervisors unanimously recommended the two-hundred-thousand-dollar reward for Kevin Shea – Mayor Aiken thought his post-lunch meeting with Philip Mohandas would be smooth sailing, a photo op. Black leader, white leader, solidarity, ya, ya, ya.

He was wrong.

Mohandas, accompanied by his bodyguards Allicey Tobain and Jonas N'doum, was lounging in his outer office, having either intimidated or flattered Donald to get in. So at the outset, to Aiken, there was an odd dynamic – his natural turf had been usurped. Wondering where Donald had gone, he stopped in his doorway.

'Mr Mohandas.' Recovering, smiling, striding forward, his hand outstretched. 'Good to meet you in person at last.'

Aiken's eyes took in Mohandas's two aides, but they stayed seated, apparently awaiting instructions. Mohandas was not here to be friends. He got right down to it. 'Mr Mayor, I'm here speaking to you only because our mutual friend, Senator Wager, asked me to be. I'm frankly appalled at this city's official response to the situation we're now all facing.'

Aiken, moving around behind his desk, felt the heat rising in his face. 'Well, sir, we've just gone a long way toward addressing that. The city's official response so far, besides trying to keep itself from burning down, has been to raise the reward on Kevin Shea. No doubt you've heard…'

'No doubt you've heard, Jerohm Reese is back in jail, and Kevin Shea isn't. That's the reality I'm seeing. I'm seeing a white man, a murderer, walking the streets and an innocent black man being held in jail for no reason.'

'Kevin Shea isn't exactly walking the streets-'

'How do you know that?'

Aiken didn't, of course. These were bad cards and he didn't want to play them. 'In any event, Jerohm Reese is not an innocent black man, either. Not as I understand it.'

'He's no more guilty than five hundred people you let go with tickets-'

'Which doesn't mean he isn't guilty, does it?'

'We're all guilty of something, Mr Mayor. What it seems is that Jerohm is not getting the same treatment as white folk. It means you got a bigot acting now as DA and he saw his chance-'

'Art Drysdale's no bigot.'

Mohandas took that for a beat, turned on a heel and spoke to Allicey and Jonas over his shoulder. 'This man don't want to help.' His people rising, Mohandas was halfway to the doorway, and Aiken was half-tempted to let him go.

But if he didn't it would be worse.

'Mr Mohandas. Wait a minute.' He came around the desk. Mohandas stood impatiently by the door. 'What would help? I don't want to argue small points with you, I want to help. I thought I'd done something very helpful this morning with the supervisors. Perhaps it wasn't enough. You tell me.'

There was a quick gleam of triumph in Allicey's eyes, just as quickly quashed. Mohandas saw it, though, and let go of the doorknob. 'Alan Reston,' he said.

'Who?'

'Alan Reston. The deputy state attorney general. San Francisco born and bred. Former prosecutor in Alameda County. I've spoken to him this morning. He is available.'

' Available for what?'

'Appointment to District Attorney.'

The mayor was too stunned to respond. Mohandas breezed right on. 'Alan Reston has the credentials, the expertise, and the political acumen to help pull us through this difficult time. And' – Mohandas shot a finger into the air for effect – 'the fact that he is an African-American will go a long way to balance the lack of minority representation in city government that has been created here with the death of Chris Locke.'

Suddenly Allicey Tobain stepped forward, her imposing presence dwarfing the mayor. 'Sir,' she said mildly, 'appointing Mr Reston at this time would not just be a gesture. It would have real meaning. It would demonstrate that the city is with us in a tangible way. And I'm sure that the community would respond in a similar fashion.'

She didn't have to say 'votes' – Aiken heard her.

But the mayor was not stupid – he understood that if you appeased too much you antagonized everyone else. He didn't know what precise position this woman enjoyed with Mohandas, but she was obviously in his inner circle, and Aiken felt he could talk her language. He looked up at her, smiling, appreciating the view.

'I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met.'

She extended her fine hand. 'Allicey Tobain, sir.' Turning to Mohandas, she said, 'I apologize for speaking up, Philip.' But clearly her role had been discussed, maybe even rehearsed.

Mohandas smiled. 'Allicey and Jonas' – he acknowledged the other man – 'they keep me on the pulse.' N'doum's face was a stone mask, but Allicey was flushed with the compliment.

Aiken spoke to her. 'I know of Reston, of course. But bringing him on for the express purpose of releasing Jerohm Reese is not going to fly.'

Mohandas glanced at Tobain – for approval, direction? She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and he said, 'That would, of course, be the District Attorney's decision.'

But Aiken wasn't giving away the store without a guarantee or two. 'Once he got to be District Attorney, yes. And whomever I chose would need to reconcile himself with Mr Drysdale.'

Mohandas nodded. 'I know Alan Reston and I know he'll do what's best for the city.'

The mayor nodded back. 'I'd be interested to hear what his plans would be,' he said.

Allicey Tobain stepped even closer. 'May I use your phone, sir? I know where he is right now.'

Loretta Wager was alone at home.

After the events of the day before it would be unseemly of her to be out on the streets. She also wanted to make herself available to Abe Glitsky, in either his professional role or personally. This was no time to lose track of her priorities.

For all the comments she had heard making light of it the first day she'd been out here, she was in fact glad of her decision not to have brought any of her staff with her. They had important work in Washington, and there was too much she had to do here on her own – this was one of those good times when her actions didn't need any 'spin.'

She was doing what needed to be done.

She was awake early, her mind filled with Abe Glitsky. She had wanted – needed – to call him before he went in to work. Then she was on one of her phones to her Washington office. On the private line the other calls had been steadily coming in: Donald from the mayor's office had called. The wire services. Alan Reston and Philip Mohandas. The whole world wanted her. Well, it would have to wait. She in turn waited until she thought Elaine would be downtown, then called her.

Her poor daughter was suffering badly, but that would pass. Suffering passed – she knew that from her own experience. She wanted to tell her – though of course never could – that she was much better off, that Chris Locke never intended to leave his wife and children, ever – not for Elaine, not for anybody. Loretta made it her business to know things, and this she knew with a certainty.

And then Elaine – the only truly precious thing in Loretta's world – her beautiful and sensitive daughter Elaine would find her spirit broken. She'd become what her mother was.