John Lescroart - A Certain Justice

On the night of her mother's election, and emboldened by cognac, he had wagged his ding-a-ling in front of Elaine Wager in what he had thought was some kind of charming, harmless, celebratory way. He really seemed to think – or so he acted – that this was an acceptable mating ritual. After all, there was this obvious mutual attraction and they had been campaigning together and there was no reason… why, what was the matter? Didn't she know what this was for? What it was?

She had looked down and replied that it looked like a penis, only smaller.

It was the last time they had seen each other, until now.

She went to the couch and placed her satchel full of workpapers next to her. He pulled one of the wingbacks around to face her, but before he sat down she was talking. 'Have you talked to Art Drysdale? I was just by his office, I thought he might have been here. That's why I came by. I didn't want to bother you.'

'And I'm glad you did. It's no bother.'

She waited. Then, prompting: 'Art Drysdale?'

'That's right, Drysdale. He had a meeting, I believe, with the mayor over at City Hall, something about all this… this awkwardness between us. I think your mother was part of it. Smooth the waters.'

'Art doesn't want to be DA, Alan. He really doesn't.'

Reston listed his hands, as though all these things were out of his control, they were just happening. 'I think a couple of his decisions – '

' Jerohm Reese.'

'To name one, yes.'

'What are you going to do about Jerohm?'

'Well, I just hope they don't go too hard on Mr Drysdale. From all I've heard, he's invaluable around here.'

'He is, and I'm the one to blame for Jerohm Reese, not Art. I brought him upstairs on my own authority.'

'And now he's our hot potato.'

'Which is not Art's fault.'

Reston, now taking his seat, spread his palms. The Art Drysdale situation was being resolved at higher levels, it was not his problem. If Drysdale came back he'd work with him. If not, administrators grew on trees. 'Well, Elaine, in any event, you're here now. Maybe I can help you. What were you going to see Art Drysdale about?'

It would have to come to this eventually, she knew, and as she had said to Art, she was the one to bring it up. 'Do you know Abe Glitsky, Lieutenant Glitsky?'

Reston was smiling now, feeling on top of the situation. 'If this is about him stepping on your toes I've already spoken to him.'

'When? About what?'

'An hour ago, maybe a little longer. It's all taken care of, these opinions he's releasing to the media. Chief Rigby and I told him to – what?'

She was shaking her head. 'Not an hour ago. Not that. He was just by my office ten minutes ago.'

'The man gets around.'

'Yes he does, Alan. I think he's trying to get it right.' They sat, staring at one another. The criticism – the challenge was hanging there between them. Reston crossed his legs. 'We all are, Elaine. So what's with the good lieutenant?'

She told him – Glitsky had come straight to her after the meeting with Wes Farrell, supplying her with the gist of it – the details regarding the knife wounds, the revised theory on the second photograph to say nothing of the first, even the explanation that the snitch, Cynthia Taylor, might have been one of Shea's jilted exes.

Reston listened to it all in silence. 'Well,' he said, slapping his hands on his thighs, then standing. 'Well…' Stalling, he walked over to the window, stared at it, shifted from foot to foot.

Elaine spoke to his back. 'Lieutenant Glitsky asked me if we – if the DA's office – might want to review the charges – '

Reston turned quickly around. 'We can't do that.' And then less severe: 'On what grounds?'

'What I've just explained to you.'

'Which is what? An alternative explanation by the suspect's own lawyer? This is supposed to be compelling?'

'Alan, Glitsky isn't-'

'I'm not talking about Glitsky, Elaine. We've got a Grand Jury murder indictment on Kevin Shea, pushed through as I understand it by this office not two days ago, a picture of him in the act of committing the crime…'

'If it's-'

'No ifs, Elaine. The picture is what it is. It's clear to the whole world.'

'The interpretation might be wrong, Alan. That's all Lieutenant Glitsky was trying to say to me. If we take it to trial – '

Now he was pointing a finger, raising his voice. 'But we are the ones who take it to court. Not Lieutenant Glitsky. The DA's office. And I'm hearing nothing that remotely challenges my conviction that Kevin Shea is responsible for this… for all of this.'

'All right, then, how about this?' Standing, Elaine removed the second photograph from her satchel and brought it over to his desk. She moved some of his junk aside as he crossed to her.

'What is…?' he began.

'Taken two or three seconds after the other one. Shea handing the knife to Arthur Wade, giving him a last chance to cut himself down.'

She let him study it for a while, then started to put out, fact by fact, the alternative explanation of what appeared to be there – the way the shirt was pulled, the angle of the rope as Glitsky had shown her.

When she finished, Reston flipped some pages from her file, then walked to the window again. 'It sounds to me like Shea's got himself a good attorney.'

'Or he's innocent, Alan…'

Reston shook his head. 'No, he's not.' He turned again to face her. 'Elaine, let's get this straight. We have a case that convinced the Grand Jury. The Board of Supervisors got together to put a reward on Kevin Shea's head. You particularly – representing this office – have gone public over the airtightness of this indictment. And now you're coming to me, my first day on the job, and you expect me to call off the whole thing – maybe the best opportunity we have to get the city under some control again? That's not going to happen.'

'Even if he didn't do it?'

'You have any proof that he didn't?'

'Traditionally, Alan, we're supposed to have proof that he did . Remember? Lieutenant Glitsky thinks he can get Shea to come in if you'll talk to him.'

'If I'll drop the charges – '

'Only after.'

'No. It's too late for that now. He comes in, he's put under arrest, we go from there. No deals. Not with him.'

'Then he won't come in.'

Reston let out a long breath. 'Then he's taking that risk, and it's substantial.' Trying to close the gap, he stepped closer to her. 'Elaine, maybe you ought to talk to your mother about this. She's got her own investment here, you know.'

'This isn't about my mother, Alan.'

'You may not want to hear this, Elaine, but your mother may be the reason you got the case.' He leaned back against his desk.

Some of his folders slipped off to the floor. They both ignored them.

Her eyes narrowed. 'That's not true. Chris Locke believed in my-'

'No question, but…' This time he did touch her arm. 'Look, Elaine, no one's saying we're not going to give Shea a fair trial, but you don't about-face from rabid abuse of a suspect on television to letting him go because his own defense attorney, for Christ's sake, comes up with some reasons that might , and I repeat might , explain some facts differently. That would make the process and all of us look like fools. It would make your mother look ridiculous.'

'I'm not saying he didn't do it, I'm asking what if…'

His hand, still on her arm, squeezed it firmly. 'And I hear you. I don't want this case going south any more than you do, any more than your mother does. But we can't just do what Chris Locke did with Jerohm Reese – say we're giving up on the charges because the evidence suddenly got shaky. That's what started all this, remember? Even if I thought there was significant merit there, I wouldn't do it. I couldn't. Not now. The city would explode. Nobody's ready to hear it.' He lowered his voice. 'To say nothing of the fact that, personally, I'd be betraying your mother. As you well know.'