John Lescroart - A Certain Justice

Well, finally it had come to her and she had taken it – without apologies, without explanations or guilt. The only ones who wouldn't take it were losers who were afraid to reach beyond where everyone else expected them to stop. That wasn't her. She'd made it and she'd done a hell of a lot of good in the process.

God had sent her that money . All the powers on earth would never persuade her otherwise, or could have forced her to give back even a penny of it.

Not back then, not now, not ever.

'I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number.'

'Wes…?'

The phone went dead in Kevin's hand.

'What was that?' Melanie asked. She was combing her hair at Ann's bedroom vanity – eighty-one, eighty-two… She hadn't gotten around to putting her clothes back on.

'That was Wes being cryptic. I'll call him again.' He started to punch the numbers.

'No, wait a minute. What did he say?'

'Melanie, he always does stuff like this. Says I've got the wrong number, then hangs up.' He started pushing buttons again. She was up from her seat, threw herself over him on the bed, grabbing for the telephone. Landing across his ribs.

'Ahh!'

'Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry , Kevin, I didn't mean…'

He, also naked, was on his side, half-rolled into a fetal position, moaning. She took the phone from him and placed it in its receiver. 'Are you all right?'

He shook his head, trying to catch his breath, struggling with it. 'You want to call him so bad, okay, you call.'

'I don't want to call him. Tell me what he said.'

Rolling over, flat onto his back, Kevin gingerly pushed at his ribs. 'He said, this is a direct quote, get ready. He said, "Sorry, wrong number." '

'Somebody was there. He was followed home. We were right to get out of there. It's true. You know it's true.'

He poked gingerly at his ribs as she sat beside him on the bed. After a minute she lifted the receiver. 'What's his number?'

Closing his eyes, he leaned back again and mumbled it to her. She pushed the buttons. 'This is your mother, Wes. Say, "Oh, hi Mom." Now, if the police are there, say "I don't know. I might be busy that night." '

She nodded. 'We'll call you later. Do you think they'll be gone within an hour?'

A small pause. 'All right, now say "Okay, sorry. 'Bye, Mom." '

She hung up and put a hand on Kevin's belly, shaking her head.

He covered her hand with his. 'Now what?'

Dressed now, hair as neatly combed as Melanie could get it – she thought it might make a difference – Kevin sat rigidly in an easy chair in the living room surrounded by plants, the blinds drawn at the window behind him. They had all the lights turned on, some dragged in from the bedroom, all the lamp shades stripped from them. Ersatz klieg.

Melanie had moved Ann's tripod and video camera around – it was loaded with tape and ready to go – and pointed it at Kevin. She pushed the button, the red light came on, and Kevin tried to smile at the camera, though it came out forced.

'I'm Kevin Shea,' he began, 'and I did not…'

They stood embracing by the inside of the apartment's front door. 'There's no other way to do it. I've got to go. I'll be back in less than an hour, then we'll call Wes again.'

'Maybe you could go by his apartment. He could deliver it.'

She shook her head. 'I'm not going by there. They've probably got the National Guard surrounding the place.' She kissed him. 'Look, Kevin, I'm not the one in danger, I'm the only one who can do this. I changed the plates on the car. We got over here, didn't we?'

'Barely.'

'Barely counts,' she said, kissed him and was out the door.

He thought it odd that he didn't want a beer. Ann had four perfectly good Rolling Rocks in the refrigerator and instead he poured himself a glass of orange juice from the large pitcher. Drank it all down and poured another one.

Back in the living room he tried to estimate the time it would take – Melanie was bringing the tape down to KQED, the public television station, the closest one to the apartment. Assuming she wasn't arrested and didn't get in a wreck, it shouldn't take her an hour. But there was always traffic, and, the last couple of days, the curfew areas she'd have to avoid.

His stomach was cramping. What if something happened to her? Now, when…

When what?

He realized he was more worried about what might happen to her than he was about himself. He should never have let her go alone. He should have gone with her…

Wes Farrell was answering Kevin's question about the police presence. "They're gone. What are you doing?'

'I've been counting seconds for the last seven minutes. There were four hundred and twenty of them I think. It got a little boring so I thought I'd call you. How's Bart?'

'Bart's fine.'

'So your meeting downtown…?'

'I thought it all went along perfectly until the cops showed up here.'

'How did that happen?'

'I should have known. Gets to be a lot at stake, they lie.'

'Who?'

'The cops. In this case, Lieutenant Glitsky. Said he'd keep it to himself but he obviously assigned somebody to follow me home, figuring you were staying at my place, although I said you weren't. He probably figured it was worth a try. If you'd been here he could claim the arrest, maybe even get the reward. Anyway, imagine my surprise and relief when it turned out I was inadvertently telling the truth about you not being here. It also probably kept me out of jail. So what are you counting seconds for?'

'Until Mel comes back.'

'Where is she?'

Kevin explained. 'We figure we get me on the air, the media picks it up, maybe we get a swing in public opinion. Something changes. At least the truth gets out there.'

'I've got one for you, Kev. Why do you persist in thinking that anybody's going to believe anything you have to say?'

Kevin took that in, waited a beat before answering. 'I am telling the truth here, Wes.'

' I'm not arguing with you. We've been through that. But I told Glitsky your truth – at least as I understood it. He even seemed open to it. And yet there's something about this Grand Jury indictment… that's a formal document, Kevin. You are charged with this crime. I don't think a videotape of you saying you didn't do it is going to win many hearts and minds. People are going to be cynical about your motives. Trust me. It's going to take a jury now, unless we can get to the DA, get him to drop it, which even Glitsky thought was unlikely. And, incidentally, so do I.'

'I'm not going to trial for this-'

'I'd take a reality check on that one, Kevin.'

'There's no way, I'm going to-'

'Then why are you staying in the city? I thought you wanted to tell your story, get the truth out.'

'Yeah, but not at a damn trial, Wes. I go to trial I'm a dead man, you know that. Hell, that's what you told me . It can't get to that. That's why I came to you. Get it straightened out behind the scenes.'

Farrell couldn't say anything.

'Wes?'

'Barring an act of God, Kevin, a trial is what's going to happen. We'll have to arrange your arrest, then get you out on bail.'

'I thought there wasn't bail on a murder charge.'

'A capital murder charge – that's something we'd have to negotiate.'

There was a long silence, then Kevin's voice, noticeably weaker. 'Wes, it just can't have come to this.'

'That's what I'm trying to tell you, Kevin. It's already come to this. It's going to have to play itself out at trial… unless they kill you first.'

Another long pause. 'Gosh, you cheer a guy right up.'

'You asked.'

'Do me a favor, would you, next time I ask?'

'What?'