John Lescroart - The Mercy Rule

‘All I’m saying, Dean’ – Drysdale’s tone was mild – ‘is that we don’t want to let this boy go free. If the jury’s only choice is to convict on robbery murder or acquit, they might just acquit, and then what’s all this been for?’

‘All this has been to bring a murderer to justice.’ Powell wasn’t entertaining other suggestions. ‘That’s what all this has been for. It’s what it’s always been for. Besides, they’re not going to acquit.’

Fearless, Soma waded into it. ‘We just want to drive a stake into the heart of that possibility, Dean. Give them another option to consider. Ask for manslaughter as a possible lesser verdict.’

‘Hardy’s leading them in that direction, Dean,’ Drysdale added. ‘Gil and I just want to cut him off.’

‘God damn it,’ Powell clipped, ‘are you boys listening to me? Am I speaking some foreign language? We have charged our man Russo here with robbery murder. Don’t you think I understand the implications of that? I assure you I do. And I’ll tell you something else: if we back off, if we even appear to back off, we’ll be broadcasting the news to the jury that we didn’t prove the case. And then they will acquit.’

There was that familiar bubble of silence that succeeds the moment when a boss swears at underlings. Drysdale took a breath. ‘How about this, Dean? We don’t argue assisted suicide-’

Powell: ‘Damn straight we don’t.’

‘- but we give it to Salter in our jury instructions?’

The dilemma they faced was a real one. In the same way that Hardy and the defense had gone into their tuck, vowing not to pull out of it until they had presented their entire argument, so, too, the prosecution had avoided muddying the murder waters by never alluding to the possibility that Sal’s death was less than murder. Assisted suicide was still, both technically and in fact, a crime in the state of California. It might not be first-degree murder, but it was at least second, and no way less than a long prison term.

Drysdale was admitting the validity of Powell’s position – that they might open themselves to ridicule (and acquittal) if they switched over and added the assisted-suicide argument at this point. But if they did do that, they would vastly increase the odds that the jury would not set Graham Russo scot free.

Drysdale believed that he could persuade Judge Salter to direct the jury that assisted suicide was still murder. Then, the jury could return with a verdict of first- or second-degree murder and Powell could still claim some sort of victory.

But the attorney general was adamant. He wasn’t doing that. His team wouldn’t play on that field. ‘We picked this fight six months ago, Art. We get him on robbery murder or we let him go-’

Tempers were fraying and Soma cracked under the pressure, slapping his palm loudly on the table. ‘Shit.’

Powell snapped back, the strike of a snake. ‘Don’t you give me that attitude, Mr Soma. You’ll find yourself unemployed in a fucking heartbeat. You hear me? You afraid you didn’t prove the case?’

Soma raised his eyes. ‘We proved the case, sir.’

Powell stared him down. ‘Let’s hope you did. Because I don’t want to hear one word in your closing about assisted suicide except to say it’s no defense to a murder charge. Our boy killed his father for his money. That’s what he did and that’s why he did it. If you’ve got any kind of problem with that at this stage, either of you’ – he paused, glaring – ‘well, that’s just too damn bad. You’re going to have to live with it.’

Sarah’s early-morning meeting with Hardy and Freeman in Glitsky’s office was ancient history as she and her partner decided not to wait for the elevators and took the stairs on their way down to the lobby. On the second-floor landing Sarah glanced into the hallway and saw a pregnant woman, feet spread and planted, sitting on a bench alone outside of Graham’s courtroom. Now, on a hunch, she asked Lanier to wait a minute and walked over.

‘Are you Debra McCoury?’

The woman’s face was blotched and she appeared to be near tears. She nodded. ‘Who are you?’

Sarah sat next to her, introducing herself. ‘I’m the one who arrested your brother. I don’t know if you remember, but we spoke on the phone when I first-’

‘I remember.’ The face closed up.

‘I’ve called since a few times. You’ve been a little hard to get in touch with.’

‘Well, I work.’ And evidently hated the fact.

‘But you’re here now?’

‘And the other day too. I was a witness. I got time off,’ Debra said. ‘Without pay. They said they’re doing the closing arguments today. I wanted to be here.’

From Graham, Sarah had learned quite a lot about Debra.

Like her mother had with Sal, she had married below some perception of her station in life, and it was playing the same kind of havoc with her. Graham felt nothing but sorry for her. She didn’t have be so miserable, to keep herself looking so plain. Certainly, she didn’t have to remain in a relationship with a cheating husband.

But it was the same as the case with George. Sal’s abandonment had brought with it a nearly paralyzing loss of her self-esteem, along with a bitterness that soured everything in her world. Debra believed in her heart that she wasn’t worth loving, that no one would ever truly love her. Sarah thought one look at her revealed her story. And now she was going to have Brendan’s baby and life was going to get more complicated, sadder.

‘So why are you down here?’ Sarah asked. ‘You told me you didn’t like Graham, that he couldn’t be trusted.’

Debra swallowed with some effort. ‘He is my brother.’

‘And what does that mean?’

‘That means I don’t want to see him sent to jail.’

‘Do you think he killed your father?’

The blotches rose on her heavy neck. ‘I don’t know.’

‘But you do think he stole this money?’

‘I don’t know that, either, anymore. I was here and heard that bank person. Nobody seems to know what happened about that. What did you want to see me about?’

In fact, she’d called Debra for the most part because Dismas Hardy had asked her to do so before they had finally left the ‘other dude’ phase of the investigation. Not that she or Hardy had thought Debra would lead to anything substantial.

Still, when she’d made herself unavailable, Sarah had wondered. ‘I was following up on some other questions. You told me about the baseball cards. You also gave me the impression that you knew Sal had more money stashed away somewhere.’

‘Which, it turns out, he did.’

‘True, but that’s not my point. My point is how did you know it?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t sure of it. I guess Graham told me.’

‘But I thought you hadn’t talked to Graham in a couple of years.’ Debra moved her hands over her belly, her face a brown study. There was a glint of moisture in her eyes. ‘You also said Sal kept the baseball cards in his apartment. Had you been there? To his apartment? How did you know he kept them there?’

She was shaking her head. ‘No. I just assumed…’ Suddenly she whirled on Sarah. ‘What are you asking me all of these questions for? I didn’t do anything.’

‘I didn’t say you did.’

‘But you’re-’

‘I’m just asking you to explain how you knew some of the things you told me about.’ Lanier grew tired of waiting in the stairway. He came across the hall and stood in front of the two women. ‘This is my partner, Inspector Lanier,’ Sarah said.

Lanier nodded. ‘Everything all right here?’

Sarah kept up the press. ‘I’m sure you remember where you were on the afternoon that your father was killed. You wouldn’t forget that.’