John Lescroart - The Mercy Rule

‘I’m checking out the trade shows. It looks like they’re going to bring in forty or fifty.’

‘And you’re splitting that with George and Debra too?’

Graham gave him a shrug. ‘Without Singleterry, I’m afraid, it’s their money. What can I do?’

Sarah leaned over from the passenger side. ‘He’s even thinking of declaring his softball earnings.’

Hardy deadpanned. ‘Whoa! Don’t get all carried away on me now.’

‘I’ve reformed.’ Graham was dead serious. ‘I’m reporting every cent of income I make for the rest of my life. I’m going back and filing amended returns. I am never ever under any circumstances spending one more night in jail.’

Hardy nodded. ‘Here’s a perfect example of the beauty of our criminal system. You go to jail for a few months, you come out a better person.’

Back at his office he punched in the number again, and this time it picked up on the second ring.

‘Hello, Jeanne Walsh?’

‘Yes.’ A young woman’s voice. The crying of a baby in the background.

‘You called me in response to an advertisement in the newspaper?’

‘That’s right, I did. What’s this about? Do I get the reward? I could seriously use a reward.’

‘It’s possible,’ he temporized. ‘Actually, though, we were trying to find Joan Singleterry herself. Do you know her?’

‘Of course. That’s why I called. Joan Singleterry was my mother.’ The past tense sprang up at Hardy, immediately amplified. ‘She died about four years ago.’

‘Would you mind answering some questions about her?’

‘No. I don’t mind at all. Can I ask who I’m talking to, though?’

Hardy apologized. ‘My name is Dismas Hardy. I’m a lawyer in San Francisco.’

‘San Francisco? That’s a long way away.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Eureka.’

Hardy had been doodling on his legal pad. Now he decided to take a couple of notes. Eureka was an old lumber port, the county seat of Humboldt County, California, three hundred miles up the coast.

‘And did your mother live there, too, in Eureka?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did she always live there?’

‘Just a second.’ She was gone from the phone and he heard her scolding. ‘No, no, no. Don’t put that in there, Brittany. Mommy will be off in a minute, okay?’

Hardy could relate. Jeanne came back to the phone. ‘I’m sorry, where were we?’

‘Did your mother always live in Eureka?’

‘Mostly. She was born here, then lived in San Francisco for a while, and then moved back. But her name wasn’t Singleterry when she was down there. It was Palmieri, Joan Palmieri. Then back up here she married Ron Singleterry.’

Hardy’s heart sank. ‘But when she lived in San Francisco, your mother’s name was Joan what?’

‘Palmieri.’ Jeanne spelled it. Hardy wrote it on his pad.

‘Do you know a man named Sal Russo?’

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Do you remember if your mother ever mentioned him?’

‘Sal Russo?’ She was silent a minute. ‘No, it doesn’t even ring a tiny bell. Was she supposed to know him? Does this mean I don’t get the reward? Brittany, don’t!’

Reward or not, the child was commanding more than half of Jeanne Walsh’s attention. Hardy should let her go and get on his own horse. This, finally, was a definite link to Joan Singleterry and a new name with which to conjure. Palmieri.

He thanked her and told her he’d get back to her, this time unable to entirely suppress the rush of excitement. His hunch was becoming a certainty. He didn’t know the exact mechanism, but Joan Singleterry was going to lead him to Sal Russo’s killer.

The whole family pitched in making chili, quesadillas, and tacos. Pico and Angela Morales came by with their three children. Young and old ate together at the same table.

The law went undiscussed.

The kids went down to sleep before eight-thirty, five of them on the floor in Rebecca’s room. When Pico and Angela woke up their clan to go home three hours later, Hardy and Frannie still had some energy and didn’t let it go to waste.

This morning he made his four-mile jog and walk with something approaching ease. The city had turned cold by California standards – the high today would be 55 degrees – so he brought wood up from the cord of oak underneath the house. While Frannie baked bread, he cleaned his fish tank.

With all the domesticity he didn’t arrive at the office until nearly noon. Among his messages was a call from another of the doctors who’d signed the published admission that he’d helped one or more of his patients die.

Hardy could see a groundswell developing here. Yesterday, he’d forgotten to return the padlock key for the storage unit to the city custodian, and he decided to use that as an excuse to go to the Hall.

The door to Glitsky’s office was open. He sat at his desk and appeared to be buried in paperwork. Hardy walked in with his briefcase in one hand and some hot tea in the other, and the lieutenant sat back and graciously accepted the offering. The two men hadn’t talked since the day of the verdict, and Sarah and Graham had not hit the gossip mills yet by then. Now, of course, they had.

Abe carefully sipped at the scalding liquid. ‘Why don’t you get the door?’ he asked conversationally. ‘God, I love the sound of that.’ When they were good and alone, he took another sip. ‘I guess you didn’t know about Evans and your client.’

Hardy kept a straight face. ‘What about them?’

Glitsky moved some paper around. ‘I suppose you thought that if I’d known they were an item, I might have been a little skeptical about her professional opinion regarding his guilt or not. Might not have sent her out to investigate other innocent civilians with my blessing.’

‘George wasn’t all that innocent. Besides, Graham wasn’t guilty. The jury said so.’

The lieutenant went to his tea, decided to say a few more words. ‘She was a good cop. She had to be to get here. But you don’t sleep with your suspects.’

‘I never have, but I’d agree it’s good advice.’

Glitsky nodded again. This was pointless. What happened between Evans and Graham Russo hadn’t been Hardy’s doing. It was galling that Hardy had possibly – hell, probably; hell, definitely - known all about it for months and hadn’t mentioned a thing to Glitsky.

But then Glitsky realized that a part of it, perhaps the biggest part, was his own fault. It wasn’t Hardy who’d cut off the communication they’d always had – it was himself. He sipped more tea, settled back into his chair. ‘And this visit today is about?’

‘I honestly thought you’d never ask.’

‘Surprise,’ Glitsky said. ‘It’s a cop tool.’

‘Hey, that reminds me. Knock, knock.’

Glitsky shook his head. ‘No.’

‘No, really, come on. Humor me. One time. Knock, knock.’

Glitsky hesitated another second. There was no getting around Hardy. He’d just sit there with his shit-eating grin and keep repeating ‘Knock, knock’ until he got an answer. He growled it out. ‘All right, Jesus, who’s there?’

‘Interrupting cow.’

‘Interrupting co-’

‘Mooo!’

In a major victory for the defense Hardy got Glitsky to crack a tenth of a smile. ‘All right,’ the lieutenant said, ‘that wasn’t bad. I see you’re playing with your kids again. How are they? I ought to bring Orel by.’

Actually, with the trial over now and the first hectic weeks of school out of the way, his kids were giving him a period of joy. Last night, good as it had been, was becoming almost typical. Vincent actually preferred that Hardy tuck him in nowadays rather than Frannie, and miraculously, he’d been home a lot of nights to do just that. It seemed to make a difference to the boy, Dad being around with some regularity. Rebecca continued to be his darling.