John Lescroart - The Mercy Rule

‘We did get the indictment.’ Drysdale shrugged. ‘The grand jury didn’t think it was frivolous.’

Hardy sat back in his chair, amused. ‘Wasn’t it your very self, years ago, who assured me that if the prosecution asked nice enough, the grand jury would indict a ham sandwich?’

Drysdale nodded. ‘I might have said something like that when I was but a callow youth, but I was wrong.’ He grinned. ‘Besides, the ham sandwich might have done it.’

‘So remind me again, why are we having this discussion? You came down here looking for me, remember? Why didn’t you just give me a call and tell me to bring in my man?’

Putting a hand over the arm of Soma, who looked equal parts ready to interrupt again and in sore need of a bathroom break, Drysdale leaned forward. ‘Dean’s made his point getting the indictment, Diz. He’s upholding the law, Pratt isn’t. I don’t think this kid has to spend the rest of his life in jail.’ He threw a quick glance at Soma, shutting him up.

‘So what do you want?’

‘You tell me. The word was you went to manslaughter, no time, with Pratt. I don’t think Dean will go there, but he might bend down from the specials.’

But Hardy was shaking his head. ‘My client didn’t even cop to probation, Art. He says he didn’t do it.’

‘Although the entire country now thinks he did.’

Hardy spread his palms. ‘Be that as it may. And even if that’s true, even if some jury comes to that view, they won’t see murder with specials. They’ll see an assisted suicide.’

Finally, Soma could hold it no longer. ‘Which is murder.’

Drysdale agreed. ‘Forget the legal niceties, Diz. This was a murder. We can prove murder.’

‘Which means Graham did it,’ Soma blurted.

Hardy took a beat. ‘That’s an interesting legal theory,’ he said.

‘The point,’ Drysdale went on, ‘is this: you know Powell, Diz. He’s not immune to public opinion…’ This, Hardy thought, was surely one of the great understatements of Drysdale’s career, but he let him go on. ‘He doesn’t necessarily want to try a case where sixty percent of his constituency thinks his suspect is a good guy who did the right thing.’

‘But-’

Drysdale’s hand went back to Soma’s arm. ‘ But Dean is convinced – and I agree – that this was a murder. You will, too, Diz, when you’ve seen all the discovery. So if you plead, it’s win-win. Dean gets a W in his column for upholding the law, you get a W for pleading down. Pratt picks up an L .’

‘I love the sports analogy,’ Hardy said. ‘So Graham gets time in the slammer? My guess is he’d call that one the big L for him. What do you think?’

‘ L , for life is the big L ,’ Soma said. ‘This would be lower case.’

‘It’s not going to happen,’ Hardy replied, standing up, ‘but I’ll convey your kind offer to my client.’

If I can find him.

Shaking hands, he was effusively friendly. He told Art it was nice seeing him again. They ought to plan a lunch together sometime, catch up on their families, the changes in their jobs, old times.

Turning to the younger man, extending his hand, Hardy broke a practiced smile. ‘It was nice to meet you, Mr Soma. I wish you luck in your career.’

The young man wasn’t blind or stupid. He caught the dismissive tone and served one back to Hardy. ‘We need to see Russo by tomorrow. We don’t mean the day after.’

Hardy nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I guess I hear that message loud and clear. Thank you very much.’

An hour after Soma and Hardy exchanged their pleasantries, Marcel Lanier sat double-parked in front of the office of the attorney general on Fremont Street, drumming his hands on his steering wheel.

This was supposed to have taken five minutes – whip by here and get confirmation that Graham Russo was in the system. He’d sent Sarah up and she’d already been gone for twenty. Marcel sat with his driver’s window down, eyes closed. It was a nice afternoon, smells of coffee roasting and diesel fumes – not altogether unpleasant.

He was half dozing until another cop pulled up behind him. Marcel flashed his badge and explained the situation and tried to go back to dozing. Until two minutes later when another traffic-and parking-enforcement meter-minder tapped him – hard! – on the elbow. ‘Come on, now, move it along.’

Another flash of the buzzer, this one not as effective. ‘I don’t care about the badge, Inspector. You’re blocking the street here. You gotta move it along.’

So Marcel, humoring this bozo, drove in a big circle, hoping Evans would be back down when he returned. But she wasn’t, so he double-parked again in the same spot, closed his eyes again. It couldn’t be long now, he told himself, it just couldn’t be.

But it was long enough for a pair of indigents, one of them wearing a football helmet and the other pushing a stolen shopping cart loaded with recyclables, to stop at his window and ask him for money. Marcel revved the motor and took off again for another tour of the surrounding three blocks.

When he returned this time, he at least got the time to start drumming his fingers before Evans appeared, coming out of the building with the skinny young lawyer.

Lanier was watching the guy move. Soma had come all the way down from the third floor with Sarah Evans when all he needed to do was have his secretary check the computer? So that’s what it was – Soma was hitting on her.

Leaning on the horn, he saw her wave, gesturing to him, making excuses. As though she needed to explain to this dweeb that she was supposed to be doing her job. He rolled down the window on her side. ‘Hey, Sarah!’

He didn’t know what it had been – whether Soma had been overbearing, or he’d honked too often. Maybe it was PMS. You never knew. He was the one who’d had the frustrating twenty minutes out in the car, but now she was sulking, her elbow out her own window as they drove west, staring out away from him.

‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine.’ Except, of course, that the man I love is now a fugitive and the next time I see him I’ve got to arrest him .

‘That guy Soma bothering you?’

She shrugged, still not looking over.

The silence went on for another few blocks. Finally, Lanier spoke again. ‘So what happened?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Well, nothing seems to have got you pretty upset.’

Now she turned. ‘I’m not upset.’

‘Right. That’s right. You’re always this way. Quiet and kind of moody.’

Another block. ‘I told him he was making a mistake.’

‘Who?’ Lanier asked. ‘About what?’

She flicked at the folder containing the file. ‘Gil Soma. This thing.’

Marcel threw her a concerned look. ‘The warrant? What’s the matter with it?’

‘Russo.’

‘You back on that again? Give it a rest. He did it.’

‘Oh, okay. Never mind.’

‘Sarah.’ Asking her to be reasonable.

‘No, really. You think he did it, therefore he did it.’

‘Who cares? It’s Soma’s problem. It’s not our problem. We’re just doing the delivery.’

‘You’re right. There’s nothing to discuss.’

‘Besides, he did it. Nobody else could have done it. We checked. Everybody else is clean. You read that Time story? That woman up in Sacramento? He did it.’

She was silent.

‘What?’

‘He helped his dad die to put him out of his misery, right?’

‘Right.’

‘So what about the struggle? What about the hooker downstairs, what she heard? The bump on the head?’

Marcel was nodding. ‘That’s what I mean. He did it.’