John Lescroart - The Mercy Rule

But the younger brother had made his decision. ‘I don’t think you ask hard questions. And you can inform the police or not. I didn’t see my father. I didn’t even know where he lived.’ He picked up the phone. ‘If you’re not ready to leave, I can call security.’

Hardy was sitting in the jail’s visiting room and Graham was in his orange jumpsuit, standing by the window. Hardy had just told him about Helen and Leland’s offer of financial help.

‘Graham?’

Finally, he turned around. ‘They want something, but I don’t see how I can tell you no.’

‘Maybe they want to help you.’

‘No, they want to buy me.’

‘They wouldn’t even be buying me , only some of my hours. I made it clear: I’d be working only for your interests, not theirs.’

Graham eased himself onto the corner of the table. He wore a weary smile and was shaking his head. ‘That’s not how it works. Leland pays you and then eventually you come to see where your interests lie. I’ve seen it happen a thousand times.’

His hands crossed in front of him, Hardy met his client’s gaze. ‘I’ll rise above the temptation.’ Then, more seriously, ‘I’ve thought a lot about this, Graham. A lot, believe me. It’s the only way I defend you and not go broke, which of course I’d gladly do on your behalf, although not if I didn’t have to. But I leave it up to you.’

Hardy watched the young man wrestle with it, family ties and financial bonds. He sighed. ‘My mom sure puts the “fun” in dysfunctional , doesn’t she?’

‘I don’t think she’s dysfunctional. Confused, maybe. You interested in my call on this, really?’

‘Sure.’

‘She sees your dad in you. Apparently a lot of people do. It’s her second chance that way. She wants to give you a chance to make your life turn out all right, to save yourself, and the only language she has is money. You don’t do things her way, Leland’s way, but something in her wishes that that way – your way – could work. She wants to help.’

‘And what about Leland?’

‘He doesn’t have to matter if you don’t let him.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Take the damn money.’

Carefully keeping any elation out of his voice – this really was a critical decision that would keep them both afloat – Hardy felt his shoulders relax. He turned to his legal pad. ‘Oh, by the way, I had a nice talk with your friend Russ Cutler last night. Funny how you forgot to mention him.’

Graham didn’t shrink from it. Caught again, oh, well. ‘I had other things on my mind. I tried to go off the record and tell Sarah. She wouldn’t let me.’

‘It’s going to come out as more lies.’

Graham shrugged. ‘I promised him I wouldn’t bring him in. What was I supposed to do, betray the guy?’

‘I don’t know if I’d characterize it as betrayal, maybe telling your attorney, trust that he could keep a lid on it.’

Graham accepted the rebuke. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’

Hardy smiled. ‘You gotta love a guy who’s so consistent, but last night I passed a few pleasant moments plotting to kill you after I get you off.’ He shrugged. ‘It passed, but I really would love it if you had any other little secrets you’ve been keeping up to now. If you wanted to share them, this would be a good time.’

Still sitting on the table, Graham swung his legs under it like a child. ‘Craig Ising’s holding ten grand for me. My money.’

Hardy had to laugh. ‘You are a piece of work.’

Embarrassed, Graham remained matter of fact. ‘One way or the other, this thing’s over in six months, I figure. I didn’t want to lose my apartment, so Craig’s keeping up on the rent. If I’m in jail, it doesn’t matter. But if I win, then what?’

In spite of himself Hardy thought he had a point. In fact, he had wondered what Graham’s plans might be regarding his wonderful place. It was human nature to protect his own hearth before he worried about Hardy’s home and family, not that it didn’t rankle just a bit.

‘So that’s it?’ he asked. ‘I realize we’ve got the proverbial loaves and fishes of falsehoods here, but maybe we keep at this long enough we’ll run out. You didn’t run off on your lost weekend and get married to Evans, did you?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t know anything about your father’s money except what you’ve already told me about Joan Singleterry, whoever the hell she is?’

‘Right.’

‘And you don’t know who she is?’

‘No idea.’

‘And if I catch you in even the smallest fib, I get to stick an icepick under your kneecap?’

‘Both of ’em.‘

‘You swear on your father’s grave?’

This sobered him, as Hardy had meant it to. ‘I swear,’ he intoned.

This would have to be good enough and Hardy took it. ‘Okay. Now let’s talk some matters of law.’

Without naming Graham’s stepfather as one source of the idea, Hardy outlined in some detail the suggestion that both Leland and Giotti had proposed as a defense. As a lawyer himself, Graham seemed to appreciate the distinction between admitting he’d done something and having a jury conclude he’d done the same thing. If he never admitted it, ever, to anyone, he would be legally blameless. He could resume his life with a clean slate.

They discussed the strategy until the lunch bell. Graham’s acquiescence was a nice surprise, especially after his earlier refusal to plead to essentially the same thing. But, as Graham pointed out, they weren’t the same thing at all.

Not in the eyes of the law.

Of course, there were great risks. Graham was charged with first-degree murder and, if convicted with special circumstances, would spend the rest of his life in prison. But Giotti’s offer seriously mitigated that risk.

They left it unresolved, but kept the door open.

Driving back uptown, Hardy was going around with it. It was starting to look as though his defense would be to admit that Graham, who couldn’t admit it himself, had committed a murder that in fact he hadn’t committed. For a reason that he didn’t have.

And this, if it worked, might set his client free.

The law, he thought, was a sublime and terrible thing.

Sarah Evans planned to take full advantage of yet another beautiful wrinkle in the system.

The city and county of San Francisco were physically coterminous; they shared the same geographic boundaries. This created interesting possibilities in the always complicated world of legal jurisdiction.

Practically, one of the results of this arrangement was that the jail was controlled by the county sheriff’s office, not by the city’s police department. Although it was directly behind the Hall of Justice, in what used to be part of the Hall’s parking lot, the jail might as well have been on the moon for all of its official connection to police events at Southern Station, which was the city’s name for the police presence at the Hall.

Sarah told Marcel Lanier she had some reports to catch up on after their shift – she’d hitch a ride home later. He left her working at her desk in the homicide detail.

At some time between six and seven the coming and going of other homicide inspectors slowed down, and Sarah cleared her desk, took the back steps out of the Hall, and walked around to the entrance to the jail, flashed her ID, and told the admitting deputy that she had to see Russo. She signed in, knowing that her bosses in the PD were unlikely to review the log. Attorney room B would be all right. She checked her weapon at the desk.

‘I can’t come here very often.’

They sat across the table from each other now, inspector and prisoner. Graham longed for her hands over the table, but knew he couldn’t.