John Lescroart - The Mercy Rule

From the middle of the courtroom Soma was ready once again to try to establish that a murder had taken place. ‘Sergeant Parini, was your unit the first to arrive at the scene – Sal Russo’s apartment at the Lions Arms?’

‘Oh, no, not at all. Judge Giotti was there. We also had paramedics, a couple of uniformed officers who had secured the scene, and inspectors Lanier and Evans.’

‘And can you tell the jury what you found there?’

Parini cleared his throat, but there was no sense that it was out of nerves. He wanted to be clearly understood, that was all. ‘First, I double-checked with the officers that nothing had been disturbed. The paramedics had arrived a few minutes after the officers and had been apprised of the DNR situation. The victim was clearly deceased. The lead EMT told me that the body had already cooled perceptibly by the time they arrived.’ This was hearsay, but Hardy didn’t object; it wasn’t the issue.

‘And would you describe the body, then, as you found it?’

Parini ran his pro-forma description, which he then verified against the photograph that was People’s One.

As this was going on, Freeman pushed open the swinging section of the bar rail, patted Hardy on the shoulder, and sat down at the defense table, on the other side of Graham. Hardy shot him a questioning look and Freeman mouthed, ‘Later.’

Soma, in the center of the courtroom, didn’t even notice the minor interruption. He was back at the witness. ‘So, Sergeant Parini, based on your training and experience, did the position of Sal Russo’s body look like a suicide to you?’

‘Objection.’ Hardy remained seated. ‘Speculation.’

From his bench Salter was a bit of a ramrod himself. ‘No, this is informed opinion, Mr Hardy. Your objection is overruled. Sergeant Parini, you may answer the question.’

Parini nodded. The drill of the witness stand had its own rhythm, and the sergeant was familiar with it. He waited while the court reporter reread Soma’s question and then picked it right up. ‘Yes, my initial impression, from the body – not just that it was on the floor. Its position was unnatural.’

‘Unnatural how?’

‘It seemed to have been dropped there.’

Soma did some light pantomime, sharing the import of this fact with the jury. ‘Did you find anything else, Sergeant, that led you to conclude that this was a homicide?’

‘Yes, I did. There was a whiskey bottle – Old Crow bourbon – on its side on the floor under the table. Its cap wasn’t on tight and quite a bit of the whiskey had seeped out onto the floor.’

‘And what was the significance of that, in your opinion?’

Hardy thought he could object, but he’d be overruled again. In the view of the criminal courts Crime Scene Investigations inspectors – so long as their training and experience was ritually invoked – had nearly the authority of expert witnesses. They were allowed a wide latitude in what would otherwise be speculation.

So Hardy kept quiet and listened to the words, all the more damning because he thought the theory they supported was what had, in fact, happened.

It just hadn’t happened with Graham.

Parini went ahead with the confidence of someone who’d thought it all through carefully. ‘I think the most reasonable explanation was that it was either knocked over in a struggle or perhaps kicked over in an assailant’s haste to get out of the apartment. It was still dripping slowly when I got there.’

‘Did you find the syringe, Sergeant?’

‘Yes. It was right there on the top of the coffee table, capped, along with an empty vial.’

‘In other words, the needle was not in the victim’s arm, was it?’

‘No.’

‘And what did you do with this syringe and vial?’

‘I bagged it and sent it to the lab for analysis, fingerprinting, and so on.’

‘And can you tell us, Sergeant, what the lab found?’

‘That the vial had contained morphine, and that there were fingerprints on both it and the syringe.’

‘And did you identify these fingerprints?’

‘Yes, we did. They belong to the defendant, Graham Russo.’

Parini stayed on the stand for the better part of two hours. He described the chair on the floor in the kitchen, the scratches on the cabinetry, the safe, Graham’s fingerprints all over the place, even on the DNR tube. Soma entered the vial, the syringe, the bottle of Old Crow, the tube and sticker, into evidence. It all took time, and Salter called a halt for lunch before Hardy could begin his cross-examination.

Hardy gathered his papers, asked Graham what they wanted to order for lunch. Freeman was uncharacteristically silent, brooding, leading the way for the three of them back to their holding cell behind the courtroom. When they got there, Freeman waited and let them both pass, then told Hardy that maybe he ought to sit down.

Graham took off his coat and was twisting his body back and forth, exercising. Hardy cricked his own back. ‘I’ve been sitting all morning, David. What’s up?’

Freeman shrugged. It had to come out anyway, and if Hardy wanted to stand, so be it. ‘I got a call at the office. One of the associates in crisis.’ He paused. ‘Michelle, as a matter of fact.’

Hardy made a face. Some kind of blow-up with Tryptech had been bound to happen sooner or later, they’d been in wait-and-delay mode for so long, some judge had probably decided enough was enough and set a hearing date in the next couple of weeks. But then another thought occurred. ‘Why didn’t she call me?’

Freeman blew out a breath. ‘Well, she feels a little awkward.’ Graham stopped his calisthenics, listening. Something in Freeman’s tone…

‘You know Ovangevale Networks?’

This was like asking Hardy if he’d heard of Disneyland. Ovangevale had come from nowhere and grown like ragweed in the last five years with its internet applications. They were the new kids on the block and a powerhouse in the industry.

Hardy swore. ‘They stole her, didn’t they?’

‘Not quite.’

Graham looked over at Hardy. ‘I love the way Yoda strings it out, don’t you? You want to go out for the sandwiches, David, let us have a guessing game till you get back?’

‘What?’ Hardy asked simply.

Freeman rolled his eyes. ‘They’re buying Tryptech,’ he said.

‘No, they’re not. That’s impossible.’ Hardy flatly didn’t believe it. ‘Not with this lawsuit hanging, they’d-’

‘Their own lawyers did some back-door contingency deal. They got the Port of Oakland to go along if Tryptech would settle for twelve five.’

‘Twelve five!’ Hardy’s voice echoed in the tiny space. ‘We can get close to thirty and they’re-’

Freeman held up his hand. ‘It’s an albatross, Diz. They don’t care about the short-term loss, they just want it out of the way. Get on to new business, move ahead.’

‘So how long has Tryptech known about this?’ He whirled with nowhere to go. ‘I’ve got to call Michelle. Why didn’t she call me?’

Although he knew at least one reason why: he hadn’t been there for her over these last months.

‘Well, that’s the other thing,’ Freeman said. He took in a breath. ‘The tender offer’s at fifteen a share. She’d been getting paid now for four months in discounted shares, as you knew.’

‘Yeah, I knew.’ Hardy’s head was going light. He’d turned down the same offer, but Michelle didn’t have a family to support. She could afford to take the risk. He found himself sitting down finally on the concrete bench.

Freeman was going on. ‘One and a half,’ he said.

‘One and a half what?’

‘The discounted share price. The original talk was two, you remember, but it finally went out at one and a half. Michelle’s got over forty thousand shares.’