John Lescroart - The Mercy Rule

Freeman reached over, around Graham, and touched Hardy’s sleeve. ‘Let me take her,’ he whispered.

Graham, joking, poked him with an elbow. ‘She’s mine,’ he said, and Hardy told him to shut up again.

Freeman didn’t let go. ‘I can undo it. Soma sat down for her and let Drysdale do it. You can sit down and let me.’

Hardy wasn’t sure what Freeman had in mind, but the old man had a well-deserved reputation in the courtroom. He shook things up, often with great success. Indeed, this was precisely the reason Hardy had agreed to let him sit in with them. And now he wanted to play.

Hardy nodded. ‘Go for it.’

Freeman wasted no time. He stood up at his place at the table and, as Drysdale had done, introduced himself and began. ‘Inspector Evans,’ he asked, ‘in your opinion, and based on your training and experience as a law-enforcement officer, is the defendant here, Graham Russo, a man that you can trust?’

There was a long, dead pause of shock in the courtroom.

Freeman had obviously given this question a lot of thought during the ninety minutes or so that Drysdale had kept Sarah on the stand and Hardy thought it was perfect – pure Freeman. He would never had thought of it.

Of course it was inadmissible. It was speculation. It wasn’t based on evidence. It was, from any legal perspective, a just plain dumb question.

But Hardy had a sense – and Freeman probably knew - that neither Drysdale nor Soma would object. After all, they had a police officer up on the stand who had just recounted what seemed like a million lies the defendant had personally told her. What was she going to say? How could she possibly say that, yes, she trusted him?

Sarah bit her lip, looked at Drysdale, then Graham, finally Freeman. Hardy threw a look up to Salter, who seemed to be waiting for the objection that did not come.

‘Yes,’ she said.

In the room itself order of a sort was restored in time for Salter to call an end to the day’s proceedings.

But as the gallery began filing out, the orderly queue trying to get through the double doors dissipated into pushing and name-calling. The fireworks picked up out in the hallway and overflowed out the back door – the legal professionals’ exit from the building.

Hardy went with Graham back to the changing room; the defendant would be sleeping, as usual, in his jumpsuit. Pleased that Freeman had so beautifully undercut Sarah’s damaging testimony, Hardy’s mind nevertheless kept going back to Michelle and Frannie and what in the world he was going to do with the rest of his life.

So twenty minutes later, accompanied by the bailiff and Graham, he was surprised when they got to the corridor behind the building on the way back to the jail and were stopped by the gathered crowd of at least eighty people.

The reaction to Sarah’s testimony.

Pratt was in the thick of it. The district attorney had been in the courtroom and had raised her fist and said, ‘Yes,’ very audibly, right after Sarah had uttered the same word.

Now, back behind the hall, it was a mob scene. Hardy saw Freeman standing over by Drysdale. Barbara Brandt was there, Soma, a bunch of cops in uniform, tons of press.

In nearly twenty years under a great variety of stresses and burdens, Hardy had never before seen Art Drysdale really lose his temper. But he’d lost it now with Sharron Pratt, the person who’d fired him a few months ago.

‘I’ll tell you what you are, Sharron.’ His voice carried all the way back to where Hardy stood with Graham and the bailiff at the doorway. ‘You are an absolute disgrace to law enforcement. In fact, you’re not in law enforcement at all. You’re in social engineering.’

To Pratt this was a badge of distinction. ‘You’re damn right I am! The people elected me , Art. You know why? They were tired of the letter of the law, and the spirit be damned! They were tired of deals getting cut in back rooms.’

The bailiff decided he ought to get Graham back into the jail, to his cell, but Hardy stopped him. ‘You’re going to want to hear this, Carl.’ So they stayed, flies on the back door.

Cameras were rolling. Microphones were pointed. Hardy saw Sarah next to Marcel Lanier, inside the knot of acrimony. She hadn’t been the grenade, but she was the pin that, once pulled, had led to the explosion.

‘We didn’t cut any deals in back rooms.’ Drysdale was raving, standing on a concrete planter box. He stormed at the crowd. ‘This woman has no clue! Doesn’t anybody see that?’

Pratt shot back at him. ‘You put Graham Russo on trial for murdering his father when you know he didn’t. That says it all.’ The DA played it for the crowd, raising her own voice. ‘Anybody out here think this wasn’t an assisted suicide? Anybody think this was a murder? I’m waiting.’

Hardy didn’t miss the irony in the fact that the defense team and Sarah were probably the only ones who did think Sal had been murdered. But this wasn’t the time to bring it up.

Taking his cue from Pratt, Drysdale struck again. ‘Ask your friend Barbara Brandt, Sharron. Ask her if she’s ever met Graham Russo. I’ll tell you what – she hasn’t! We checked her out, Sharron. It’s all made up.’

Brandt yelled out, ‘That’s a damn lie. That’s-’

Drysdale shouted her down. ‘But don’t let the truth get in your way. It never has before.’

Suddenly, even Sarah was in his sights. He turned to her and pointed. ‘And while we’re at it, what reward are you giving Sergeant Evans for her testimony today? You going to let her be your chauffeur?’

Freeman, in the unaccustomed role of peacemaker, reached a hand up to Drysdale. ‘That’s out of line, Art. Come on down.’

‘This is a travesty. This is a goddamn travesty.’

The climax was over. Hardy heard Pratt say something about ‘sore loser,’ loud enough for the crowd, but the public face-off wasn’t good politics, and evidently this had finally occurred to her. Drysdale was pushing his way, Soma in tow, to the back lot.

Suddenly Abe Glitsky was standing at Hardy’s elbow. ‘What’s going on? What was Art doing?’

Hardy looked over. ‘Evans went sideways. Art thinks Sharron had something to do with it. He’s a little worked up.’

‘How sideways?’

‘Not much,’ Hardy lied.

Shackled next to them in his jumpsuit, Graham wasn’t intimidated. ‘She said she believed me.’

The scene shifted for Glitsky, registered. ‘How special for you,’ he said. Then, to the bailiff, ‘Carl, what’s this guy still doing here?’

Carl could take a hint. He was moving with his prisoner before the question was over. ‘He’s on his way to AdSeg.’

In front of them the crowd had thinned. Part of it – some reporters and supporters and David Freeman – had followed Soma and Drysdale. Pratt, enjoying the photo op, had led another group off on a different walkway.

Evans and Lanier stood by themselves, alone, arms folded, and watched as Graham was led by them.

‘All politics aside, Abe, you’ll be happier in the long run if you look into George Russo’s alibi,’ Hardy said. ‘Graham’s brother?’

‘I know who he is.’

‘You know where he was when Sal bought it?’

‘I don’t need to.’

‘Well, don’t say I didn’t try.’

But neither of the men moved away. Hardy had his hands in his pockets, wondering if Sarah was going to come over and say something. Glitsky, his jaw working, the scar white through his lips, stood with his arms crossed, feet planted. Eventually, his chest heaved. ‘Evans said on the stand she believed your man?’

‘She said he was trustworthy.’

‘How did that come up? How’d the judge let it in?’