John Lescroart - The Oath

"Early on, he said not." Hardy left it at that.

Farrell's eyes shifted from side to side. This turn in the conversation-the objective fact of the guilt or innocence of a client-threatened to breach a largely unspoken rule among defense attorneys. But suddenly Hardy knew why Farrell had brought it up. The friend of his, for whom he'd won such a stunning acquittal, in whose innocence Wes had believed with his whole heart, turned out to have been guilty after all. "If you want to be sure," he said, "you'd damn well better find somebody else who did it."

Hardy cracked a tiny smile. "Okay, then, that's who I'm looking for. But my first line of defense is to find out if these Portola patients who are dying before they should are any part of this Markham thing."

"How do you propose to do that?" Farrell's expression reflected his deep skepticism. "Certainly Marjorie Loring couldn't…" He stopped, softened his look. "Maybe I just don't get it," he offered. "Let's pretend her kids let us dig her up in the first place, which is a wild assumption, by the way. So Strout agrees to do an autopsy, also not a sure thing. So then they find, say, that potassium killed her. How in the world does that help your client?"

"Well, right off, if he wasn't there…"

Farrell waved that off. "Okay. He wasn't there when Lincoln was shot, either. But it doesn't mean squat about Markham. And then what if it wasn't potassium?"

Hardy had admitted these problems to himself, and had gotten to a marginally satisfying answer. "If some other patient at Portola, unconnected to Markham, is another murder-especially if Kensing wasn't around when it happened-it might make somebody like Glitsky think he's missing something. He might want to fill in more blanks before they arrest Kensing. At this point, it's mostly delay, frankly, but I'm out of other great ideas."

"Well, delay's always a fine tactic, if it works." Farrell, clearly, still wasn't convinced. "But if your man thought these were questionable deaths, why didn't he ask for full autopsies originally?"

"I asked him the same question."

"That's 'cause you're a smart fellow. And what'd he say?"

"Basically, that all the deaths were expected anyway, and from expected reasons. It wasn't like these were people in the prime of health who suddenly died. They were dying people who died. Just a little early. The hospital ran postmortems. Sure enough, they were all dead." Hardy shrugged. "Essentially he put it down to just a general degradation in care at Portola." He moved closer and whispered conspiratorially, "But listen up, Wes. The point is that if anybody at Portola killed Marjorie Loring, you win no matter what."

"And that's because…?" He stopped because he suddenly understood. He could bring a slam dunk lawsuit on behalf of Marjorie Loring's children. There would be no need to prove general negligence or some other malpractice issue. He could begin billing immediately again. If Marjorie Loring didn't die of natural causes, but was a homicide committed in the hospital, Wes stood to make a pile in a very short time by doing comparatively very little. "I'll talk to her kids," he said. "See what we can do."

Treya looked up from her desk to the wall clock. She broke a genuine smile and rose from the chair. "Dismas Hardy, Esquire, three o'clock, right on the button. Clarence is expecting you, he'll be right with you, but he's got someone in with him for just another minute. Are you coming from upstairs?" she asked. Meaning Glitsky's detail.

"No."

"So you haven't talked to Abe?"

"Not yet. Frannie told me he called last night, but I got home late."

"He really wants to talk to you."

"And I him, of course. Maybe you could make us an appointment?"

"Isn't he coming down for this one? I know Clarence asked him."

This didn't strike Hardy as good news, but he covered his reaction with a smile. "Good. Maybe we can chat afterwards."

He sat and waited, aware of his nerves and his still-smoldering anger. He'd spent countless hours here in the DA's office-from back when he'd been a young assistant DA himself through his recent trials as a defense attorney. In well over ninety percent of those hours, there'd been conflict between himself and the person on the other side of that door. Since Jackman's appointment as DA, that had changed. Now in a few minutes, he knew he was about to go back where he belonged, on the defense side. It was perhaps going to be a subtle shift, and hopefully cordial, but a real one nonetheless.

Jackman's door opened. Marlene Ash was inside. Now that he thought of it, he should have expected that Jackman would have asked her, too. She was, after all, going to prosecute Parnassus and, in all likelihood, his client.

"Diz, how you doin'?" Jackman boomed. "Come on in, come on in. Sorry we're running a little late."

He came through the door, smiling and smiling. "If you and Marlene aren't finished," he began, giving them every chance, "I don't mean to rush you. I'm sure Treya and I can find some way to pass a few more pleasant minutes."

Jackman smiled back at him. Everybody was still friends. "Marlene thought she might want to stay a while, if you don't mind. There were a couple of things she wanted to run by you. Did Treya tell you I've asked Abe to stop by? And here he is."

Glitsky and Hardy sat on either end of the couch-neither words nor eye contact between them. Marlene still sat in her chair, Jackman pulled another one up. A nice little circle of friends around the coffee table.

Hardy got right down to it. "I understand that in the wake of Mr. Markham becoming a potential murder victim, you've decided to convene a grand jury. I hear that they are investigating not just Markham's death, but the whole Parnassus business situation. In fact, I think it was even my idea, originally, before anybody died. I just wanted you all to know that I really don't expect any huge public display to recognize my contribution here, although a tasteful bust in the lobby downstairs or a small commemorative plaque in the corner at Lou's might be nice."

Glitsky's scar was an unbroken line through his lips. "The man could talk the ears off a water jug."

Sitting back, Hardy extended an arm out along the top of the couch, affecting a relaxed pose that he didn't feel. "As my friend Abe points out, I'm a believer in communicating." He directed a pointed glance at Glitsky, then came forward on the couch. "I understand what some of you would like to happen next. I talked to Dr. Kensing about an hour ago. He told me that his wife now claims he admitted killing Markham." Hardy finally faced Abe. "I figure that's what you must have called me about, to give me a heads-up that you were bringing him in."

Glitsky said nothing.

Hardy continued. "But of course, since you interviewed my client despite my explicit request that you not do so, perhaps you were prepared to dispense with a courtesy call, too."

A muscle worked in Glitsky's jaw. The scar stood out in clear relief.

He went on. "I think the only reason he's not already in jail is because you decided to wait until Clarence was ready to sign the warrant." The expressions around the room told Hardy that he'd pegged it exactly. "But that's not why I'm here," he said. "I'm here to keep my client out of jail."

Glitsky snorted. "Good luck."

"I'm not going to need luck. If all you've got is the wife's story, you don't have any case that'll fly in front of a jury. You must know that."

Marlene took this moment to get on the boards. "According to Abe, we've got plenty to go with, Dismas. If the man's killed five people, he shouldn't be on the streets."

"Marlene, please. Let's not insult each other's intelligence. Dr. Kensing had no motive in the world to harm the family."

"That you know," Glitsky said.