Jeffery Deaver - Hard News

"Yes."

"You're doing the story?"

"Right. Can I tape you?"

His thin face twisted. He looked like Ichabod Crane in her illustrated copy ofSleepy Hollow. "Why don't you just take notes."

"If you'd feel more comfortable…"

"I would."

She pulled out a notebook. She asked, "You represented Boggs by yourself?"

"Yep. He was a Section Eighteen case. Indigent. So the state paid my fee to represent him."

"I really think he's innocent."

"Uh-huh."

"No, I really, really think so."

"You say so."

"You don't?"

"My opinion of my clients' innocence or guilt is completely, totally irrelevant."

She asked, "Could you tell me what happened? About Hopper's death, I mean."

Megler sat back in a thoughtful pose. He studied the grimy ceiling. The window was open a crack and exhaust-scented April air wafted through the space and riffled stacks of paper. "The district attorney's case was that Boggs was in Manhattan, just driving through from, I don't know, up-state someplace. Some witness said Boggs was standing on the sidewalk talking with Hopper and then they got into a fight over something. Hopper'd just gotten home from work and had just pulled into the courtyard of his building on the Upper West Side. The prosecutor speculated it was a traffic dispute."

Rune's eyes made a sardonic circuit of the room. "Traffic? But he was on the sidewalk, you said."

"Maybe he parked after Hopper cut him off and got out of the car. I don't know."

"But-"

"Hey, you asked what the assistant district attorney said. I'm telling you. I'm trying to be helpful. Am I being helpful?"

"Helpful," Rune said. "What was Randy's story?"

"Part of the problem was that hehad a story."

"Huh?"

"I tell all my clients, if you're arrested don't take the stand. Under any circumstances. The jury can't

– the judge tells them this – the jury can't draw any conclusions from the defendant's not taking the stand. But Randy – against my advice, I wanta point out – did. If you do that the prosecutor can introduce evidence of prior convictions for the purpose of attacking your honesty. Only that – not to prove you have a criminal tendency. Just to show that you might lie. But what does the jury hear? Fuck credibility – all they hear is his string of arrests for petty crimes. Next thing you know, Boggs, who's really a pretty decent guy who's had some bad luck, is sounding like Hitler. He's got a petty larceny bust in Ohio, some juvie bullshit down in Florida, GTA in-"

"What's that?"

"Grand theft auto. So suddenly, the ADA 'S making him sound like he's head of the Gambino family. He-"

"Where was the gun?"

"Let me finish, willya? He said he was with this guy picked him up hitchhiking, a guy who was into some kind of credit card scam. This guy goes to buy some hot plastic and Boggs is waiting in the car. He hears a shot up the street. He gets out of the car. He sees Hopper lying there, dead. He turns and runs smack into a police car."

"He had the gun?"

"The gun was off a ways, in some bushes. No prints but they traced it to a theft in Miami about a year before the killing. Boggs had spent time in Miami."

"Who was this other guy?"

"Boggs didn't know. He was hitchhiking along the Taconic and the man picked him up. They drove into the city together."

"Good," Rune said. "A witness. Excellent. Did you find him?"

Megler looked at her as if enthusiasm and the flu were pretty much the same thing. "Yeah, right. Even if he's real, which he isn't, a guy who's involved in a credit card boost's gonna come forward and testify? I don't think so, honey?"

"Did Randy describe him?"

"Not very well. All he said was his name was Jimmy. Was a big guy. But it was late, it was dark, et cetera, et cetera."

"You don't believe him?"

"Believe, not believe – what difference does it make?"

"Any other witnesses?"

"Good question. You want to go to law school?"

If you're the end product I don't think you want to hear my answer, Megler. She motioned for him to continue.

The lawyer said, "That was the big problem. What fucked him – excuse me, what did him in was this witness. The cops found someone in the building who described Boggs and then later she IDed him in a lineup. She saw him pull out a gun and ice Hopper."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch."

"What was the name?"

"How would I know?" Megler opened a file cabinet and retrieved a thick stack of paper. He tossed it on the desk. Pepsi cans shook and dust rose. "It's in there someplace. You can have it, you want."

"What is it?"

"The trial transcript. I ordered it as a matter of course but Boggs didn't want to appeal so I just filed it."

"He didn't want to appeal?"

"He kept claiming he was innocent but he said he wanted to get the clock running. Get his sentence over with and get on with his life."

Rune said, "I saw in the story that the conviction was for manslaughter."

"The jury convicted on manslaughter one. He showed reckless disregard for human life. Got sentenced to fifteen years. He's served almost three. He'll be eligible for parole in two. And he'll probably get it. I hear he's a good boy."

"What do you think?"

"About what?"

"Is he one of your guilty clients?"

"Of course. The old I-was-just-hitchhiking story. You hear it all the time. There's always a mysterious driver or girl or hit man or somebody who pulled the trigger and then disappears. Bullshit is what it is. Yeah, Boggs is guilty. I can read them all."

"But if I found new evidence-"

"I've heard this before."

"No, really. He wrote me a letter. He said the police dropped the ball on the investigation. They found the witnesses they wanted and didn't look any further."

Megler snorted cynically. "Look, in New York it's almost impossible to get a conviction overturned

because of new evidence." He squinted, recalling the law. "It's got to be the kind of evidence that would've changed the outcome of the case in the first place and, even then, you have to be able to show you made diligent efforts to find the evidence at the time of the trial."

"But if I do find something would you handle the case?"

"Me?" He laughed. "I'm available. But you're talking a lot of hours. I bill at two twenty per. And the state ain't picking upthis tab."

"But I really think he's innocent."

"So you say. Come up with fifteen, twenty thousand for a retainer, I'll talk to you."

"I was hoping you'd do it for free."

Megler laughed again. Since he had no belly, it seemed to be his bones that were jiggling under the slick polyester skin of his shirt. "Free? I don't believe I'm familiar with that word."

For the first time in her life Rune had an assistant.

Bradford Simpson volunteered to help her. She suspected he was motivated partly by his desire to go out with her – though she couldn't for the life of her guess why he'd want her and not some beautiful debutante who was tall and blonde (two of her least-favorite adjectives when applied to other women). On the other hand, he hadn't exactly asked her out again after the first rejection and she supposed that his reappearance had more to do with journalistic crusading than romance.

"What can I do to help?" he'd asked.

And she'd gotten a little flustered, since she didn't have a clue – never having had anyone work for her.

"Hmm, let me think."

He'd offered, "How about if I dig through the archives for information about Hopper?"

"That sounds good," she'd said.

He was now at her cubicle with another armful of files. He laid them out on her desk as neatly as his Robert Redford hair was combed and his penny loafers were polished.

"Did you know Lance Hopper?" she asked him.

"Not real well. He was killed a month after I started my first summer internship here. But I worked for him once or twice."