Дэвид Балдаччи - Absolute Power

“Thanks, Seth.”

Seth Frank walked slowly back to his car as the Lexus pulled down the street, turned the corner and was gone.

He understood exactly the kind of guy Luther Whitney was. So what the hell could scare that kind of a guy so badly?

It was seven-thirty in the morning when Jack pulled into the parking lot of the Middleton police station. The morning had broken clear but bitterly cold. Amid a number of snow-covered police cars was a black sedan with a cold hood that told him Seth Frank was an early riser.

Luther looked different today; the orange prison clothes had been replaced with a brown two-piece suit, and his striped tie was conservative and professional. He could be an insurance salesman or a senior partner in a law firm, with his thick gray hair neatly trimmed, and the remnants of his island tan. Some defense attorneys saved the nice citizen clothes for the actual trial where the jury could see that the accused wasn’t such a bad guy, just misunderstood. But Jack was going to insist on the suit throughout. It wasn’t merely game playing; it was Jack’s firm conviction that Luther didn’t deserve to be paraded around in neon orange. He might be a criminal, but he wasn’t the kind of criminal where if you got too close you might get a shiv in your ribs or find a set of criminally insane teeth on your throat. Those guys deserved to wear the orange if only to make sure you always knew where they were in proximity to everyone else.

Jack didn’t bother to open his briefcase this time. The routine was familiar. The charges against Luther would be read to him. The judge would ask Luther if he understood the charges and then Jack would enter the plea. Then the judge would take them through the dog-and-pony show to determine if Luther understood what a plea of not guilty entailed, and whether Luther was satisfied with his legal representation. The only problem was Jack had a nagging feeling that Luther might tell him to go to hell right in front of the judge and plead himself guilty. That was not unprecedented. And who knew? The damn judge might just accept it. But the judge would most likely follow the book closely, since, in a capital murder case, any screw-up along the way could be grounds for appeal. And death penalty appeals tended to last forever anyway. Jack would just have to take his chances.

With any luck the entire proceeding would take all of five minutes. Then a trial date would be set and the real fun would begin.

Since the commonwealth had gotten an indictment against him, Luther wasn’t entitled to a preliminary hearing. Not that having one would have done Jack any good, but he would’ve gotten a quick look at the commonwealth’s case and a crack at some of their witnesses on cross although the circuit court judges were usually diligent in not letting defense counsel use the prelim as a fishing expedition.

He also could have waived the arraignment, but Jack’s thinking was to let them work for everything. And he wanted Luther in open court, for all to see, and he wanted that not guilty plea heard loud and clear. And then he was going to hit Gorelick with a change of venue motion and get this case the hell out of Middleton County. With any luck Gorelick would get bumped for a new ACA and Mr. Future Attorney General could stew on that disappointment for a few decades. Then Jack was going to make Luther talk. Kate would be protected. Luther would spill his story and then the deal of the century would be cut.

Jack looked at Luther. “You look good.”

Luther’s mouth curled up more in a smirk than a smile.

“Kate would like to see you before the arraignment.”

The response shot out of Luther’s mouth. “No!”

“Why not? My God, Luther, you’ve wanted a relationship with her forever and now that she’s finally willing to come around, you clam up. Damn, I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“I don’t want her anywhere near me.”

“Look, she’s sorry about what she did. It tore her up. I’m telling you.”

Luther swiveled his head around. “She thinks I’m mad at her?”

Jack sat down. For the first time he finally had Luther’s attention. He should have tried this before.

“Of course she does. Why else won’t you see her?”

Luther looked down at the plain, wooden table and shook his head in disgust.

“Tell her I’m not mad at her. She did the right thing. You tell her that.”

“Why don’t you tell her?”

Luther abruptly stood up and walked around the room. He stopped in front of Jack.

“This place has a lot of eyes, you hear me? You understand me? Somebody sees her in here with me, then somebody might think she knows something she doesn’t. And believe me that is not good.”

“Who are you talking about?”

Luther sat back down. “Just tell her what I said. Tell her I love her and I always have and always will. You tell her that, Jack. No matter what.”

“So you’re saying this somebody might think you told me something even if you haven’t?”

“I told you not to take this case, Jack, but you wouldn’t listen.”

Jack shrugged, flipped open his briefcase and took out a copy of the Post. “Check out the lead story.”

Luther glanced down at the front page. Then he angrily threw the paper against the wall. “Fucking bastard! Fucking bastard!” The words exploded out of the old man’s mouth.

The door to the room flew open and a beefy guard poked his head in, one hand on his standard issue. Jack motioned that it was all right and the guy slowly backed out, his eyes glued on Luther.

Jack went over and picked up the paper. The cover story had a photo of Luther taken outside the police station. The headline was in bold three-inch letters normally reserved for when the ’Skins won the Super Bowl: SULLIVAN MURDER SUSPECT ARRAIGNMENT TODAY. Jack scanned the rest of the front page. More killings in the former Soviet Union as ethnic cleansing continued. The Defense Department was preparing for another budget hit. Jack’s eyes glanced over but did not really register on President Alan Richmond announcing his intent to take another stab at welfare reform and a picture of him at a children’s center in impoverished Southeast D.C. that made for a nice photo op.

The smiling face had hit Luther right between the temples. Holding poor black babies for all the world to see. Fucking, lying asshole. The fist hit Christine Sullivan again and again and again. Blood flew into the air. The hands wrapped around her neck like a wily serpent, crushing life without a thought. Stealing life, that’s what he had done. Kissing babies and killing women.

“Luther? Luther?” Jack gently laid a hand on Luther’s shoulder. The old man’s frame was quaking like an engine in dire need of a tune-up, threatening to fly apart, no longer able to confine itself within a quickly eroding shell. For a terrible moment Jack wondered if Luther had killed the woman, if his old friend had perhaps gone over the edge. His fears were dispelled when Luther turned and looked at him. The calm had returned, the eyes were clear and focused once more.

“Just tell Kate what I said, Jack. And let’s go get this over with.”

The Middleton Courthouse had long been the center-piece of the county. A hundred and ninety-five years old, it had survived the British in the War of 1812 and the Yankees and the Confederates in the War of Northern Aggression or the Civil War depending on what side of the Mason-Dixon the person you asked hailed from. A costly renovation in 1947 had given it new life and the good townspeople expected it to be around for their great-grandchildren to enjoy and occasionally go inside, hopefully for nothing more than a traffic ticket or a marriage license.