Robert Sawyer - Illegal Alien

“I will be grateful. Let me—”

“Wait. Frank, you have to leave now.”

Frank frowned. “All right. Hask, I’ve got some other business to attend to, anyway, but I’ll come back to talk to you when you and Dale are finished.”

“I want you here,” said Hask.

“Not possible,” said Dale. “Hask, under our law, private conversation between an attorney and his client are privileged . That means they can never be introduced in court—but only if the conversations are private. You’ll meet my associate, Ms. Katayama, soon; she’s in court today, but I’ll bring her by tomorrow. But only conversations you have while alone with either her or me are protected under law.”

“It’ll be okay,” said Frank, to Hask. “Dale is one of the most famous lawyers on this planet.” Frank left, and Dale took the one chair; it protested loudly under his massive body.

“I tell you, Dale, I—”

“Shut up.”

Hask took a half step backward. “Pardon?”

“Shut up. Shut up. You were about to tell me if you are guilty or innocent, right? Don’t tell me anything unless I ask you. The Supreme Court has ruled that I can’t put you on the stand to testify to your innocence if you’ve already told me you’re guilty; it’s tantamount to suborning.”

“Suborning?”

“Inducing a witness to perjure himself.”

“But—”

“Not a word, unless I ask for it. Understood?”

Hask’s topknot waved in apparent bewilderment. But at last he said, “Yes.”

“How are they treating you?”

“I have no chair that I can use.”

“I’ll send someone from my office to bring one for you from the USC dorm.”

“I wish to leave this place,” said Hask.

“I understand that—and we’re working on that right now. There will be a bail hearing later today. If it’s successful, you will be able to go.”

“And this will be over?”

Dale shook his head. “No. No, it won’t. But you’ll be able to rejoin the other Tosoks, and have your liberty until the main trial.”

“And when will that occur?”

“That’s the first issue we have to address. You have a right to a speedy trial, but, well, I’m going to ask you to waive that right. We’re going to need time to prepare your defense.”

“If, as I am told, I am presumed to be innocent, then why must I mount a defense at all?”

Dale nodded. “Technically, you don’t have to. But the prosecution will present the most compelling case it can. If we don’t try to counter their arguments, they will likely win.”

“I have already publicly declared my innocence. What other defense is possible?”

“Well, the simplest defense is just that—saying you didn’t do it. But that means somebody else must have. The security at the USC residence was such that no one could get in or out without being seen. That means somebody inside killed Dr. Calhoun. It had to be either one of the seven Tosoks, or one of the eighteen humans who had access, including the members of the entourage and the LAPD officers. If it can be proved that none of the others did it, then your simple declaration won’t be enough to find you innocent.”

“Then we must find the killer.”

Dale frowned. “It’s not our responsibility to prove who did do it, and normally I’d not even try—but with so few possible suspects, it’s certainly in our interest to consider the question. Without indicating one way or the other whether you yourself really did it, do you know anyone else who might have had reason to kill Calhoun?”

“No.”

“A lot of the prosecution’s case will probably hinge on proving that the crimes were committed by a Tosok rather than a human. Do you think it’s possible that one of the other Tosoks did it?”

“We are not killers.”

“Generally speaking, humans aren’t, either. But a man is dead.”

“Yes.”

“One of my people will ask everyone in the residence this at some point, but did you ever see anyone fighting or arguing with Calhoun?”

“No.”

Dale let out a hurricane of a sigh. “All right. We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us. Now, we better get prepared for the arraignment.”

Frank Nobilio walked the two blocks to the Los Angeles County Criminal Courts Building, at the corner of Temple and Broadway. It was a great concrete cube, with wafflelike sides. Just inside the front door, Frank passed through a metal detector operated by two uniformed guards.

Christmas decorations were hanging from the walls.

There was a shoeshine stand with four stations in the large, dim lobby. In front of it was a white foam-core board written on in brown Magic Marker:

Frank looked down at his own brown loafers. He was sweating a fair bit; the walk had been easy (although gently uphill), but L.A. was having a winter heat wave.

He made his way past the information desk—which seemed to specialize in giving bus maps to jurors—and found a building directory. The room he wanted was 18-709. He pushed the button to call an elevator that went to that floor.

He got into the elevator and heard the clacking of heels on the floor behind him. He held out a hand to keep the door from closing, and in came a severe-looking, thin white woman with short brown hair. Frank felt his eyes widen as he recognized her: Marcia Clark, the lead prosecutor in the Simpson criminal case. Clark must have just been dropping in for a visit, since she was now a TV host, rather than a member of the DA’s office—Frank wondered if she got the same kind of flak about selling out from professional colleagues that Cletus Calhoun had. She punched a floor button; Frank pushed the one labeled 18 and tried not to stare at her. A sign in the elevator said “All Persons Will Be Searched on the 9th Floor.”

The warning was repeated in Spanish.

The elevator stopped. Marcia Clark got off. The cab resumed motion, and a moment later Frank exited. He found the door labeled “Montgomery Ajax, District Attorney,” stopped to adjust his tie and smooth out his hair, then entered the outer office.

“I’m Frank Nobilio,” he said. “I have an appointment with Mr. Ajax.”

The secretary nodded, picked up her telephone handset, and spoke briefly into it. She then pushed a button on her desk, apparently unlocking the door to Ajax’s private office. “You may go in,” she said.

Frank walked into the large wood-paneled office with his hand extended.

“Mr. Ajax,” he said, “thank you for agreeing to see me.”

Ajax’s fox face was not smiling. “Frankly,” he said, “I’m not sure I should. In precisely what capacity are you here, Doctor?”

“A private citizen, that’s all.”

“Because if Washington is interfering—”

“No one is interfering, Mr. Ajax, believe me. But Cletus Calhoun was my friend—we’d known each other almost twenty years. Believe me, no one wants to see justice done more than I do.”

“Well, then,” said Ajax, sitting back down. The view of L.A. through his office windows was breathtaking.

Frank sat down, too. “But Hask is also my friend,” he said. “I find it hard to believe that he killed Clete. Remember, I’ve spent more time with the Tosoks than anyone—anyone still alive, that is. I’ve seen no sign of malevolence in them.”

“So?”

“So, I’m wondering—I’m just wondering, is all—I’m wondering, Mr. Ajax, if perhaps you’ve been a bit too hasty in going after one of the Tosoks.”