Phillip Margolin - Ties That Bind

"Can we resolve the case with a plea?" Kerrigan asked. "There's no defense in Wendell's case. His lawyer is going to offer a plea in exchange for a life sentence."

Stamm shook his head. "We don't plead this one. That little punk killed a United States senator. Then he had the audacity to murder one of the state's most prominent attorneys in our own fucking jail. I'm sorry, Tim, but my mind's made up. This son of a bitch invaded our home. He's going to death row and you're going to take him there."

Maria Lopez walked into Tim's office as soon as he returned from his meeting with Jack Stamm. Many of the other deputies had left, and the sky outside Tim's window was edging toward gray.

"Do you have a minute?" Maria asked.

"Sure."

"There's a rumor that you've been tapped to prosecute Jon Dupre."

"It's not a rumor," Kerrigan sighed. "I'm it."

Maria focused all of her energy on Kerrigan.

"I want to second-chair. I want a chance to help put him away."

"I don't know . . ."

"Who knows more about Dupre than me? I'll be able to tell you who'll make a good witness in the penalty phase, where to find everything you need to show future dangerousness." She tapped her temple. "It's all up here, ready to go. Anyone else will need to spend hours finding out what I can tell you right now."

What Maria said was true, but she had no experience in trying a death-penalty case. On the other hand, her passion would help her put in the sixteen-hour days, seven days a week, that were standard operating procedure when you were asking the state to execute a human being.

"Alright," he said. "You've got it. You're second chair."

Lopez grinned. "You won't regret this, boss. We'll get Dupre, I promise you. We'll put him down."

Tim Kerrigan called Hugh Curtin a little after seven. Hugh was an unmarried workaholic and Tim knew that he'd meet him for a drink anytime, anywhere, if he didn't have a date with one of his many girlfriends. They agreed to meet at the Hardball, a workingman's bar near the baseball stadium, because the patrons minded their own business and the odds of running into someone they knew were mighty low.

Tim waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark before scanning the bar for his friend. It only took a few seconds to spot Hugh in a booth toward the rear. Hugh poured Kerrigan a tall one from a large pitcher as soon as he saw him. Tim slid into the booth and downed half of it. As soon as he put down the mug, Curtin topped it off.

"So," Curtin said, "are you going to explain why you're interfering with my twenty-eighth viewing of Predator, starring my all-time favorite action hero, Jesse 'The Body' Ventura?"

"I need your advice."

"Of course you do."

Curtin emptied the pitcher and signaled for another. In college, Tim had seen "Huge" chug a pitcher with no ill effects.

"I had my monthly dinner with my father at the Westmont."

"And survived."

Tim nodded. "We didn't dine alone. He invited Burton Rommel and Harvey Grant." He paused. "The party wants me to run for Harold Travis's seat in the next election."

Curtin paused with his mug halfway to his lips. "You're kidding!"

"Don't you think I could do it?" Kerrigan asked anxiously.

"Of course you could do it. Look at the morons who've served in Congress. It's just a shock. Fuck, if you became a senator I'd have to be civil to you. You could have the IRS audit my goddamn taxes."

Kerrigan smiled.

"The real question is, should you do it? There's a ton of prestige that goes with the position, and the chance to do a lot of good for a lot of people. But being a senator is a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. You'd never be home. Megan would miss you. You'd miss a lot of her growing up. Still, the chance to be a United States senator . . . It's a tough call. What does Cindy want you to do?"

"She wants me to run."

"I don't suppose there's any question about what your old man wants?"

"He wants me to go for the gold. I thought the top of his head was going to pop off when I didn't jump at the offer."

"But you told him you're thinking about it?"

"Oh, yeah. I didn't want him to have a coronary."

"It would mean a lot to him, Tim."

"Yeah, he could brag about having a senator in the family."

"He wants what's best for you."

"He wants what's best for William Kerrigan."

"You're being hard on him."

"He's a hard man. He always has been. No matter what I did it was never enough. Not even winning that goddamn trophy. It became so much tin to him when I didn't go pro and cash in.

"And he was never around when Mom was dying." Tim took a drink, then continued. He looked down at the tabletop. "I always suspected that he was spending time with one of his women. I still can't imagine it. My mother is wasting away from cancer and he's balling some bimbo."

"You don't know that."

"No, not for certain. But he sure married number two fast enough."

Kerrigan could never bring himself to say the name of the woman who had succeeded his mother as mistress of the house.

"Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm being unfair to him, but what business deal could be so important that he couldn't put it off? Mom was dying, for Christ's sake. He knew she only had a little time left. Didn't he want to spend it with her?"

"So Cindy wants you to run," Hugh said to distract his friend. "Your father wants you to run and the party wants you to run. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know if I can handle being a senator." Hugh could see the pain in his friend's eyes. "Why me, Huge?"

"I'm going to tell you the answer, but you won't like it."

"That's why I'm asking you. You're always straight with me."

"They're asking you because they think you can win and that's all that counts in politics. And they think you can win because you're 'The Flash.' And it's time you got comfortable with the fact that 'The Flash' is always going to be part of who you are, whether you like it or not. It's almost ten years since you got the Heisman. I know you think you didn't earn it, but there are a lot of people--including me--who think you did. And it's about time you came to grips with that and moved on.

"Look at it this way. This is a chance to start from scratch, to do some good, to see if you really are 'The Flash.' And I think that's what scares you. You're worried that you'll win and won't be able to handle the job.

"You've heard me quote Oliver Wendell Holmes more than once. 'Life is passion and action and each man must take part in the passion and action of his times at peril of being judged not to have lived.' I believe that. You've been hiding in the DA's office trying to avoid being noticed, but you've got to come out sometime. It'll be scary, pal. You'll be risking failure. But who knows, maybe you'll surprise yourself."

Chapter Sixteen.

Nightmares wrecked Amanda's sleep and she was drenched in sweat when she awoke in the dark, exhausted and slightly nauseous, an hour before her alarm was set to go off. Amanda usually started the day with calisthenics, occasionally followed by a decadent pancake breakfast at a cafe that had been a neighborhood fixture since the fifties. This morning, she settled for an ice-cold shower, a toasted bagel, and tea.

Amanda's loft in the Pearl, a former warehouse district, was a brisk fifteen-minute walk from her office. She left her car in the garage in hopes that the cool weather and mild exercise would calm her anxiety. She would be sitting opposite a violent killer later this morning but, she reminded herself, it would not be the same person who had inspired the horrors that had invaded last night's sleep. That person was dead. Jon Dupre would be manacled, and Kate Ross would be with her in the interview room. Logically, there was no reason to worry, but she still felt light-headed when she arrived at the law offices of Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi. The fear stayed with her while she worked--a tiny insect she could feel skittering across the pit of her stomach no matter how hard she tried to distract herself.