Glitsky almost smiled. “That’s not happening. It’s not something I can figure out and decide to change.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do, all right.” He ate a nut. “And I’m kind of done with this topic, okay?”
Hardy could take a hint. “Sure. What do you think about the mayor being down there?”
“Pretty bold statement.”
“I can’t figure out if it helps or hurts. Me, I mean.”
“It’s a jury,” Glitsky said. “Only takes one. How’d Braun take it?”
“Like you’d suspect. She blamed me, of course.”
“Naturally. I would have too.”
“Well, there you go. But however it plays with Kathy and Harlen, bottom line is it’s just another distraction. And my client’s only chance is if this thing starts being about the evidence at some point.”
“I thought that was the PX.”
“Never got there. Not even close.” Hardy shook his head and threw a baleful look across the desk. “This might be a good time to remind you that you never signed off on the arrest, if you recall.”
“Let’s not go there, Diz. You know I didn’t have to. Bracco and Schiff had more than enough. The PX confirmed it. And, PS, didn’t you just tell me about five minutes ago you believed every word Stier said?”
“Yeah. I think he’s right. It all works as a theory. But I don’t think he proves any of it-the evidence doesn’t prove it, that’s for sure. And that’s kind of what he’s supposed to do.”
“Well.” Glitsky suddenly realized they’d eaten all the peanuts he’d left out, so he stood up, stretched his back, started gathering the used shells for the wastebasket. “There’s the beauty of the system. If there’s no evidence, you’ll get her off.”
“I’d say, ‘Isn’t it pretty to think so?’ Abe, except the line’s already taken.”
After Hardy left, Glitsky’s short attention span still worked well enough to jog him into writing himself a note to go over the Maya Townshend file just to make sure that Bracco and Schiff had presented their case as clearly and with enough evidence as they could to Paul Stier. Hardy was right-Glitsky had been out at the time with Zachary’s medical care issues, and his troops hadn’t run their evidence by him even once. If they’d left anything out, Glitsky wanted to be sure he got it back in, not that it would break his heart for Hardy to lose one.
The guy, God knew, was due.
21
If Hardy thought it had been madness in and around the courtroom for the morning session, in fact it had been as a mild and peaceful meadow compared to the riotous frenzy that greeted him as he got off the elevator on the third floor after his talk with Glitsky.
Evidently, Kathy West was going to be staying around at least for the afternoon session and clearly this was making some big waves out in the real world. The mayor didn’t come down and sit around in open court very often, and her presence had become just what Hardy didn’t need right now-the biggest news story of the day, perhaps the biggest nationwide.
The entire hallway was stuffed with humanity-lots of the press variety-and Hardy was trying to elbow his way through. Should he be even one minute tardy, he would face Judge Braun’s wrath and possibly a contempt fine. Hardy didn’t know whether it was police paranoia, Braun’s need for control, or one of the mayor’s staff trying to protect the boss, but someone had ordered a makeshift metal detector station outside the courtroom door, and what had at first appeared to be an amorphous mob was in fact a restricted and organized line waiting to get in.
Very, very slowly.
At near the head of the line he made out the figures of his two partners-Gina Roake and Wes Farrell-unexpectedly coming down for the show. As if he needed it, here was a true litmus test for how quickly the news of the mayor’s attendance had spread throughout the city. But he didn’t think he could push his way through enough to get to them in any event. The crowd didn’t strike him as one that would be tolerant of cuts.
Hardy might not have been a fan of the architecture of the Hall of Justice, but he knew his way around the building. Hewing to the back wall of the wide and echoing hallway, he inched his way along against the current and eventually found that the door to Department 24 was open. Court wasn’t yet in session there, and he walked up through the deserted courtroom and into the back corridor that connected all the departments on this floor. Unchallenged by bailiffs, all of whom were doing crowd control in Department 25, he approached the door through which they would later bring his client.
As he came abreast of the judge’s chambers, he stopped. The door to Braun’s chamber was open about halfway and Paul Stier and Jerry Glass were coming out of it, still in amiable conversation with Braun. When they saw Hardy, both their progress and the discussion came to an abrupt and awkward halt.
“Gentlemen. Your Honor,” Hardy said, and held his ground, actually more shocked than angry, waiting for the explanation that would have to be forthcoming. One of the most sacrosanct rules in jurisprudence was that attorneys with active cases before a judge were not to have any ex parte interaction with that judge.
Any.
And it went both ways. A judge should not allow or entertain the possibility of such interaction.
What Hardy had just witnessed was an apparently flagrant violation of that rule-enough that he might on those grounds alone immediately move for a mistrial and, later, the judge’s recusal of herself from the case.
Glass came around Stier and stepped right into the breach with what Hardy considered a pathetically cavalier approach, an offhand wave, a light tone. “Counselor. This is not what you think it is.”
This was unworthy of a response, since obviously it was what it was. Hardy, in no way tempted to be forgiving or friendly, looked around the two men and into the room. “Your Honor?” he asked with a hint of demand in his voice.
Braun came forward, embarrassed but clearly determined to brass her way through. “Mr. Glass is right. Nothing untoward occurred here, Mr. Hardy. These gentlemen happened to pass my doorway and I heard them talking about the mayor’s appearance in the gallery and we exchanged a few casual words about it, that’s all. Much as you and I are doing right now.”
“With respect, Your Honor. You and I are talking right now in the presence of my opponent, and overtly or not, we are discussing the case before your court. As a matter of fact, before we go on, and if we are to go on, I’d like to request that the court recorder be present.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Glass blurted out.
Hardy ignored him, focused on Braun. “Your Honor?” he said again.
After an excruciating five seconds, the judge’s eyes having squinted down in concentration, she nodded and with a touch of ostentation checked her watch. “Court’s back in session in six minutes,” she said. “I’ll see you gentlemen out there.”
And with that she closed her door.
In the courtroom Maya had yet to be brought in. Hardy greeted Kathy and Harlen cordially through the press around them and thanked them for their show of support. He said hello to Joel. Then, excusing himself, he caught Gina Roake’s eye back a few rows and motioned both her and Farrell up to the bar rail.
When they got there, he said, “I’m going to believe you both came down here to take notes on how a master does an opening statement.”
“What else could it have been?” Roake asked with a straight face, then gave a little wave over at the mayor and Harlen. The bonds among all of them had of course become a bit strained over the years and all of these individuals evolved into new relationships, new jobs, even-it sometimes seemed-new selves. But seven or eight years before, when the city was in turmoil over the resignation of District Attorney Sharron Pratt and the grand jury indictment for murder of her chief assistant, the then-mayor had appointed a new district attorney. Clarence Jackman had come on board from the private sector to restore some semblance of order-getting the department back on budget, prosecuting crimes, litigating the city’s business problems. Jackman had gathered around him a kitchen cabinet that met most Tuesdays at Lou the Greek’s. That group had included, among a few others, Hardy, Roake, their now-deceased partner David Freeman, Kathy West, who was a city supervisor back then, Glitsky, the Chronicle columnist Jeff Elliot, and Jackman’s secretary, Glitsky’s future wife Treya.