Even though neither Kathy West nor Harlen Fisk had shown up at the truncated morning session of the trial yesterday, the powers that be had determined that a metal detector was still a necessity. So a line of spectators and more reporters snaked for fifty or sixty feet outside of Department 25. Upon laying eyes on it Hardy was about to backtrack and take his shortcut behind the courtrooms when he heard a familiar voice call his name and, turning, was somewhat surprised to see Fisk striding toward him.
The normally hale and hearty face seemed today to have an underlying pallor, and dark circles under his eyes spoke of a lack of sleep, but if Hardy had a sister on trial for murder, he thought he might lose a few zz’s himself. He stepped into the line and extended his hand. “Hey, Harlen. Got the trial bug, do you?”
He tried a smile that mostly failed. “Maybe some of that, Diz. But mostly I wanted to ask you, after yesterday, why can’t Jackman just drop the Preslee side of this thing?”
“Careful, Harlen, your politics are showing. The short answer is that Stier’s picked this fight for them and they’re in it. What I am hoping is that maybe Braun’ll do it for them.”
“She can do that?”
“She can grant my motion to dismiss when Stier’s done with his case. If I can convince her that no reasonable juror could convict on the Preslee count with this evidence.”
“What’s it going to depend on?”
Hardy chortled, leaned in closer to whisper. “In theory, careful weighing of the evidence. In fact, pretty much whim.”
“That’s heartening.”
“Welcome to Superior Court. But in truth, I think we might actually have a chance. There really isn’t anything that proves she killed Levon.”
Harlen nodded. “This whole thing is a mockery, if you want my opinion. Always has been.”
“I agree.”
“And if Braun does drop Levon, isn’t that saying Maya didn’t do it?”
“Well, not exactly. It means they can’t prove she did it.”
“So what do they do then?”
“Who?”
“The police. The people investigating his murder.”
Hardy’s grin had a sardonic twist to it. “Again, we’re up against theory versus reality. In theory the police should start looking for more proof, but there isn’t any that I’ve seen. So then, still in theory, they should revisit the investigation and see if they might trip over another suspect somewhere along the way. In reality, since the cops believe that Maya in fact did kill Levon-”
“That’s insane,” Harlen interrupted. “I know she didn’t do that.”
This stopped Hardy. “If you do, tell me how.”
The supervisor, too, hesitated for a second. “What I mean is my sister isn’t hitting somebody on the head with a cleaver, Diz. It just flat couldn’t happen.”
“I’m not saying I disagree with you. It’s a stretch for me too. But the cops think that’s what happened, even though she avoided all traces of blood, which is a pretty good party trick if she did. Anyway, the bottom line is that in reality, Braun dismisses Levon and nobody’s going to do a damn thing about it. They figure they’ll get her on Dylan anyway. But the good news-and this really is good, Harlen-is if Levon gets dropped, it’s no longer Specials.” By this Hardy meant special circumstances-mandated by multiple murder-and because of which Maya would be facing life in prison without the possibility of parole. Without Levon, life without was going to be off the table.
But Harlen didn’t take much solace in that. “I don’t want her to go down at all,” he said. “That’s why I turned her on to you in the first place. I never intended for this to happen. You were supposed to stop it from getting to here.”
Hardy had seen this before, the family becoming adversarial to the defense as the trial progressed. Still, Harlen was a long-standing colleague-just short of being a personal friend-and the accusation stung. “Well”-Hardy’s decent mood by now completely leached away-“I hope you know I’m doing all I can to keep that from happening.”
“I know that. I didn’t mean-”
“Yeah, you did. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, Diz.” Harlen swallowed, took a deep breath. “I tell you, these fuckers are killing all of us. Joel and I almost had it out-I mean actual fists-last time we saw each other. He said I was ratting him out with the grand jury. You ever testify for one of those?”
“Yeah. But I wasn’t a target.”
“Well, here’s the good news. Neither am I. Or they tell me that’s good news, but you ask me, make me a target anytime.”
“So you can take the Fifth, right?”
“Not that I’ve got anything to hide, really, but it would be a nice option. Instead of letting Glass, last time he got me on the stand, rip me a new one. Then he starts on my tax returns for like ten years ago. And how do I account for this? And how did I really make that? And how do I prove that my sister and I were not actual partners in BBW, and that the dope money isn’t really what got Joel’s real estate stuff started, or at least bailed him out after nine eleven.”
“And you had to answer?”
“Every time or I’m in contempt. I mean, that son of a bitch Glass treated me like I was a major criminal, but I’ve got nothing to tell him. Then after all that Joel busts my ass anyway.” The big man blew out heavily. “And you notice Kathy’s lost about ten pounds. Ten pounds on her, that’s like fifty on me. And it isn’t her new exercise routine, believe me.”
“I hadn’t heard they’d called her yet.”
“No. That’s what’s so awful. They’re keeping the big ax-testifying with the grand jury-over her head. Glass waiting to see what happens down here in court, maybe. I don’t know, but it’s eating her up too. Like literally. I think that’s what more or less got her to come down here. Put the fucker on notice, show him she’s not afraid.” He leaned in closer. “But let me tell you something, Diz, between me and you. She is.”
From his own experiences with Joel-arguing with him over billing, cash flows, trial strategy, his treatment of Maya-Hardy had known that Glass’s campaign against the families was taking a serious psychic toll. Now, though, Harlen’s totally uncharacteristic outburst-the man was a professional politician, after all, he never lost his temper-had made Hardy realize how deep the knife cut, how threatening the grand jury must be, how very real loomed the possibility of ruined careers and even prison time. Now Hardy took his own deep breath. “Well, Harlen,” he said with a mustered calm he didn’t come close to feeling, “we’re still a long way from done here. That’s all I can tell you. We’ve got to let it play out.”
Hardy let Fisk go through the metal detector and then stepped aside out of the line and walked back to the other familiar face he’d noticed in the lobby behind them. Chiurco, in a coat and tie, looked well-rested and clear-eyed as Hardy shook his hand. “Hey, Craig,” he said. “You here with Wyatt?”
“No. Wyatt told me to come down here and see if I could be of some use.”
This wasn’t the most impressive offer Hardy had ever heard. The only thing Craig had to talk about was Maya’s presence outside Levon’s flat just before or after he was murdered. Which meant that if Hardy put him on the stand, all he could do was damage the case further.
But then, suddenly, unexpectedly, an idea surfaced. “Something you could do,” he said. “With all the craziness, you and I never talked about whatever you found out about Levon and Dylan.”
“Sure, but I’ve got to tell you, beyond the robbery and his address, it wasn’t much.”
“Wyatt didn’t ask you to follow up on any of that?”
Craig shook his head. “No. And I don’t really know what it would be. I think you guys know all I know.”
“Probably,” Hardy said, “but maybe you know something you don’t know you know. Stuff you might have seen with Maya at the door.”
This brought a frown. “Tamara kind of hinted that maybe I’d want to mess with my story if-”