"All right," Farrell said. "Fine. Let's all agree on that."
"Let's also all agree, since we're being honest here, that the Curtlees were pretty big fans of yours all through the campaign, and that maybe you feel you might owe them a little… cooperation."
"That's just not true, Amanda. I made no promises of any kind to the Curtlees. As far as I know, Ro's in custody and should stay there until he gets his new trial. Certainly I'm not planning to do anything that'll let him get back on the street. That's the truth, Amanda. And regardless of what you might think, I don't take orders from the Curtlees or anybody else. Except sometimes Sam." He took a breath to calm himself, shaken at how far this had already gone, and with so little warning. "That's just not how I operate, all right? I'm a pretty up-front guy, actually."
She took a long beat, pursing her lips now. "They've hated me since I sent their fair-haired little boy off to prison. It's a miracle I have any kind of a career left after all they've tried to do to me."
"And yet here you are at number two, appointed by the very guy they supported. So who's the winner in that picture?"
"Number two isn't number one."
"True. But it's not hardly a dead career, either, is it? And you've got more years left on the planet than I do, so I wouldn't give up hope. And if I were you, I certainly wouldn't get mad at your boss for something he's not going to do."
She hung her head for another second. "I didn't believe you'd be able to resist them, or even want to. I'm sorry. I was out of line."
"This one time only," Farrell said, "I'll forgive you." Farrell had a gap in his appointment schedule, providing time for him and his administrative assistant, Treya Glitsky, to unpack more boxes. Treya was a strong, attractive woman of mixed ethnicity-mostly black with a hint somewhere of an Asian blood-line. She was married to the city's head of homicide, Abe Glitsky, and had three children-Raney off at college and Rachel and Zachary, six and three, at home.
Farrell sat on the edge of his desk, not being particularly helpful on the moving front. "No, I'm serious," he was saying. "I really shouldn't be here. I'm not cut out for this job. Maybe I ought to resign before I do too much damage."
Treya stopped moving books from the packing boxes onto his bookshelf and turned around, looking at her watch. "That could be a record. I think it took Clarence a week before he thought he ought to quit." She was referring to Farrell's immediate predecessor and her own previous boss, Clarence Jackman. "And he wound up staying nine years."
"That's not me," Farrell said. "I only ran for this thing to keep the Nazis from taking over, mostly as a favor to Sam and her women friends."
"And the Latinos, and the gays."
"Okay, some of them, too. And don't forget those crucial votes from a hundred straight old white guys. My margin of victory." Farrell swung his legs, kicked his heels back against the side of his desk. "Is that true? Clarence really wanted to quit, too?"
"At first, every day, for a couple of months. But don't worry. You still hold the record for least days in office before expressing the famed desire to retire."
"That's a relief. But why didn't he quit, then? Clarence."
Treya paused. "He got addicted to the naked wielding of power."
"No, really."
"You asked me. That's my answer. Power."
Farrell chortled. "Well, that's not me. That couldn't be further from me."
"No." Treya chortled right back at him. "No, of course not." She leaned over and grabbed another stack of books.
"That 'of course not' sounded a little sarcastic."
"It's the acoustics in here." Placing the books on their shelf, she half turned back to him. "So would you like me to go talk to Amanda?"
"No. I think we got it worked out. I'm not going to stab her in the back on this Ro Curtlee thing. Or anything else. That ought to be clear enough."
"Let's hope," Treya said.
2
By Sheila Marrenas Justice took a big leap forward in San Francisco yesterday when Roland Curtlee, the son of this newspaper's publishers, was released on bail. Mr. Curtlee, whose conviction had been reviewed and reversed by the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeal, has served nine years in prison for the rape and murder of a housekeeper from his parents' home, Dolores Sandoval. During the trial, many of the victim's family members, and their supporters, had appeared daily in the courtroom, sporting large buttons with Sandoval's smiling face. It was an effective and, as the Court has ruled, illegal technique to elicit sympathy for the victim at the expense of Mr. Curtlee.
During the trial, Mr. Curtlee never denied that he was involved in a relationship with Ms. Sandoval. This explained the DNA evidence taken from Ms. Sandoval's body after her death. But never explained were allegations that Ms. Sandoval had a large "dance card" of suitors who were never pursued by police.
Although he was legally entitled to his freedom via bail during his last incarceration before his trial nine years ago, Mr. Curtlee had been denied bail by Judge Oscar Thomasino, a conservative judicial activist whose decision was widely decried in legal circles. "Mr. Curtlee," said one Stanford professor, "was denied due process in the bail proceedings and was subject to a prejudicial review by Judge Thomasino that assumed his guilt and denied his basic civil rights."
In a hearing today at the Hall of Justice, Superior Court Judge Sam Baretto set bail for the recently remanded Mr. Curtlee at $10 million. Though this figure is on its face exorbitant, the Curtlee family had no serious objections: "Any amount that allows our innocent son to reclaim some of his life as a normal citizen is worth whatever it might cost," said Mr. Curtlee's mother, Theresa, after the bail figure was announced. "We are looking forward to his second trial, and are confident that this time, justice will prevail, and Ro will walk away a free man." Amanda Jenkins was talking to her lunch partner and boyfriend, an investigator for the DA's office named Matt Lewis. "Farrell loves to play the aw-shucks-I'm-not-a-politician game, but he knew damn well that if he didn't put some pressure on Baretto that there was no avoiding bail. Look. I'm not saying he should have back-channeled Baretto and threatened to challenge him out of the building, but we both know elected officials in this town who would have done exactly that. At the very least, Farrell should have been in court and stood on counsel's table and screamed if he had to so Baretto got the message loud and clear. Instead, it was the Curtlees and all their power against a lowly assistant DA, me. Who did Farrell think was going to win that fight?"
"Still," Lewis said, "ten mil."
"It's ten mil only if Ro skips, and that's never going to happen. They just put up their house as a property bond, written before they left the building."
"So Farrell lied to you?"
"At least he deliberately misled me. Also," Jenkins went on, "Farrell's leaving out that we're talking a couple of years here before Ro gets his new trial. If even then."
"A couple of years?"
"Who's going to be pushing for it?" she asked. "Ro's lawyers don't want it, for obvious reasons. Farrell isn't going to press since none of the victim's family is around anymore. So this way, he can keep the Curtlees happy so they can write nice articles about him. That fucking Sheila Marrenas. Which leaves guess who as the only party interested in putting this scumbag back on trial within the decade? Well, maybe there are two of us."
"Who's the other one?"
"Glitsky. Perhaps."
"Well, if you've got to have an ally, you could do worse. Especially with his wife just outside Farrell's office."
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe."
Lewis reached a hand and rested it palm side up on the white tablecloth. After a moment of silence, Jenkins put her own hand on top of his. "Farrell doesn't understand how bad they can be," she said. "These guys, the Curtlees, not just Ro, although he is in a class by himself. They are truly evil. The thought of going up against them again, it scares the shit out of me. And might Glitsky, for that matter."