Tommy nodded. He'd realized that by now. God knows why he didn't see it all along. Probably because he hadn't screwed with the evidence.
"Okay, but if Sabich pleads to obstruction-a supreme court justice-elect standing up in open court and admitting he tampered with the evidence to try to get himself off-if he does that, people will know what he is. They'll say he got away with murder. Twice. They may criticize you for taking the plea. But Yee will cover you on that, almost for sure. You know, Basil's going to give one of those speeches judges always give when they're relieved to get rid of a case-he'll talk about what a wise resolution this is. Overall, people will know you chased a really bad bird for a really long time and finally got him in the joint where he belongs. You'll strip him of all his feathers. And you deserve that."
"I can't do this job thinking about what I deserve."
"You can do the job so that public confidence in the administration of justice is maintained. You certainly fucking can. And you should."
Brand was putting Tommy's ego in wrapping paper and tying it in a bow.
"You deserve this," Brand said. "You take the deal and the monkey is off your back. You can run for PA next year, if you like."
That again. Tommy thought for a second. He had never actually been able to consider running, except as the kind of fantasy that lasts as long as your shower. He told Brand what he'd told him before, that if he could run for anything, it would be for judge.
"I have a twenty-one-month-old," Tommy said. "I need a job I can keep for fifteen years."
"And another one on the way," said Brand.
Tommy smiled. He felt his heart open. He had a good life. He had worked hard and done right. He would never say it out loud, but what Brand said was true. He deserved it. He deserved to be known as someone who had followed his conscience.
"And another on the way," Tommy said.
CHAPTER 40
Nat, June 26, 2009 Something is wrong. When I arrive at the Sterns' offices on Friday morning, my dad is in a do not disturb conference with Marta and Sandy in Stern's office. After I spend forty-five minutes in the reception area among the steakhouse furnishings, Sandy's assistant emerges to suggest I go over to the courthouse, where the defense team will join me shortly.
When I get there, the PAs have not arrived either. I send a text to Anna from my seat in the front row: "Something is wrong. Sandy sicker????? Very mysterious."
Marta finally comes in but bustles straight through the courtroom to go back to Judge Yee's chambers. When she reemerges, she stops with me for just a second.
"We're talking to the prosecutors down the hall," she says.
"What's up?"
Her expression is too confused to connote anything very clear.
A few minutes later, Judge Yee peeks into the courtroom to check on things. Without his robe on, he's like a child at the door, hoping not to be observed, and when he catches sight of me, he motions me in his direction.
"Coffee?" he asks when I arrive in the rear corridor.
"Sure," I say.
We go back to the chambers, where I spend a few moments inspecting the framed sheet music on the walls. One, I realize, is signed by Vivaldi.
"We gotta wait for these guys," the judge tells me without further explanation. I am locked in witness land, where I cannot ask any questions, of the judge least of all. "So what you think?" he asks when he has brought in coffee for each of us. The judge has pulled out a drawer on the big desk and is using it as a footrest. "You think you gonna be a trial lawyer like Dad?"
"I don't think so, Judge. I don't think I have the nerves for it."
"Oh yeah," he says. "Hard on the nerves for everybody. Lotsa drunks. Court make lotsa drunks."
"I suppose I should worry about that, but I meant I don't really have the personality for it. I don't actually like it very much when people are paying attention to me. I'm not cut out for it."
"You can never tell," he says. "Me? How I talk? Everybody like, That no job for you. They all laugh-even my mama. And she don't speak three words English."
"So what happened?"
"I got an idea. You know? I was boy. Watchin Perry Mason, on TV. Oh, love Perry Mason. In high school, I got a job with newspaper. Not a reporter. Sell the paper. Tribune from here. Tribune want more subscriber downstate. So I go knock on door. Most people, very nice, but all them, every one hate the city. Don't want city newspaper. All very nice to me. 'No, Basil. Like you but not that paper.' Except this one guy. Big guy. Six three. Three hundred pound. White hair. Crazy, crazy eyes. And he see me and he come out the door like he gonna kill me. 'Get off my property. Japs kill three my buddies. Get off.' And I try to explain. Japanese kill my grandfather, too. But he not listenin. Don't wanna listen.
"So I go home. My mama, my daddy, they like, 'Man like that. He won't listen. How people are.' But I think, No, I can make him understand. If he have to listen, I can make him understand. So I remember Perry Mason. And the jury. They gotta listen. That their job. To listen. And okay, I don't speak English good. Tried and tried. I write like professor. Straight A in English all through school. But when I talk, I cannot think.
Really. Like machine get stuck. But I say to myself, People can understand. If they have to listen. PA at home-Morris Loomis-I know him since grade school. His son, Mike, and me, good friend. So after law school, Morris say, 'Okay, Basil. I let you try. But you lose, then you write briefs.' And first case, I stand up, I say, 'I don't talk English good. Very sorry. I speak slow so you understand. But case not about me. About witnesses. About victim. Them you must understand.' And the jury, they all nod. Okay. And you know, two day, three day, they all understand. Every word. And I win. Won that case. Won ten jury in a row before I lost. Sometime in jury box, one whisper to the other, 'What he say?' But I always tell them, 'Case about the witnesses. Not about me. Not about defense lawyer, even though he talk a lot better. About witnesses. About the proof. Listen to them and make up your mind.' Jury always think, That guy, he not hiding nothing. I win all the time.
"So you can never tell. Court very mysterious, what jury understand, don't understand. You know?"
I laugh out loud. I love Judge Yee.
We talk about classical music for a while. Judge Yee knows his stuff. It turns out he plays the oboe and is still in the regional orchestra downstate and frequently uses his lunch hour to practice. He has an oboe that has been muted so you can hear the notes only from a few feet, and he actually plays through a Vivaldi piece for me, in honor of the sheet music on the walls. I am pretty much a musical ignoramus, even though I am interested in it as a language. But like most kids, I chafed at piano lessons for years until my mom let me quit. Serious music is one of those things I have on the list for "When I Grow Up."
There is a knock as the judge is about to begin another piece. Marta is there.
"Judge," she says, "we need a few more minutes. My father would like to talk to Nat."
"To me?" I ask.
I follow her down the corridor to what is called the visiting attorneys' room. It's not much bigger than a closet, with no windows and a beaten desk and a couple of old wooden armchairs. Sandy is in one of them. He does not look particularly well this morning. The rash is better, but he looks more depleted.
"Nat," he says, but does not bother to try to get up to greet me. I come around to shake his hand, then he motions for me to sit. "Nat, your father has asked me to speak to you. We have reached a plea bargain with the prosecution."
I keep thinking with this case, Well, I'll never have a shock like that again. And then there is something else that knocks me flat.
"I know this comes as a surprise," says Stern. "The murder charges against your father will be dismissed. And he will plead guilty to an information the prosecutors will file in a few minutes, charging him with obstruction of justice. We have had quite a bit of back-and-forth this morning with Molto and Brand. I wanted them to accept a plea to contempt of court instead, which would give your father a chance to keep his pension, but they insist it must be a felony. The bottom line is the same. Your father will be in custody for two years. And can then go on with his life."