“You plan on telling me what you’re talking about?”
“What I’m talking about is the Spalter murder case.” Hardwick enunciated those last three words with a peculiar combination of importance and contempt. His eyes were fixed on Gurney’s, as if searching for the appropriate reaction.
Gurney frowned. “The woman who shot her rich politician husband up in Long Falls?” It had been a sensational news item earlier in the year.
“That’s the one.”
“As I recall, that was a slam-dunk conviction. The lady was buried under an avalanche of evidence and prosecution witnesses. Not to mention that special little extra—her husband, Carl, dying during the trial.”
“That’s the one.”
The details began coming back to him. “She shot him in the cemetery as he was standing at his mother’s grave, right? The bullet paralyzed him, turned him into a vegetable.”
Hardwick nodded. “A vegetable in a wheelchair. The vegetable the prosecution wheeled into court every day. God-awful sight. Constant reminder for the jury while his wife was being tried for doing it to him. Until, of course, he died halfway through the trial and they had to stop wheeling him in. They went on with the trial—just switched the charge from attempted murder to murder.”
“Spalter was a wealthy real estate guy, right? Had just announced a third-party run for governor?”
“Yep.”
“Anticrime. Anti-mob. Ballsy slogan. ‘Time to get rid of the scum of the earth.’ Or something like that.”
Hardwick leaned forward. “Those were the precise words, Davey boy. In every speech he managed to talk about ‘the scum of the earth.’ Every goddamn time. ‘The scum of the earth have risen to the top of our nation’s cesspool of political corruption.’ The scum of the earth this, the scum of the earth that. Carl liked to stay on message.”
Gurney nodded. “I seem to recall that the wife was having an affair, and that she was afraid he might divorce her, which would end up costing her millions, unless he should happen to die before he changed his will.”
“You got it.” Hardwick smiled.
“I got it?” Gurney looked incredulous. “This is the high-tide opportunity you were talking about? The Spalter case? In the event you hadn’t noticed, the Spalter case is done, closed, over. If memory serves, Kay Spalter is doing twenty-five to life in max security at Bedford Hills.”
“All true,” said Hardwick.
“So what the hell are we talking about?”
Hardwick indulged in a long, slow, humorless smile—the kind of dramatic pause he was fond of and Gurney hated. “We’re talking about the fact that … the lady was framed. The case against her was total bullshit, start to finish. Pure … unadulterated … bullshit.” Again, at the corner of the smile, the tic. “Bottom line, we’re talking about getting the lady’s conviction overturned.”
“How do you know the case was bullshit?”
“She got screwed by a dirty cop.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just know things. Also, people tell me things. The dirty cop has enemies—with good reason. He’s not dirty, he’s filthy. The ultimate piece of shit.” Now there was a new fierceness in Hardwick’s eyes.
“Okay. Let’s say she was framed by a dirty cop. Let’s even go so far as to say she was innocent. What’s that got to do with you? Or me?”
“Besides the minor issue of justice?”
“That look in your eyes has nothing to do with justice.”
“Sure it does. It has everything to do with justice. The organization fucked me. So I’m going to fuck the organization. Honestly, legally, and totally on the side of justice. They forced me out because they always wanted to. I got a little sloppy about a few files on the Good Shepherd case that I passed along to you, bureaucratic bullshit, and that gave the scumbags their excuse.”
Gurney nodded. He’d been wondering if the debt would be mentioned—the benefit delivered to Gurney, the career-ending expense paid by Hardwick. Now he didn’t have to wonder anymore.
Hardwick went on. “So now I’m entering the PI business. Unemployed detective for hire. And my first client is going to be Kay Spalter, through the lawyer who’ll be handling her appeal. So my first victory’s gonna be a very big one.”
Gurney paused, thought about what he’d just heard. “And me?”
“What?”
“You said this was an opportunity for both of us.”
“And that’s exactly what it is. For you, it could be the case of a fucking lifetime. Get into it, and tear it to pieces, put it back together the right way. The Spalter case was the crime of the decade, followed by the frame of the century. You get to figure it out, set it straight, and kick some nasty bastards in the balls along the way.”
“You didn’t drive all the way over here today just to give me an opportunity to kick bad guys in the balls. Why do you want me involved in this?”
Hardwick shrugged, took a deep breath. “Plenty of reasons.”
“And the biggest would be …?”
For the first time it looked like he was having trouble getting the words out. “To help turn the key another quarter inch and lock up the deal.”
“There’s no deal yet? I thought you said Kay Spalter was your client.”
“I said she’s going to be my client. Some legal details need to be signed off on first.”
“Details?”
“Believe me, everything’s lined up. Just a matter of pushing the right buttons.”
Gurney saw the tic again and felt his own jaw muscles tightening.
Hardwick went on quickly. “Kay Spalter was represented by a court-appointed asshole who’s still technically her attorney, which weakens an otherwise powerful set of arguments for having the conviction reversed. One potential bullet in the appeal gun would be incompetent representation, but the current guy can’t really make that argument. You can’t say to the judge, ‘You have to free my client because I’m an asshole.’ Someone else has to call you an asshole. Law of the land. So, bottom line—”
Gurney broke in. “Wait a second. There’s got to be a ton of money in that family. How did she end up with a court-appointed—?”
“There is a ton of money. Problem is, it was all in Carl’s name. He controlled everything. Tells you something about the kind of guy he was. Kay lived like a very rich lady—without actually having a cent to her name. Technically, she’s indigent. And she got assigned the kind of attorney indigents usually get. Not to mention a tight budget for defense out-of-pockets. So, as I was saying: Bottom line, she needs new representation. And I have the perfect man all lined up, sharpening his fangs. Smart, vicious, unprincipled fucker—always hungry. She just needs to sign a couple of things to make the switch official.”
Gurney wondered if he was hearing right. “You expect me to sell her that idea?”
“No. Absolutely not. No selling required. I’d just like you to be part of the equation.”
“What part?”
“Hotshot homicide detective from the big city. Successful murder investigations and decorations up the kazoo. Man who turned the Good Shepherd case inside out and embarrassed the shit out of all the fuckheads.”
“You’re saying you want me to play the role of a bright, shiny front man for you and this ‘vicious, unprincipled fucker’ of yours?”
“He’s not really unprincipled. Just … aggressive. Knows how to use his elbows. And no, you wouldn’t just be a ‘front man’ for anyone. You’d be a player. Part of the team. Part of the reason Kay Spalter should hire us to reinvestigate the case, engineer her appeal, and get her bullshit conviction reversed.”