"Wait'll he sends them downstairs to Records to look up all of Allan's cases over the past twenty years. That'll really juice 'em up."
At this moment, Anna Salarco was, by any of Hardy's standards, more important than Glitsky. So, for that matter, was the hearing, which would start now before he arrived. But he couldn't ignore the summons from Anna, who had called his office. Wu and he had discussed strategy late yesterday afternoon, and he had no reason to believe she couldn't handle it well herself. But he did ask Treya to call Abe back and send his regrets.
Twenty-five minutes later he was back in the Salarcos' bright yellow kitchen. Carla was in her playpen watching Barney on television. Clearly nervous, her head darting this way and that, her hands pushing her hair around, Anna offered him a seat at the kitchen table. He took out his tape recorder, held it up and got a nod from her, and put it on the table between them. She sat where she could keep an eye both on her baby and on the front door. Reading the signs, Hardy asked her if her husband knew that she'd called him.
"No, but I had to. I think about it all the night. The boy. Andrew. The one Juan pick out of the lineup." She threw a look at the door, took a breath, came back to him. "I was there, too. At the lineup. With Juan. But afterward, they only talk to him."
"Because he'd seen Andrew and he'd told them that he could identify him?"
"Sí. But they did not…" She snapped her fingers, cast her eyes about the room, searching for the right word. "No sais." Then: "They did not make it different, the times Juan saw him, like you did."
"Differentiate," Hardy said.
"Sí. Differentiate. Between when he went down first and when he came back later, after. Or the other one."
"The one you saw? Outside in front?"
"Sí. I don't know what… how… if Juan saw something that time." She'd gripped her hands, intertwining her fingers in her lap, and now she turned them over on themselves. "But I went over it last night a hundred times, what I remembered, and it was as you say, as Juan said when he… described how we went to the window. Me in front of him."
"You're doing fine," Hardy said. "I'm listening. It's all right."
She gave him a darting, empty smile, turned her head toward the door again.
"You were at the window…"
"Sí. I look out, and I am angry, too, at waking up the baby. I am slapping, you know, at the window. This is why the boy turn around. He look up at me and then he's gone, running."
"And that man, that time, was it Andrew?"
"No." She shook her head. "I don't say Juan is not telling the truth. Maybe he saw different. Maybe I… It was too far and I don't see everything just perfect."
"All right. Maybe all that. Listen, Anna. No one's going to accuse Juan of anything because of what you tell me now. It could have been an honest mistake. He'd already seen Andrew twice that night, so who else could it have been? Right? And when was the lineup? A month later? Six weeks?"
"Sí. Something like that much. But they bring out the boys, and Juan and I are both there, you know, watching from back in the dark. They keep us apart and we're not supposed to talk, you know. They give us a card and we make an 'X' if we know somebody. But I see nobody I know, and later I find out Juan said it was number two. He knows. I tell him I don't think this is who I saw from the window."
"It was not Andrew?"
Shaking her head from side to side, she said, "No. Not if he was in that lineup." Then, with the confession out, she stopped all the frenetic movement. Her shoulders settled almost imperceptibly. "Juan, he takes my arm and asks me do I know what am I saying. He tells me that there is no doubt. This is who he saw."
"He did," Hardy said. "That's who he did see. Just not that one time."
"Sí. But he is… angry at me. Very angry. Do I think he does not know who he saw? Don't I know the police will help us with la migra if we help them?"
"They can't," Hardy said. "They won't."
"I think that, too. But Juan still hopes, you know. If we go to the trial and he says it was Andrew…" She trailed off. "Anyway, I don't fight him anymore." Her head was down, but she raised her eyes to him. "Not until yesterday. When I understand."
29
By the time Hardy arrived at the YGC at 10:15 and got himself admitted to the courtroom and then the defense table in the bullpen, all under the disapproving eyes of Judge Johnson, they appeared to have cleared all the motions, including the continuance request, and now were apparently in the middle of what Hardy supposed was their first witness.
But before they could get back to that, Johnson took off his glasses and spoke up. "For the record, the court notes the arrival of…?"
Hardy stood. "I'm sorry I'm late, your honor. Dismas Hardy, second chair for the minor."
Johnson's lips went tight, his eyes narrowed. "All right, Mr. Hardy. Would you care to approach the bench, please? Ms. Wu? You, too."
This was unusual, but when the judge called you up, you went.
"Yes, your honor?"
Johnson held his glasses in one hand, and it was shaking. His eyes were cold pools of glacier water. He spoke with a crisp clarity, brooking no misunderstanding. "I gathered from your various motions and witness list yesterday that you intended to make this hearing more of a protracted proceeding than I had intended to countenance in this particular case. Now I see a second lawyer at Mr. Bartlett's table. I don't often see two attorneys for one juvenile defendant in the seven-oh-seven. I wanted to give you both fair warning that I'm not going to tolerate any delaying tactics or tag-team mumbo jumbo from either of you. I'll hear from one lawyer per witness- either one of you, but only one. If your witnesses don't speak to particular criteria, I will dismiss them. If you waste this court's time, I will cut you off. Is that clear?"
"Yes, your honor." Hardy was stunned at not only the force of the warning, but also the severity of the dressing-down. Wu had really ruffled feathers up here, maybe more so even than she had with Boscacci, and Hardy would be well advised to keep it in mind. Still, he wasn't about to roll over. "But as you've no doubt noticed from our motions, your honor, this case has grown in complexity. The-"
Johnson pointed a finger. "That's exactly my point, Mr. Hardy. Don't get me started. This hearing is not about the complexity of this criminal case. It's about whether Mr. Bartlett should be tried as a minor or not. That's all it's about. I've read your motions about calling witnesses for the gravity criterion and it doesn't take a genius to see what you have in mind on that score, but your witnesses had better be about facts and evidence. I won't tolerate any alternative theory nonsense- you can bring all that up in adult court if some judge will let you." He caught himself. "Assuming, of course, that this case goes to adult court."
He leaned down over the bench, shot a look at Hardy, over to Wu. He lowered his voice, which in no way diminished its intensity. "I believe we all know that we shouldn't even be here this morning, and wouldn't be, Mr. Hardy, if your firm had played straight with the DA. But now that we are here, I won't let you make a mockery of this proceeding. That's all."
Summarily dismissed, Hardy returned to the defense table while Wu prepared to continue with her witness. Seated next to Andrew, for several minutes Hardy found that he couldn't get his mind to focus. Johnson's warnings rang in his ears; Anna Salarco's tape burned in his pocket.
Next to him Andrew sat not in one of the courtroom chairs, but propped and shackled to a wheelchair, his wrists cuffed and resting in his lap. A thick, cotton-wrapped white brace of some kind encircled his neck, bringing visions of Frannie back to him- it was neck brace week on the hacienda. Andrew sat straight up, a ramrod, eyes closed, occasionally emitting tiny moans that Hardy did not believe were faked. Behind them both, in the front row, Hardy felt the hostile eyes of the Norths- they'd watched him enter the courtroom, followed him up the aisle and to their son's table, with ill-disguised displeasure.