Judge Johnson adjusted his glasses, raised his voice to the back of the room, saying, "One minute, please, Dr. Harrington" and motioned counsel up to the bench. When they were all in front of him, Johnson said, "Yes, Mr. Brandt?"
"Your honor, before we begin with this witness, I'd like to ask Ms. Wu what it is that Dr. Harrington is a professor of?"
"I don't see the relevance…," Wu began.
Johnson cut her off. "I do. Answer the question."
"English Literature."
"English Literature?" Brandt raised his eyebrows, clearly a rehearsed gesture. "Your honor, with the court's permission, I'd like to ask Ms. Wu for the general import and relevance of Dr. Harrington's expected testimony."
"You'll see when I ask him," Wu retorted.
"Not good enough," Johnson said. "It's a legitimate question. Answer it." Johnson was being just nails on the bench and Hardy longed to raise some objection to protect Wu, but knew that anything he said now would only alienate the judge further, and hurt their client's chances. He'd have to stand and take it.
Wu swallowed, blinked, looked quickly to Hardy, then threw a glance at Brandt. "He'll be talking about the nature of fiction and the degrees of similarity between an author and a character that the author has created. In other words, is a person capable of making up things that he's incapable of actually doing?"
Brandt fairly dripped derision. "Your honor, is there some science here that I'm missing? The petitioner is willing to stipulate that fiction authors make things up. If that's the gist of Dr. Harrington's testimony…"
Wu interrupted. "He's going to address specific elements in Mr. Bartlett's story, your honor, as compared to elements in the actual crime."
"And this will demonstrate what, exactly?" the judge asked.
"That even the degree of sophistication exhibited by the character in the story, minimal though it is, as my last witness demonstrated…"
Brandt corrected her. "… tried to demonstrate."
"… as my last witness demonstrated," Wu repeated, "even that small degree of sophistication is less than that possessed by Mr. Bartlett."
"Or more," Brandt said.
Her stage whisper getting out of hand, Wu shot the question at Brandt. "What do you mean, more?"
He turned directly to her. "I'm willing to accept it's different. The author's either more sophisticated or less. There's no way to tell from what he wrote."
"Both of you, listen to me." Johnson was a few inches out of his chair, leaning over the front of his bench. "You'll both address your remarks to the court and the court only. I don't want anything personal marring these proceedings. As to the point at issue, I agree with Mr. Brandt. Ms. Wu, given petitioner's stipulation that fiction authors make things up, it's this court's ruling that we don't need to hear from this witness."
"Thank you, your honor." Brandt immediately bowed and turned back toward his seat.
Wu stood in shock. "But…"
Johnson snapped at her. "Put your offer on the record if you wish."
She returned to counsel table and then repeated for the court reporter what she had told the judge. When she finished, Johnson wrote something, then looked up. "Dr. Harrington," he said, raising his voice to be heard in the gallery, "you're dismissed. The court thanks you for your time."
Johnson had announced a twenty-minute morning recess before Wu would call her next witness. This one was testifying on Andrew's potential for rehabilitation. Most of the rest of the courtroom had emptied out. Bailiff Nelson- Brandt's "pussycat"- had wheeled Andrew off to go to the bathroom, while Bailiff Cottrell and the court recorder had disappeared through the door that led back toward the judge's chambers. Brandt was just suddenly gone, as were the Norths, probably out into the main hallway. This left Wu and Hardy, at the defense table, alone.
"His honor seems a little bit biased," Hardy said.
"Yeah, like Bill Gates is a little bit rich."
Hardy managed a small smile. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, though. It's going to come down to five, anyway."
"If that's the case, we're in trouble."
Hardy shrugged. "Maybe not." He brought her up to date on the two major elements he'd unearthed since he'd last talked to her with the Norths last night at the hospital- Michael Mooney's gayness and Anna Salarco's failure to identify Andrew as the person who'd run from Mooney's place just before Juan had discovered the bodies.
Wu's eyes lit up. "Will she testify?"
"Maybe. She's got some issues with her husband." He explained the INS problem they faced. "So it's not a slam dunk, but she called me on her own, which is a positive sign. The husband's a good guy, but he's afraid of getting deported. I can't say I blame him."
"Can we do something to help them?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Turn them on to some good immigration attorneys? Something?"
Hardy shook his head. "Maybe, but not until she testifies. I don't want to get into the whole question of whether we're suborning or buying her testimony by offering her some kind of immunity. In fact, I was going to attack her husband's ID of Andrew on pretty much those grounds myself, except say it was the police promising to help him if he gave ' em Andrew. So I wouldn't feel right about it. Afterwards, if she comes through, different story."
"But if she'll say it actually wasn't him…"
"I know. But it's more than that. Her husband's on the record saying it was. He'll have to admit he was wrong, and as of yesterday, that wasn't happening. He'll look like a fool and, maybe worse, he'll look like he can't control his woman. And as long as they've got his ID, they've got a case."
They both settled into their thoughts. Finally, Wu asked, "What about the gay thing?"
"The one I'm not allowed to mention?"
"Yeah, that one."
Hardy blew out in frustration. "I've been wrestling with that all day. What am I supposed to do? I promised the kid."
"Against Andrew's life?"
"I know, I know. But the question I have is really, so what? If Andrew didn't know Mooney was gay, then nothing changes. He'd still be just as jealous. Maybe I could run it up for a jury in the trial, but it's weak. It's not going to do it on its own. And without the kid's testimony, it's only hearsay anyway."
"Could you get it somewhere else?"
Hardy considered, drummed his fingers on the desk. "Even if I did," he said slowly, "what does it get us? So Mooney was gay? Maybe Andrew's homophobic and killed him for that?" He shook his head. "And meanwhile we've outed the boy and screwed up his dad. No, it just doesn't work."
"Except it opens up another world about Mooney."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that everybody loved him, right? He was the world's best teacher, and so on. But the truth is, nobody knew him. He had a secret life. It seems to me anything we could bring up that points that out has got to help Andrew. At the barest minimum, it might give us somewhere else to look for who killed him."
Hardy's fingers stopped drumming. He suddenly sat up, put out his hand over hers. "The wives," he said.
"Whose wives?"
"Mooney's."
"He had wives?"
Hardy nodded. "Two of them." His ridiculous memory had somehow retained the names. "Terri and Catherine."
"Well. What about them?"
"They would have had a hunch, wouldn't you think?"
The regular Tuesday lunch meeting at Lou the Greek's was both a somber and an ill-attended affair. Jackman, of course, was there, but not presiding, since there wasn't much of an assembly. Glitsky, having missed the last few of these luncheons because of scheduling conflicts, had decided on the heels of his involvement in these latest murder investigations that he was going to take a more proactive stance in defining the parameters of his job, and basically do what he wanted to do, pleading out of as many meetings as possible. He sat next to his wife. Gina Roake, like Glitsky a frequent absentee of late, was also at the table.