Now he looked to each of the three lawyers in turn. "However, in view of Mr. Hardy's representation, and in the interest of justice and simple fairness, I'm not going to issue this ruling today. I'm going to take the matter under submission for one week, during which time you, Mr. Brandt, will discuss the matter with the district attorney and determine if he chooses to pursue the matter further, and to what degree. In the meanwhile, since Mr. Bartlett remains a minor until I formally declare him to be an adult, I intend to release him from his detention into the care of his parents until next week when I deliver my ruling."
Brandt, having won the hearing on its merits only to have the victory snatched from him, raised a hand and spoke. "Your honor, with respect, you can still issue your ruling today. The DA will be reviewing the case as a matter of course and will-"
But Johnson stopped him. "You're forgetting the special circumstances, Counselor. The minute I declare Mr. Bartlett an adult, he remains in confinement, and that doesn't seem right to me. There's no bail by statute in a special circumstances case. If I say he's an adult today, he goes downtown today. And it's my feeling that he's already been locked up too long. If he's innocent, one day is too long."
"Thank you, your honor," Wu said.
But he turned on her, too. "There's nothing to thank me for, Counselor." He tapped the document on his desk. "This will be my ruling. It goes into effect when I deliver it, one week from today. Meanwhile, your client doesn't leave the jurisdiction. He's under his parents' care and guidance the entire time. There will be a number of strict conditions. Is that clear?"
"Yes, your honor. Of course."
"Of course." Johnson was clearly sick of the whole thing. He looked at his watch and stood up. "If there are any more comments, I'd prefer not to hear them. My decision is my decision and it's final. Now I'd like to go out and put it on the record."
33
Jason Brandt wasn't as disappointed as he'd let on with Johnson's decision on Andrew Bartlett. In fact, as he listened to Dismas Hardy's representation to the court that morning, he'd realized that if even most of what his opposite number in the courtroom was saying proved to be true, he could be prosecuting an innocent man. And since it was all verifiable, why would Hardy lie? Then when the judge had ordered him to confer with the DA on the further disposition of the case, it removed any onus from him. He'd won the 707 hearing on its merits and that was the task he'd been assigned.
Now that was over.
Johnson had made his decision and anything he and Amy Wu might do outside of the courtroom would be irrelevant to the case. Technically, he should possibly wait to see her until the ruling next Wednesday, but there was just no way he was going to do that, not now. He'd take the risk, and if one of his bosses didn't like his timing, he had an answer that he knew would fly- they hadn't started until after the ruling. They would not be adversaries in the courtroom again.
But after they'd adjourned at the YGC, he'd had no opportunity to talk with her in the courtroom, set up a time they could get together. She, Hardy, Andrew and the Norths had been celebrating quietly around the defense table, and he had caught her eye for an instant- a message or a promise- then left by the back way. He'd called Jackman's office and Treya told him she could squeeze him in at a little after four o'clock, which meant he couldn't waste a moment, so he didn't.
When Brandt came in, Jackman stood, came around his desk and shook his hand, which Brandt took as a sign of enhanced recognition and even of approval. They sat on either end of the low settee in front of the coffee table. Jackman asked him what was so important and Brandt gave it to him in under five minutes.
"We can check this out pretty quick," the DA said in his quiet tone. He stood again and went over to the door. "Treya," he said, "is there a chance you could get me in touch with your husband right away?"
"I'll give it a try."
"Just transfer him to my line." Jackman came back into the office, went back to his desk, and the telephone rang once before he picked it up. "Abe. We've had a question come up here. There's a young man in my office, Jason Brandt, who's been prosecuting the Andrew Bartlett case up at the YGC. Mike Mooney and… Right. That's right, it's Hardy's case, too… You are? Well, the judge has postponed his ruling until he knows more. I'm thinking you might be able to tell Mr. Brandt what you've got and he can report back to me… Right, on Mooney, too, but all of it. Thanks."
Jackman hung up. "You know where you're going?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then go."
In the improvised computer room next to his office, a harried and exhausted Glitsky was bringing Brandt up to date between taking the reports of his people in the field and answering the questions of his workers. The clock on the wall read 4:40.
"I know. Hardy has already left me three messages about the slugs at Mooney's, but I've got other priorities at the moment. We don't have any of those slugs. We didn't find any the first time. I don't think it's likely we'll find them next time we look either."
"But do you think, personally, that Mooney was one of the Executioner's victims?"
Glitsky's lips pursed. "You don't?"
"I don't know."
"Well, start knowing. I'm not saying we can prove it yet, but it's a dead lock as far as I'm concerned."
"And Bartlett?"
"I don't know from Bartlett," Glitsky said. "Wrong guy, wrong place, wrong time."
Phones were ringing all over the office, and somebody from outside in the reception area called in, "Chief, your line."
Glitsky picked up the receiver, then pulled a pad over and wrote, furiously taking notes. "How many times?" he said. "What's the name? Anybody see him? Enough for a composite? Do they video the visitors down there?" Glitsky's mouth went tight. "Yeah, that sounds right. Okay. Keep checking."
He hung up, raised his voice. "Everybody listen up," and the other noises in the room stopped. "That was Darrel Bracco down at Corcoran. Lucas has got a son, Ray Welding, visited him in prison forty times in the last three years. No address, no listing. Bracco's requested the phone calls from the pay phone at his father's block and they're going to fax it up direct. Sarah," he turned to Evans, "you pick three people. I want every four one five, four oh eight, five one one, six five oh"- all the telephone area codes for the Bay Area-"every one reversed for names and addresses. This might be the guy."
"This guy, Welding, the dad." Brandt, wanting to contribute, couldn't stop himself and spoke to Glitsky. "If he won an appeal, he must have had a lawyer. The lawyer would know the son, wouldn't he? Where he lives?"
"He might," Glitsky said. "But he won't talk to us. We're the cops, remember, the bad guys."
"But if the son's the Executioner?"
Glitsky didn't answer because someone else told him to pick up the phone. This time he listened without writing or saying much, and by the time he put the phone down, the room had hushed. His head hung, chin to chest. He slowly fisted the table in a black fury.
Everyone waited until he raised his head. "The last local juror," he said. "Wendy Takahashi, maiden name Shui. The one that just moved last month." Which was why they hadn't been able to locate her sooner.
"She's already dead?" someone asked.
"Before we got there," Glitsky said. "Maybe just before. Belou's been standing outside her place since about two, protecting a dead woman." Glitsky's eyes, opaque with fatigue and anger, were glazed over.
Brandt wandered out to the reception room, stopped next to a uniformed officer. "What did he mean, the last local juror?"