"Given that, are you sure you'd want to?"
"Yes, of course. I thought I'd made that clear. But while we're talking and before you make up your mind for good, there's one other thing we've got to get straight."
Stuart sighed and scratched at the stubble on his neck. "What's that?"
"Well, with all respect," she mustered her calmest voice, "I understand how you feel about the arrest and then me telling Juhle you weren't and never had been armed. That was a mistake too. If I hadn't told him you'd never taken the gun, okay, we're arguably in a much better position right now. So that's strike two on me.
"But the problems haven't been all on me. I didn't take the gun in the first place. You took the gun, and that's why you had it with you. That's not anything to do with me. If you remember, I wanted to take it home with me that night, get it out of your hands. I pleaded with you to let me have it. That was my advice. But you overruled me."
"I thought I might need it."
"Right. That's what you said. Your ecoterrorist friend might have followed you somehow. But the point is: why you're in all this trouble right now, it isn't all me. It isn't even mostly me. I wish it were. But I need you to see that so much of this is what _you did. Talking to Juhle that first day. Deciding to take your gun with you. Sneaking out through your back door. Stealing license plates. Using a phony name. Asking Kymberly to talk to Bethany…"
"She did that on her own."
"Maybe. But that's not what Bethany said she told her."
"She got it wrong, then." Stuart put both of his hands up to his forehead. "God, God, God." He looked across about four feet of space to where Gina sat. "So remind me. What are we arguing about?"
"About whether I keep my job or not. You've lost a lot of confidence in me, and I understand that. I wouldn't blame you, Stuart. But I'd like you to be sure that it's me, after all. Not just these shitty circumstances. And don't get me wrong, they're plenty shitty. I didn't predict any of this happening, and maybe I should have."
He nodded, then grew quiet for nearly a full minute, until he finally took a deep breath. "Help me out here, Gina. Kym's all over letting you go. So's Debra."
Gina shrugged. "It's not their call, Stuart."
"But then who do I go with? Jedd Conley? I don't know any other lawyers."
"I do," Gina said. "I could recommend any number of them. Though probably not Jedd," she added with a trace of humor. Then, in all seriousness, "Either one of my partners would take you on, and they're both excellent."
"But," he said. "I hear a 'but.' "
"No you don't. They're good guys and good lawyers with lots of experience. And they almost certainly wouldn't suffer from the incredible handicap of believing you're innocent. Wes-one of my partners-even told me, 'Whatever you do, don't start believing he's innocent. He'll just break your heart.' "
"Sounds like a sweetheart."
"He is." She met his eyes. "He's just another pro who's seen it all before. He often says he doesn't believe anybody except his dog. He loves his dog, though."
Stuart cocked his head. "What about your David?"
The question quickened her somehow. "What about him?"
"I mean, with his clients. Didn't he ever believe they were innocent?"
She took a moment before shaking her head. "His rule was he'd never ask and never let them tell him. It was one of the first things he always told his clients. 'I don't want to know. All I want to know is what evidence they've got and if I can make the jury doubt some or most of it. That's the job. Whether you did it or not doesn't matter to me.' "
"He didn't really feel that?"
"Oh, yes he did. Really for truly. With his whole heart." "And what about you?"
"Well"-she felt herself break a rueful smile, and it surprised her-"you're watching me break new ground. If I had come to this from a different angle, I don't know what I'd be thinking. Probably that, like everybody else, you don't get all the way to arrested if you're not guilty. As I say, that's the professional approach."
"This time I really do hear a 'but.' "
"Yep," she said. "You do." She raised her eyes and stared him full in the face. "But in this case, I don't believe you killed Caryn." Lowering her voice, she went on. "Wes may be right, I'll get my heart broken over it, but I don't think so."
"I won't break your heart," Stuart said.
"See? There I go believing you again." She met his eyes, all business. "But look, this is full-disclosure time. You know this is still my first murder case. You know that so far, to say it hasn't gone well is an understatement. There's some chance that even though I'm watching a lot more closely, and I'm a lot more pissed off, I might get sandbagged again. You might be better served with one of my partners or any number of other pretty good lawyers in town."
"Guys who'll believe I did it."
"Probably. But most wouldn't care to know, one way or another."
Stuart met her eyes again, but briefly, then abruptly he got up and walked over to the glass block wall that ran along one side of the room. He stood there for a few seconds before nodding to himself and turning around. "I didn't kill Caryn, Gina. I didn't love her anymore, but I didn't kill her."
"I know that. I believe that."
He closed his eyes for a second with obvious relief, then opened them and met her gaze straight on. "I think that's the most important thing."
"I think so too," Gina said, "though we're in the minority."
"I'm comfortable in the minority," Stuart said. "That's where I spend most of my time, anyway." Crossing back over to his chair, he pulled it around, up closer to Gina, and straddled it backward. "So this hearing tomorrow?" he said. "How bad is it going to be?"
The conference room at Freeman, Farrell, Hardy & Roake was a large oval with floor-to-ceiling windows and a set of glass double-doors looking out on a small, grassy roof garden and similar large windows facing the main lobby. The idea had looked terrific in the architectural plans, and even when the remodel had been completed. But in practice it soon became obvious that the place was a fishbowl. Everybody walking by could clearly see who was inside and often exactly what was going on in there around the huge circular table. In the land of attorney-client privilege and secret negotiations, this did not turn out to be a plus for the business.
To rectify the situation, David Freeman had ordered several large potted trees to be delivered-dieffenbachia, palms, some citrus-to partially block the view, or at least mitigate the lack of privacy. Over the years, more greenery had been added-giant ferns, rubber trees, a California redwood that now scraped the thirty-foot ceiling. Bringing potted flora to the office became an unspoken trophy moment for Freeman and his associates after a win in a big case, and the room came to be known as the Solarium.
And here, today, technically a few minutes after the close of business, Gina had her discovery folders and yellow legal pads spread out on the table in front of her. She turned at the knock on the side panel of the door.
"Hey, Wes. Come on in."
"Don't let me bother you," he said. "Gert and I are just passing through."
She nodded absently as her partner-his T-shirt today read take the message on your bumper-and stick it!-led his Labrador back behind Gina, through the room and out onto the grassy lawn where they'd put in the memorial bench for David. In another minute, the outside door opened again and they were back inside. "Poor girl," Wes said, "I thought she was going to die if she didn't get outside to pee. But there's no way I bring her down here before Phyllis leaves. I don't see her as a dog person, do you?"