He slips into his robe. When he opens the door, Michael stands there, holding the phone. "Sorry," he says without meeting Jack's eye. He seems to know what he interrupted.
Jack swipes the phone from his son's hand. He knows the interruption isn't Michael's fault, yet he's still annoyed.
"Hey, Monica, what's up?" He closes the bedroom door and moves into the hall.
"Uh, Boss, I think we've got a problem."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JACK PULLS UP to the curb in front of the courthouse. If they tow him tonight, he'll know for sure that someone's out to get him.
He's not alone. Several empty police cruisers also line the curb, cherry lights still flashing. At the side he sees vans from four different television stations. He wonders if the police presence outside the courthouse brought the media or if they received a tip.
It's just after eleven p.m. Except for this spectacle, the downtown streets are mostly empty, and stoplights at each intersection blink yellow. But the office buildings that tower over the Gateway Mall and Keiner Plaza glitter against the cold, night sky, alive and humming productively even approaching midnight on a Sunday. He imagines young,
ambitious attorneys standing at their office windows, watching with voyeuristic pleasure. Anything's better than the tedious drafting of another contract or researching some archaic point of law.
As he steps from his car, the news crews rush toward him, shouting. He spots Earl standing safely just inside the doors and tries to jog up the courthouse steps to meet him, but the reporters and their cameramen block his passage. His eyes can't adjust fast enough to the blinding lights and flashing cameras, so he raises his hand against the glare and pushes through, relying on his other senses to reach the top. "Let him through," Earl demands. Jack moves like a mole in the direction of the voice. Earl holds open the door, and as soon as Jack's inside, he pulls it shut. Only then does Jack see the guards stationed just outside the doors to keep the media out.
"Well, at least they gave me the courtesy of doing this after hours," Jack says. The calm quip disguises his anxiety over the distinct possibility that not only are Jenny's letters about to be discovered, but so too the fact that he asked Dog to investigate them. Did the state trooper recognize her after all?
"Fuck'em," Earl says. "This is uncalled for and unprecedented." With his head down and his eyes on his phone, he starts for the elevators. Jack follows. "What the hell do they think they'll find in the DA's office?"
Jack knows the last question was
rhetorical, so he answers with one of his own. "Which judge signed the warrant?"
He presses the Up button since Earl is still absorbed in his device.
"Judge Lehman. I've put in my call.
Everything's on hold until he hears us."
"Don't we usually argue you can't quash a search warrant in Missouri? That the remedy is a retrospective one via a motion to suppress, not prospective?"
Earl finally glances up from the screen.
His look says, Whose side are you on? "Yes, you usually make that argument. I used to.
But now we're on the other side. If I have any say in the matter, we'll make new law."
Making new law might help Jack's
cause, but it certainly won't help the state prosecute criminals. "I'm not sure I want to—"
The sudden change in Earl's expression stops Jack. His gray eyes narrow
suspiciously as if he's seeing Jack for the first time. "Are you sick?"
"No." Jack self-consciously runs his hand through his hair. "Just exhausted.
I'm not sleeping."
"You look like hell."
The elevator comes to a rough stop.
When the heavy doors lumber open to the foyer of the DA's office, the first person they see is Elias Walker, the special prosecutor. He's made himself comfortable in the chair behind the receptionist's desk. Like a naughty child caught red-handed, he sits up straight and adjusts his cowboy hat as Jack and Earl step out of the elevator. Three cops hover in the corner, chatting with Monica while waiting for their instructions. Chief Matthews is nowhere to be seen. Jack's not surprised. The Chief will make sure to stay as far away from this as possible.
Jack and Walker eye each other like boxers in a ring. Jack has known the identity of the attorney prosecuting his case since the day of the appointment, but this is the first time they've come face to face in sixteen years. Walker attended the same law school as Jack and Claire, in the class above them. In most instances, this would mean minimal interaction, and it wouldn't be unusual if Jack didn't remember him.
But he remembers. He never spoke to the man, but because of Claire, they know of each other well.
During the fall of Jack and Claire's first year of law school, Walker invited Claire to a Halloween party. At the time, Jack and Claire hadn't even been on their first date, though not from Jack's lack of trying. Unbeknownst to him, Walker's invitation came only days before Jack convinced Claire to picnic with him in Forest Park. They had their picnic, but Claire, feeling guilty about cancelling on Walker, still accompanied him to the Halloween party the following week. It was Walker's first and last date with Claire; the picnic was the first of many dates for Jack, who by Easter had asked her to marry him.
Except for a few dirty looks from Walker when they passed in the halls of the law school, the two men never interacted. Walker soon ceased to be on either Jack or Claire's radar. Jack didn't even know his former rival—if he could call him that—had become a DA of a rural county in upstate Missouri until he heard Walker's name announced as the special prosecutor. Even then, it didn't concern him. Certainly the man wouldn't hold Jack responsible for Claire spurning his interest all those years ago.
But now, as Walker nods slightly and regards Jack sardonically from under the rim of his ridiculous hat, Jack's not so sure.
"Elias," Earl says, and leans across the desk to shake Walker's hand. Walker's smirk fades for the exchange with Earl.
Jack has the urge to remind Walker that this isn't his office and suggest that he come out from behind the desk. Instead, he quietly returns the nod and moves to the corner to greet the three cops, whom he recognizes. He hopes their loyalty to him will trump any sense of obligation to Walker.
"What's this about?" Earl asks as he reads the copy of the warrant Walker hands him. Jack, Monica and the cops listen carefully. Searching the DA's office is highly unusual. Earl isn't the only one who wants to hear the answer.
"We had a tip. I'm merely following through on it." Walker speaks out of the side of his mouth. The words are muffled by what appears to be a big wad of chewing gum.
Earl glances up at Jack; Jack shrugs and shakes his head.
"And what exactly did that tip suggest you'd find here?" Earl asks.
Walker rises, but to Jack's frustration, he segues to a half-standing, half-sitting position and plants his behind firmly on the desk. "Read the warrant. Evidence.
What else?"
Jack is surprised by the speed at which Earl gets in the man's face. "Look, cowboy," he says, leaning across the desk, his voice low but menacing, "maybe you country lawyers follow a different law, but around here the Constitution still reigns, and you'd damn well better have something specific in mind when we get on the phone with the judge. This is the DA's office."
"I know exactly where I am, Mr.
Scanlon." Walker's sudden formality makes clear he didn't appreciate the
"cowboy" comment.
Jack can't control himself. He returns to Earl's side. "Then maybe you should show a little respect and get off the desk,"
he says. "Our receptionist won't appreciate having your ass all over her stuff."
Earl flashes Jack a look— you, shut up!
But Jack's not having any. Maybe it's the fact he hasn't had a decent night's sleep since the night he took Celeste home.
Maybe it's because Walker interrupted the first intimate moment Jack's had with his wife since Jenny showed up and he has no idea when
he might have another. But his pent-up frustration refuses to stay contained.
"I may be the defendant in this case, Walker," he continues, purposely leaving off the honorific, "but unless and until you convict me, I'm still the DA in this jurisdiction, and this is still my office. You, on the other hand, are a mere guest. So get the hell off the desk and take a seat in the waiting area"—he motions toward the cops—"until the judge calls and gives you permission to go anywhere else."
In the weighted silence, Walker's jaw works furiously. Now that he's closer, Jack realizes it's not gum he's chewing; it's tobacco. I dare you to spit.
Walker stands, but he insists on the last word. "I already have permission. It's called a signed search warrant. The fact that I'm holding off on executing it is my small contribution to professionalism in the practice of law." As if he read Jack's mind, he leans over the wastebasket next to the desk and spits into it.
Earl sees that Jack is about to explode.
He speaks Jack's name under his breath as if commanding a dog to stay. "Why don't you wait in your office and let me handle this?" he says.
Without taking his eyes off Elias, Jack says, "I want to be in on the call with the judge."
"I'll come get you."
"He is not to go to his office unaccompanied," Walker says. "You think I'm a fool?"
Jack lunges, and Earl grabs his upper arm to stop him. But Earl can't stop Jack's mouth. "What the hell are you insinuating?"
"I'm not insinuating anything. I think my meaning is clear. I don't trust you. If given the chance, you'll do anything to save your butt—including the destruction of evidence."
Jack's arm strains against Earl's grip.
Earl squeezes tighter. "Don’t play into it!"
he whispers harshly at Jack's ear. "That's exactly what he wants."
The ringing phone startles them all.
During the day, when assorted attorneys, secretaries, cops, investigators, victims and witnesses wander in and out of the lobby, the chime of the phone is simply another noise among the myriad sounds of the office. But now, in the still of the night, the volume of the ringer seems set too high.
Earl grabs the receiver. "DA's office.
Earl Scanlon here." He laughs then, and Jack is certain the judge made some comment about the irony of Earl's greeting.
"We're all here, Your Honor. Mr.
Walker, Mr. Hilliard, Ms. Foley, and the officers who would conduct the search.
May I put you on speakerphone?"
He presses a button and replaces the receiver.
"Good evening, gentlemen, Ms. Foley."
Judge Lehman's voice booms from the speaker. "Or perhaps I should say good morning? What is it, almost midnight?"
Jack can't tell if the judge's annoyance is directed at Walker for his decision to execute the warrant at this hour, or at Earl and Jack for resisting it.
"Your Honor, I apologize for the late hour," Earl says, apparently deciding to take the blame. Jack knows every move he makes is strategic. "This search warrant took us by surprise and we couldn't convince Mr. Walker to hold off until morning. We—"
"What is the point of this, Mr.
Walker?" the judge interrupts. "I signed this warrant earlier today. Why did you wait until tonight to execute it?"
Jack resists a smile. As usual, Earl called it right.
Walker comes closer to the phone, but neither Earl nor Jack move aside to make extra room for him. He has to raise his voice to be heard, and doing so makes him sound as if he's yelling. "I'm sorry, Your Honor, but I thought it would be better to execute it after hours so as not to cause the DA's office any additional embarrassment."
Like hell, Jack thinks.
Judge Lehman must think the same
thing. "Seven or eight p.m. would have achieved that," he says in a droll voice.
"There was no need to wait till all parties were in bed."
Jack and Earl exchange a glance. They haven't even begun to discuss the issue at hand, and they've scored a few points with the judge.
"The officers did arrive before ten, Your Honor," Walker says, assuring him he followed the law, "but they were delayed because Mr. Hilliard's assistant wouldn't allow them to enter his private office until she'd called him. That's why I showed up, too." He adds, his voice falsely contrite, "I'm very sorry, Your Honor."
"Is that true, Ms. Foley?"
Monica starts as if she's surprised to be consulted. "Yes, Judge, that's correct."
"So what's this about?" asks the judge.
"Judge, this warrant is highly inappropriate. To search the DA's office on a tip, without anything else to suggest the tip is valid, is uncalled for. Moreover, I see nothing on the warrant that meets the threshold of specificity required by law. It's quite vague."
"Your Honor, Mr. Scanlon is being disingenuous." Walker plants his palms on the edge of the desk and leans closer to the phone. "The search isn't of the whole office, of course. Only Mr.
Hilliard's private office will be searched.
And the 'something else' he argues is required is obvious: Mr. Hilliard has already been charged with a crime. It's quite logical to believe his private office might contain the evidence the tip suggested."
"And what evidence does the tip—"
Earl begins.
"Excuse me, I wasn't finished."
Walker's fierce stare contrasts sharply with the politeness oozing from his voice.
"As you know from when I appeared to obtain the warrant," he again directs his words at the judge, "Ms. Del Toro told officers she believes Mr. Hilliard took—"
Like a dog hearing a high-pitched noise, Jack's attention is suddenly Thank you for downloading from dpgroup.org.
heightened, but the chime of his cell phone—Claire's ringtone—distracts him.
He moves away quickly so the ring won't disturb the other call and whispers
"What?" a little too harshly when he answers.
"Jack, the cops are here," Claire says breathlessly. She's on the verge of tears.
"What?" he asks again, but he needs no answer. He suddenly understands the trick they played on him. They executed the warrant for the DA's office first, knowing Jack would, if not outright fight it, at least insist upon being present during the search. But Jack knows they didn't expect to find anything useful. Not here. This search was a decoy to get him out of his house. Once they lured him to the courthouse, they swooped in to execute a second warrant at his home, where they suspected the evidence they wanted would be found.
"What should I do?" she cries.
Jack tries to listen to the other phone conversation as he tries to formulate a strategy for Claire. "Hold on," he says and presses Mute in the middle of her "Wait!"
"Don't fight it," he whispers to Earl.
"They're at my house, too. Buy time on that instead." He's no longer worried they'll discover Jenny's letters. The search of his office will be all for show, and therefore superficial.
The only outward sign of Earl's
surprise at this news is a sidewise turn of his eyes in Jack's direction. Without missing a beat, his argument to the judge transitions to the house warrant. Jack returns to Claire. "Tell them we're on the phone with the judge and they need to wait until it's resolved," he says to her.
As she repeats this to the cops, she struggles not to cry. "Are they giving you trouble?" he asks when she comes back on the line.
"No, they're waiting, but they won't let me out of their sight."
"Did they wake the boys?"
"Yes, but I told Michael to keep Jamie in his room. They're scared."
"What time did the cops get there?" he asks. They might have showed up at the courthouse before ten, but Jack knows the ones at his house didn't arrive until later. Technically, he could force them to come back tomorrow.
"Just a few minutes ago. Right before I called you."
"Can they hear you?"
"No." Despite her answer, she lowers her voice even mor
e. "Jack, where did you put it?"
"Don't ask me that. We don't need two disbarred attorneys in the family."
"We don't need one convicted of sexual assault, either."
It's the closest she's come to telling him she believes him.
"You couldn't do anything, anyway.
Not with them watching you."
"Only because I'm letting them. They have no right to be in our house until the judge gives them the okay. I could make them stay outside."
Jack smiles. She's finally put on her attorney hat. "Hold on," he says when he sees Earl motioning him back over to the phone.
"What time did they show up at your house?" Earl asks Jack loudly so everyone, including Judge Lehman, hears.
"Claire says it was just a few minutes ago."
"Your Honor," Earl says, "there's no valid reason for a late night search. If Your Honor signed these warrants this afternoon, they should have executed them then, or they should have waited until tomorrow. Mr. Hilliard has two children, one of whom is quite young.
There's no excuse for knocking on his door late at night like this."
Elias is about to speak, but the judge beats him to it. "I tend to agree, Mr.
Walker."
"But Judge—"
"Here's what I'm going to do. Despite Mr. Scanlon's arguments, I believe that both warrants meet the requirements of the law with respect to specificity. Mr.
Walker has made it clear he's looking for a particular item, and the warrants state that."
"In a vague way, Your Honor," Earl inserts, and Jack just shakes his head. It's unlike Earl to persist when it's obvious the judge is issuing his decision.
Not surprisingly, the judge ignores him. "And since they arrived at Mr.
Hilliard's office before ten, and Ms. Foley confirms that, I'll let them go forward with that search. But I can't abide having officers show up after hours at the home of the city's District Attorney, I don't care what he's been charged with. Not without a valid reason for a late night search. And at no time, Mr. Walker, did you mention to me today that you intended or needed this to be a late night search. Had you done so, I would have required some evidence in support of that. Do you understand what I'm saying, sir?"
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