Dead Even

by Brad Meltzer

  Jared clenched his jaw and turned away.

  Holding the door open for Sara, Guff said, “Good luck, boss.”

  “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.

  “No can do. If I’m not a witness or a member of the New York bar, I can’t come in. Lucky for me, I’m neither. Now go kick some heinie.”

  As Sara stepped into the room, she could feel all eyes turn toward her. Sitting in two rows of benches were the twenty-three men and women of her first grand jury. They were a typical New York jury: mostly retired men and women, a few older mothers, a waiter, a manager of a retail store, a young editor, a mechanic, a graduate student, and so on.

  Kozlow was being seated on the right side of the room, while Officer McCabe, Claire Doniger, and Patty Harrison were all waiting in the nearby witness room. As Sara surveyed her surroundings, Jared walked in and sat down next to his client. He looked at Sara with dismay and fought to get her attention.

  Refusing to make eye contact with her husband, Sara knew she shouldn’t have agreed to let him in the room. She walked toward the empty table in front, put down her briefcase, and faced the grand jury. “How’s everybody doing today?”

  No one said a word.

  “Okay. Great,” Sara said, opening her briefcase. As a slight blush took her face, she looked up. “Excuse me for a moment.” She walked to the door, opened it, and stuck her head into the hallway.

  “What’s wrong?” Guff asked, leaning against the wall.

  “The files?”

  “Oops,” Guff said, pushing the rolling cart toward Sara.

  Rolling it into the room, Sara once again smiled at the jury. “Here we go. Are we ready to get started?”

  When Officer McCabe finished testifying, Sara was feeling somewhat hopeful. He was hardly the world’s best witness, but he kept to the story and told it well.

  “Does anyone have any questions?” Sara said, still refusing to make eye contact with Jared. Unlike regular “petit” jurors who heard and decided full cases without interacting with the parties involved, grand jurors were permitted to ask their own questions of each witness, which allowed them to flesh out the story for themselves. In Sara’s view, as long as they didn’t ask about why McCabe hadn’t fingerprinted the house or gotten a proper ID of the defendant, she was home free.

  A juror in the second row raised his hand first.

  “Hold on, let me get there,” Sara said as she approached the juror. She leaned over and the juror whispered his question in her ear. It was the ADA’s job to screen each question and make sure it was appropriate. If it was, the ADA had to pose the question to the witness. Hearing the juror’s question, Sara reacted exactly as Conrad had taught her. No change of expression whatsoever. She turned to McCabe. “The first question is, ‘Did you check to see if the defendant’s fingerprints were in the house?’”

  “We don’t have the budget to do that,” McCabe replied.

  The juror whispered another question to Sara.

  “But isn’t that the best way to see if the defendant was there?” Sara repeated.

  “Probably,” McCabe said indignantly. “But it can’t always be perfect.”

  Sara turned her back to McCabe. It went downhill from there.

  By the end of Doniger’s testimony, Sara was a wreck. Sitting at the witness table with an angry look on her face, Doniger was hostile and uncooperative—hardly the sympathetic victim Sara hoped for. Trying to turn things around, Sara opened the floor to questions.

  Immediately, a female juror in the first row raised her hand and whispered a question. “So you never saw Mr. Kozlow in your house?” Sara said, passing it along.

  “No, I didn’t,” Doniger said.

  A follow-up question was whispered. “Then you really don’t know if he’s the thief,” Sara announced.

  “I definitely don’t.”

  As the questions continued, Sara eventually couldn’t help herself. Hesitantly, she glanced over at Jared. From the look in his eyes, she knew what he was thinking—it didn’t take a genius to see that Sara was drowning. Then Jared pushed a piece of paper to the corner of the defense table, signaling for Sara to read it. Casually, Sara strolled toward the table and leaned on the corner of it as Doniger answered the latest question. When she looked down, Sara read Jared’s message: “Ready for the dismiss and seal? You could use it.”

  Looking back up at her husband, Sara was tempted to accept—to shut Doniger up and end it right there. Even if she got the indictment, what was she proving? With witnesses like Doniger and Harrison, the trial would be an even bigger disaster. Even Conrad agreed that dismissing it was better than losing. More important, Sara couldn’t stand facing off against Jared. Playing a few harmless mind games was one thing, but watching him get hurt by her actions was ripping her apart. Maybe he’s right, she thought as she walked back to the prosecution table.

  When Doniger was done testifying, Sara knew it was time to make her decision. She could dismiss the case with Jared or barrel forward with Harrison. The question was difficult, but the answer, for Sara, was obvious.

  “If you can bear with us for another second, I have one last witness,” Sara said, turning away from her husband. Responsibility had to come first. “I’d like to call Patricia Harrison.”

  At twelve-thirty, Guff and Sara walked into Conrad’s office. “Victor, let me call you back,” Conrad said into his phone. “They’re just walking in now.” He hung up the phone and looked at his two expressionless colleagues. “Well? Did you get the indictment?” he asked.

  “What do you think?” Guff shot back.

  “I think you got it, and I think you’re playing it extra cool because you have some vain hope that you can actually surprise me.”

  “We are!” Guff screamed. “We nuked those commie bastards back to the Stone Age!”

  “All right!” Conrad said. He jumped up to give Sara a big hug, then quickly pulled away. She smiled weakly.

  “You should’ve seen her,” Guff said, crouching into a fighting stance. “There she was, defenseless, with nothing but her wits and three bad witnesses to protect her. She eyed the jury and shot them a sneer—they knew she meant business. Then, just when they thought she was going to zig, she zagged. And when they expected a zag, she zigged. Zig! Zag! Zig! Zag! It was like my parents at an all-you-can-eat buffet—food was flying faster than the human eye could follow.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Conrad asked.

  “I’m using food as a metaphor for intense legal issues,” Guff said.

  “So the intense legal issues were flying faster than the human eye could follow?”

  “Exactly. And then, when she was on the ropes, her spirit almost gone, she rose, like a gleaming, legal-studying, precedent-setting phoenix, from the ashes of the grand jury room.”

  “And you saw all this even though you weren’t in the room?” Conrad asked.

  “Believe me, I had my ear to the door,” Guff said. “And if I were going to brag about any of my physical qualities, I would have to go with the excellence of my auditory abilities.”

  “So if we take out the useless exaggerations, the true story is what?” Conrad asked.

  “The true story is Patty Harrison saved the day,” Sara said, finally, putting her briefcase on the floor.

  “The scared woman came through, huh?”

  “She certainly did,” Sara said. “When she took the stand, I asked her one question: ‘Who was the person you saw coming out of Ms. Doniger’s house that night?’ There was this long pause. It felt like an eternity. Conrad, it was so quiet, I swear I could hear the earth rotating. And finally, she raised her hand, pointed right at Kozlow, and said, ‘It was him.’”

  “Jared must’ve died.”

  “He wasn’t happy. And Kozlow didn’t look too pleased either.”

  “Did you see Doniger’s reaction?”

  “I meant to look, but I forgot,” Sara said, her tone growing serious. “I was too busy staring at Jared.”

/>   Conrad gave her a long look that was difficult to read. “He really got to you, didn’t he?”

  “You can’t imagine what it’s like. He knows exactly where to hit.”

  “Then you better prepare yourself. From this point on, it’s only getting worse,” Conrad said. “Now tell me more about Doniger. Any idea what her story is?”

  “To be honest, at first I thought she was just pissed because I ruined her schedule—one less day that she’d be able to shop for the perfect hand towels. But she was purposely terrible up there. For whatever reason, she was taking a high-platform dive.”

  “Well, now that you have the indictment, you can figure the rest of it out. That’s what your trial preparation should be about—filling in all the missing pieces. If I were you, I’d take the rest of the day to catch my breath and then get started on the case.”

  “What about Victor?” Sara asked.

  “What about him?”

  “Why were you talking to him when we walked in?”

  “He just called to see if you got the indictment.”

  “Did he ask anything else?” Sara asked. “Did he ask about his files?”

  Conrad pointed a warning finger at Sara. “I still don’t think you have any business accusing—”

  “I’m not saying a word,” Sara interrupted. “At least not until we finish going through the files.”

  “Then get on it,” Conrad said. “Your only goal now is to prepare for trial, dig for those answers…”

  “And kick what’s left of your hubby’s scrawny behind,” Guff added.

  “Speaking of which,” Conrad said, “did he say anything to you after the grand jury?”

  “He didn’t say a word. He picked up his briefcase, walked to the door, and left. Trust me, though, I’ll hear all about it tonight. The Tate–Lynch match-up just hit round two.”

  When Jared got back to the office, he threw his briefcase on his desk and loosened his tie. Instinctively, he looked up at the poster board map of the crime scene. Nothing new popped out. All he saw was how close Kozlow was to Doniger’s house when the officer found him. So close, he thought. So close, he was nearly there. “Damn!” he shouted, ripping the poster from the wall.

  The instant he collapsed in his chair, Kathleen’s voice came through the intercom.

  “I have Oscar Rafferty on the line,” she said.

  “Don’t—”

  Jared’s phone rang. Then it rang again. And again.

  Sticking her head in the doorway, Kathleen said, “Did you hear me? That’s Mr. Rafferty calling for you.”

  The phone continued to ring, but Jared still didn’t pick it up.

  “Jared…”

  “I can’t talk to him now,” Jared said, slumped in his seat.

  Kathleen left the room and the phone stopped ringing. From his desk, Jared could hear Kathleen’s voice. “I’m sorry, but he must’ve stepped out. I’ll have him call you as soon as he gets back.” Returning to Jared’s office, Kathleen said, “What happened?”

  “You know what happened—I lost. Sara got the indictment, and now we have to go to trial.”

  “So why can’t you tell Rafferty that?”

  “Because I can’t,” Jared snapped. “How many times do you need to hear that? I can’t do it right now.”

  Surprised by the outburst, Kathleen moved toward Jared’s desk and took a seat. “Now do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

  Jared’s gaze dropped to the floor.

  “C’mon, Jared, you can tell me. What’s happening with Rafferty?”

  “It’s nothing,” Jared said, refusing to look up at his assistant.

  “Don’t give me that.” She knew she was overstepping her bounds, but this was important. “What’d he do? Did he say something to Lubetsky? Did he say something about Sara?”

  “Please drop it!” Jared insisted.

  “What’d he say to Sara? Was it to her face or to you?”

  “That’s enough, Kathleen.”

  “Is he bothering her? Is he harassing her? Is he threatening her?” Jared was silent. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why he hired you: He wants you to beat Sara. And if you don’t, he’s going to—”

  “Don’t let your imagination get the best of you,” Jared said dismissively. “You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  Kathleen crossed her arms and stared at her boss. “Do I look that dumb to you? I mean, do I look so stupid that I would actually believe that?” When Jared didn’t respond, Kathleen said, “Just tell me I’m right, so we can move on to the next step. There’s no reason that you have to keep this all to yourself. We can go to the authorities, or to Barrow, or to—”

  “Kathleen, please—don’t do this.”

  “Okay, that’s it. That’s all I need to hear.” She stood up and headed for the door. “I’m sorry, but it’s time to get some help. I’m going to call Lubetsky and explain—”

  “Wait!” Jared said. She turned. He realized he had no choice. “If I tell anyone, they’ll kill her.”

  Kathleen froze. “Pardon me?”

  “You heard me. If I tell anyone, they’ll kill Sara.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  Again, Jared didn’t respond. He had promised himself that he’d keep the secret, but he had to admit it felt good to open up. Rafferty’s threat was starting to take its toll and, as long as Jared could keep things quiet, he could use another brain working on a solution. He took a long look at Kathleen. After all his years at the firm, there was no one else he trusted more. Finally, he said, “Here’s what happened.” After explaining the entire story, from the meeting at the club to the break-in at their apartment to the constant threats, Jared turned away from his assistant.

  Kathleen let the information sink in. “So that’s why he was asking me all those questions about you and Sara this morning.”

  “He asked you questions about us?”

  “Tons of them. He called while you were in the grand jury—wanted to know everything. Your reputations, temperaments, work habits. Of course I didn’t give him anything, but he was trying to figure out how you tick and how you work.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Definitely.” She stood from her seat and added, “We have to do something about this.”

  “I put Barrow on the case,” Jared said in a panic.

  “That’s not enough—that just tells us if Rafferty’s a heavy hitter. Why don’t you tell Sara? She has a right to know.”

  “I can’t tell her, Kathleen. You know how she’ll react. She’ll be after Rafferty before I can even finish the story.”

  “That’s because she’s smart.”

  “No, it’s because she’s a hothead. And in this case, confrontation isn’t the best solution.”

  “But don’t you think—”

  “Kathleen, I’ve thought of everything. This is my wife we’re talking about. My whole world. For the past week all I can think about is losing her. Do you know what that’s like?” Jared asked. “I go to sleep every night wondering if they’re going to take her away from me. And that’s the first question I ask myself every morning. Throughout the day, she’s all I can think about. Last night, I dreamt about what I would say at her funeral. Do you know how terrifying that is? She’s my life, Kathleen.”

  Kathleen put her hand on Jared’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Jared wiped his eyes. “All week, I’ve been searching for the best solution. Should I go to the police, or should I stay quiet? Should I tell Sara, or is she safer not knowing? I’m dying to tell her. How can I not tell her? But I believe Rafferty when he says he’s watching my every move. I believe him when he says that if I tell anyone, he’ll go after her.”

  “Then why’d you tell me?”

  “You figured it out. Once you got that far, I knew the only way to keep you quiet was to fill you in on the consequences.”

  “But—”

  “There is no ‘but.’ If I tell Sara, she’ll flip. Sh
e’ll start hunting everyone involved, which’ll only make things worse. The best way to protect her is to make sure she never finds out. And since it’s my problem, that’s how I’m choosing to deal with it. If you disagree, you can call personnel and have them assign you to a new lawyer. Otherwise, I’m asking you to please do things my way. Regardless of what you think, I could really use the support.”

  “So you’re just going to do what they say?”

  “I’m supposed to do what they say—winning the case is my job, remember?”

  “What if you don’t win?”

  “Believe me, I’ll win,” Jared said. “No matter what I have to do, I’m winning this case. Now what do you say?”

  Kathleen gave him a warm smile. “You already know the answer. If I didn’t like spending time in your trenches, I would’ve walked away years ago.”

  “Thank you, Kathleen,” Jared said. “I pray you don’t regret it.”

  Sara skipped lunch and spent the next hour at her desk catching up on her other cases. The first shoplifter and the drug possession both agreed to community service, so those were two out of the way. But the second shoplifter and the pickpocket were doing their best to stall. Experienced at manipulating the system, they knew it’d take months to schedule them for trial, and once Sara checked the impossibly long wait lists of the misdemeanor courts, she knew that they were right.

  Frustrated, she turned her attention back to Kozlow’s burglary and continued her search through Victor’s old files. She couldn’t find a single link between Victor and Kozlow or Doniger. Kozlow had never been a witness for Victor or an informant for him. Neither had Doniger. Hoping for a breakthrough, Sara closed the last of the yellowing folders and pulled out a brand-new legal pad. Staring at the blank page, she asked herself: Why would Victor want this case? Silently brainstorming, she made a mental list of possible answers: because he knows Kozlow, because he hates Kozlow, because he wants to punish Kozlow, because he wants to help Kozlow, because he thinks it’s a good case. A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Come in,” she said, still staring down at the legal pad.