The Dismas Hardy Novels

by John Lescroart

  “Deputy Chief Glitsky has assigned several inspectors first to find and protect the other jurors from the Welding case, and second to identify and locate anyone who might have had a relationship with Welding, and whose rage over Welding’s seventeen years of incarceration for a crime he did not commit might have become a motive for the murders of Allan Boscacci and several members of the convicting jury.” He paused to let his words reverberate for a moment, then added. “Including,” he said, “the murder of Michael Mooney.”

  Brandt was sitting up straight now. Johnson was taking some notes at the podium. When he was finished, he looked up. His eyes went first to Brandt, then to the gallery, where Hal and Linda were whispering, then finally back to the defense table. “Thank you, Mr. Hardy. Your representation is noted for the record. Is that the substance of it?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “All right, then, let’s move on. Do you have another witness for this seven-oh-seven proceeding?”

  “Wait a minute.” Andrew’s voice was still fairly hoarse, but carried in the courtroom. “If you know that somebody else killed Mooney . . .”

  Behind him, Hardy heard the Norths and he turned. Hal was on his feet. “That ought to be the end of this,” he was saying. Both bailiffs—Nelson and Cottrell—stood quickly and moved out from their positions on either wall.

  “But this is nuts,” Andrew was saying to Wu. “It proves what I’ve been saying from the beginning.” He got to his feet and spoke up to the court in general, back to his mother. “It’s what I’ve been telling you guys all along . . .”

  Johnson gaveled him quiet. A sharp, loud crack. “I’ll have order in this courtroom. Mr. North, sit down. Mr. Hardy, Ms. Wu, I’m warning you, get your client under control.” Both bailiffs stopped in their tracks for a moment, then Cottrell, with a warning glare at Wu and Hardy, walked out through the bullpen gate and into the gallery.

  Hardy turned and watched Cottrell as he continued back past the Norths and positioned himself by the back door.

  Wu stood up. “But, your honor, surely the import of Mr. Hardy’s—”

  Johnson brought down his gavel again. “Ms. Wu. I said that’s enough.”

  Shaking her head in frustation and anger, Wu shared a look with Hardy, put her hand on Andrew’s arm to calm him, and sat back down. Hardy was still on his feet. “Your honor,” he said, “it’s obvious to everyone in this courtroom that Andrew Bartlett did not kill Mike Mooney.”

  Brandt was up across the room. “Your honor, if it please the court. It’s not obvious to me. I’ve got an eyewitness and a great deal of evidence that says he did. And what about the other victim in this case, Laura Wright? Andrew Bartlett’s girlfriend? Does defense counsel contend that she was on this Mr. Welding’s bad luck jury, too?”

  Hardy spoke to the judge. “Your honor, she was killed because she happened to be there and Mooney’s killer did not want to leave a witness.”

  Johnson used his gavel again, then waited while the courtroom went to complete silence. Finally, he drew a long breath. “Mr. Hardy, I reject your conclusion that your representation rises to the level of proof in the matter before this court. I’ll admit that it does rise to the level of coincidence, and the court does not find that compelling. Also, it doesn’t change the essential fact of the gravity of the offense—Mr. Mooney and Ms. Wright were murdered. The district attorney has not withdrawn the charges against Mr. Bartlett, nor has he conveyed the gravemen of your most recent information to the court or to Mr. Brandt. As I’ve already mentioned several times, this seven-oh-seven is about whether Mr. Bartlett is a juvenile or an adult and that’s all it’s about.”

  “But, your honor—”

  Crack! “Mr. Hardy, your representation is noted for the record. What do you expect me to do, drop the charges?”

  “I don’t think that would be unreasonable, your honor, given the enormity of what you’re calling the coincidence. Mr. Mooney and Ms. Wright were both killed by someone connected to Lucas Welding, and there’s no such connection with Andrew Bartlett.”

  “I understand that that’s your theory, Mr. Hardy. Now do you have another witness, or is it time that I make a ruling?”

  Hardy bit the inside of his mouth hard. Looking down to his right at Andrew, he whispered, “Hang in there,” then came back to the judge and said, “We’d like to call Anna Salarco, your honor.”

  “All right.” Johnson looked to his left—Cottrell’s standard position in the courtroom—and frowned. He turned in the other direction. “Officer Nelson, would you please go out to the hallway and call the witness? Anna Salarco. And while you’re out there, if you see Officer Cottrell, would you ask him if he’d care to join us again in the courtroom?”

  There followed some minutes of confusion. Hardy had told Anna Salarco that they’d call her as a witness as soon as the court was called to session, but then they’d all had the meeting in chambers and Hardy’s representation to the court. In the interim, evidently, both of the Salarcos had left the hallway to go to the bathroom. Maybe Bailiff Cottrell had gone looking for them. In any event, Cottrell was still missing from the courtroom when Anna Salarco finally, and nervously, took the witness stand.

  Hardy walked her through the by-now familiar recital, making sure to memorialize for the record the understanding that the Salarcos thought they had with the police regarding their immigration status, which Hardy believed served as a strong incentive for Juan to refuse to change his story. When they’d finished, Anna’s testimony was all Hardy could have wished for. Just before her husband had gone downstairs and discovered the bodies, she had clearly seen the man leaving the house after the door had slammed, and could not identify him as Andrew. Hardy thanked her and turned her over to Brandt for cross-examination.

  Much to Hardy’s displeasure, Brandt and Anna weren’t complete strangers anymore. Wu told him that when the prosecutor had seen her name on the list, he, too, had called the Salarcos, then gone out to visit with them last night himself. This was why Juan was out in the hallway now, waiting for his chance to talk to the court and possibly refute whatever his wife had said first.

  So Brandt advanced to the witness box with a relaxed demeanor. “Mrs. Salarco,” he began, “how far is it from your window to the sidewalk in front of your house?”

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  “Approximately, then.”

  She shot a glance at Hardy and he nodded with some confidence. This question was not unexpected. “Thirty feet, maybe forty.”

  “Thirty or forty feet, thank you. That’s about the distance from where you’re sitting to the back of this courtroom, is that right?”

  Hardy turned around to check and saw that Brandt wasn’t far off.

  “Something like,” Mrs. Salarco said. “Yes.”

  “And you and your husband live on the second floor of your building, do you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you were looking down at the person you saw?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he was wearing a cowl?” At her confused expression, he mimicked with his hands, and added, “A sweatshirt with a hood over his head?”

  “Sí. Yes.”

  “Did it cover his whole head?”

  Again, she looked at Hardy, and again he nodded. What else could he do? He had to let her tell her story and hope it came out as credible.

  She nodded back at Brandt. “Yes. But not his whole face.”

  “Did it cover part of his face, then?”

  She paused. “Yes.” Then added. “He looked up.”

  God bless her, Hardy thought.

  But Brandt came right back at her. “What do you mean by that, Mrs. Salarco? That he looked up? Do you mean—”

  Hardy stalled to let the witness get composed. “Objection.”

  “Sustained.”

  Brandt was ready, though. “At any time, did the hood come off the man’s head?”

  “No.”

  “It covered the top of his he
ad and part of his face?”

  Hardy stood again, objecting.

  “Sustained.”

  “All right. Let me ask you this, Mrs. Salarco? Was it dark outside at this time? Nighttime?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Yes is sufficient, thank you,” Brandt said, cutting her off. He must have decided that he’d made enough of his point, and switched gears. “Mrs. Salarco, were you present at the police lineup where your husband identified the person who’d been downstairs at Mr. Mooney’s apartment that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you take part in that lineup, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you failed to identify anyone in the lineup as the person you saw that night, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were given a form, and then signed the form, saying you didn’t recognize anyone in the lineup, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Mr. Bartlett, sitting at that table over there”—he turned and pointed—“you did not recognize him?”

  “Your honor.” Hardy was up again.

  “I’m getting to something here, your honor,” Brandt said.

  “All right.” Johnson nodded. “Objection overruled, but get to it.”

  “Mrs. Salarco, when you did not positively identify anyone in the lineup as the man below your window, did you mean that you didn’t know whether it was one of the people in the lineup or not? It might have been or it might not have been. Or did you mean to say that none of those people in the lineup was the man you saw? That is, you could not definitely say that it was Andrew?”

  Her eyes by now filled with fear, Anna Salarco looked to Hardy for support, but there was nothing he could do. She came back to Brandt. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  “Your honor,” Brandt said. “May I rephrase?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Brandt gave her a warm smile and stepped a bit closer to her. “Mrs. Salarco,” he said, “we are trying to understand exactly what it is that you want to tell the court. At the lineup, you said you could not identify anyone, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Did you mean that it could not have been Andrew? That it was impossible that it was Andrew down below you thirty or forty feet away, with a hood over his head on a dark night?”

  “No. Maybe not impossible, but—”

  Brandt rushed her with the follow-up. “So your testimony now is that what you meant to say was that you couldn’t positively identify the person as Andrew? Is that right? That you weren’t sure enough to swear to it.”

  “Sí,” she said. “I could not swear to it that it was him.”

  “Ah.” Brandt rewarded her with a beaming smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Salarco.” He whirled to Hardy. “Redirect.”

  He wanted to take a short recess, perhaps confer with Wu and give Anna a few minutes to collect herself and perhaps realize what she’d said. But he didn’t think he could afford to wait. “Mrs. Salarco,” he began. “Is there a streetlight in front of your house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it on—that is, lit up—when you saw the man come from the downstairs apartment, turn, and look up at you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And could you see the man’s face?”

  “Yes.”

  “And was it Andrew’s face?”

  She stopped, looked for a long time at the defense table, then finally shook her head. “No,” she said. “Was not that boy.”

  During the lunch recess, Hardy stood out in the back lobby making phone calls, to Glitsky, to his wife, to the office. As he was finishing up the last one, he noticed Wu and Brandt sitting on a bench next to the walkway that led up to the cabins. From his vantage, they appeared to be arguing, but there was something about their body language that set Hardy’s alarms jangling. Since there wasn’t a jury that might be influenced by seeing the opposing attorneys schmoozing during lunch, their tête-à-tête wasn’t the breach in trial decorum it might otherwise have been. But still, especially given the Norths’ presence just up the hill in the cabins having lunch with their son, Hardy did not think it presented a picture that would be particularly comforting to the clients.

  He put away his cellphone, walked out the back door, and started to approach them. When he got close, he noticed the silent signal pass from Brandt to Wu, and they both shut up and put on different faces. Hardy gave them both a polite hello.

  “Any word from Glitsky?” Wu asked him.

  “He’s not answering, so I’m assuming he’s too busy. I left a message that we want to know the second he’s got anything firm. Meanwhile, I’m going up to have a word with Andrew and his folks. If I’m not interrupting anything here, you want to come along?”

  Coming from her boss, this wasn’t really a request. Wu hesitated, then stood up and fell in next to him as he continued walking. “He’s not going to call Juan Salarco,” she said.

  Hardy nodded, believing that the decision was the proper one. Though Juan’s testimony might have undercut his wife’s credibility somewhat, in the end his identification of Andrew in the lineup was already on the record, and the differences in the stories and interpretations of the husband and wife were what juries were for. Further, once he got on the stand, Hardy or Wu would have a chance to cross-examine him and perhaps expose other weaknesses that they could later exploit at the trial. “So that’s it for witnesses then?”

  “It looks like.”

  “Then it’s over. We get the ruling when we go back in.” Hardy took a few more steps, then asked, “What were you two arguing about? It wasn’t that he isn’t calling Salarco.”

  “No, it’s that he won’t call Jackman.”

  “Why should he? As his honor was kind enough to point out, if they get anything, Jackman will call him. Mr. Brandt is just playing it out.”

  “A game, right.”

  “Well, in some ways it is a game, Wu. You know that.”

  “Not for Andrew,” she said.

  “No, though it was when you started with him, wasn’t it?”

  Her shoulders fell with the truth of that. “It’s just that keeping track of when it’s a game and when it’s not”—she broke a weary smile—“it can wear a girl out.” They hadn’t yet reached the gate that enclosed the cabins, and Wu stopped walking. “But this is just so clearly wrong, don’t you think? Andrew didn’t kill anybody.”

  “No. I don’t believe he did either.”

  “That’s what I asked Jason, whether or not he believed it. He said that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want to go there.”

  “He’s right. His job right now is to present the petitioner’s argument.”

  “Even if he knows it’s wrong?”

  “Even then. And in this case, he doesn’t know he’s wrong. He’s just a lot more likely to be wrong than he used to be.”

  “And so Andrew winds up screwed again?”

  “You don’t want to be screwed, don’t get in the system. But for the time being, that’s what it looks like. But it won’t last much longer, I don’t think.”

  Wu bit her lip, shook her head. “This is all my fault, you know that? Every bit of it. If I hadn’t been so arrogant and stupid, Johnson might be listening to all this new information with an open mind, instead of being so blind . . . I mean, what if Andrew had succeeding in killing himself? That would have been completely my fault. And now, every extra minute that he spends in jail . . .”

  Hardy stopped her. “You thought you were doing what was best for your client. That’s the job.”

  “But he wasn’t guilty.”

  “You didn’t know that. You thought he was.”

  “I always thought they were. They always have been before.”

  “Okay, so maybe you won’t think that anymore. It’s not all about strategy and leverage. Sometimes—not often, I grant you, but sometimes—it’s about the truth.”

  The small visitors’ room was too small for all of them, so Baili
ff Nelson had accompanied Andrew, Hardy, Wu and the Norths back down the hill to the courtroom, where they now sat. “But this makes no sense at all,” Linda North said. “We know that Mr. Mooney and Laura were both killed by this Executioner, don’t we?” She looked around at them all, wide-eyed. “Don’t we all know that? Is it just me?”

  Hardy nodded. “No, it’s not just you, and yes, we know it. But we don’t have proof.”

  “What more proof would we need?” Hal asked.

  “Physical evidence,” Hardy said. “We know that they’ve matched the slugs that killed at least three of the Executioner’s victims. I’m asking the police to take another pass at Mooney’s place, try to find the slugs. Either they’ll do it or I’ll find some investigators and pay them to.”

  “But what if nobody finds them?” Linda asked.

  “Then maybe they’ll find this Executioner and he’ll confess to killing Mooney. Or maybe Juan Salarco could withdraw his ID. Any of those would be good.”

  “But what if,” Linda went on, “what if we don’t get any of them? Are you saying they won’t let Andrew go?”

  “They still might, yes,” Hardy said. “But they might not.”

  “And in the meanwhile,” Andrew said in his damaged voice, “what happens to me?”

  “I’ll be here,” his mother said to him. “I’ll be here every day.”

  “We’ll both be here,” Hal added.

  Hardy put a hand on the young man’s arm, gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve got to ask you to sit tight awhile longer. You think you can do that? This is going to work out. I promise you. We’re almost done.”

  Hal couldn’t let it go. “But the judge must know now, doesn’t he? I mean, the coincidence is so great it really couldn’t be anything else.”

  “In fact,” Hardy said, “it could be something else. Somebody else besides the Executioner could have had a motive to kill Mooney, or Laura, though I wouldn’t bet on it. But Andrew’s guilt or innocence isn’t what this hearing is about anyway.”

  “And meanwhile he sits in jail,” his mother said.