Kerrigan wanted to turn down the case but what excuse would he give Jack? He couldn't tell him about Ally Bennett.
"Can we resolve the case with a plea?" Kerrigan asked. "There's no defense in Wendell's case. His lawyer is going to offer a plea in exchange for a life sentence."
Stamm shook his head. "We don't plead this one. That little punk killed a United States senator. Then he had the audacity to murder one of the state's most prominent attorneys in our own fucking jail. I'm sorry, Tim, but my mind's made up. This son of a bitch invaded our home. He's going to death row and you're going to take him there."
Maria Lopez walked into Tim's office as soon as he returned from his meeting with Jack Stamm. Many of the other deputies had left, and the sky outside Tim's window was edging toward gray.
"Do you have a minute?" Maria asked.
"Sure."
"There's a rumor that you've been tapped to prosecute Jon Dupre."
"It's not a rumor," Kerrigan sighed. "I'm it."
Maria focused all of her energy on Kerrigan.
"I want to second-chair. I want a chance to help put him away."
"I don't know . . ."
"Who knows more about Dupre than me? I'll be able to tell you who'll make a good witness in the penalty phase, where to find everything you need to show future dangerousness." She tapped her temple. "It's all up here, ready to go. Anyone else will need to spend hours finding out what I can tell you right now."
What Maria said was true, but she had no experience in trying a death-penalty case. On the other hand, her passion would help her put in the sixteen-hour days, seven days a week, that were standard operating procedure when you were asking the state to execute a human being.
"Alright," he said. "You've got it. You're second chair."
Lopez grinned. "You won't regret this, boss. We'll get Dupre, I promise you. We'll put him down."
Tim Kerrigan called Hugh Curtin a little after seven. Hugh was an unmarried workaholic and Tim knew that he'd meet him for a drink anytime, anywhere, if he didn't have a date with one of his many girlfriends. They agreed to meet at the Hardball, a workingman's bar near the baseball stadium, because the patrons minded their own business and the odds of running into someone they knew were mighty low.
Tim waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark before scanning the bar for his friend. It only took a few seconds to spot Hugh in a booth toward the rear. Hugh poured Kerrigan a tall one from a large pitcher as soon as he saw him. Tim slid into the booth and downed half of it. As soon as he put down the mug, Curtin topped it off.
"So," Curtin said, "are you going to explain why you're interfering with my twenty-eighth viewing of Predator, starring my all-time favorite action hero, Jesse 'The Body' Ventura?"
"I need your advice."
"Of course you do."
Curtin emptied the pitcher and signaled for another. In college, Tim had seen "Huge" chug a pitcher with no ill effects.
"I had my monthly dinner with my father at the Westmont."
"And survived."
Tim nodded. "We didn't dine alone. He invited Burton Rommel and Harvey Grant." He paused. "The party wants me to run for Harold Travis's seat in the next election."
Curtin paused with his mug halfway to his lips. "You're kidding!"
"Don't you think I could do it?" Kerrigan asked anxiously.
"Of course you could do it. Look at the morons who've served in Congress. It's just a shock. Fuck, if you became a senator I'd have to be civil to you. You could have the IRS audit my goddamn taxes."
Kerrigan smiled.
"The real question is, should you do it? There's a ton of prestige that goes with the position, and the chance to do a lot of good for a lot of people. But being a senator is a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. You'd never be home. Megan would miss you. You'd miss a lot of her growing up. Still, the chance to be a United States senator . . . It's a tough call. What does Cindy want you to do?"
"She wants me to run."
"I don't suppose there's any question about what your old man wants?"
"He wants me to go for the gold. I thought the top of his head was going to pop off when I didn't jump at the offer."
"But you told him you're thinking about it?"
"Oh, yeah. I didn't want him to have a coronary."
"It would mean a lot to him, Tim."
"Yeah, he could brag about having a senator in the family."
"He wants what's best for you."
"He wants what's best for William Kerrigan."
"You're being hard on him."
"He's a hard man. He always has been. No matter what I did it was never enough. Not even winning that goddamn trophy. It became so much tin to him when I didn't go pro and cash in.
"And he was never around when Mom was dying." Tim took a drink, then continued. He looked down at the tabletop. "I always suspected that he was spending time with one of his women. I still can't imagine it. My mother is wasting away from cancer and he's balling some bimbo."
"You don't know that."
"No, not for certain. But he sure married number two fast enough."
Kerrigan could never bring himself to say the name of the woman who had succeeded his mother as mistress of the house.
"Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm being unfair to him, but what business deal could be so important that he couldn't put it off? Mom was dying, for Christ's sake. He knew she only had a little time left. Didn't he want to spend it with her?"
"So Cindy wants you to run," Hugh said to distract his friend. "Your father wants you to run and the party wants you to run. What do you want to do?"
"I don't know if I can handle being a senator." Hugh could see the pain in his friend's eyes. "Why me, Huge?"
"I'm going to tell you the answer, but you won't like it."
"That's why I'm asking you. You're always straight with me."
"They're asking you because they think you can win and that's all that counts in politics. And they think you can win because you're 'The Flash.' And it's time you got comfortable with the fact that 'The Flash' is always going to be part of who you are, whether you like it or not. It's almost ten years since you got the Heisman. I know you think you didn't earn it, but there are a lot of people--including me--who think you did. And it's about time you came to grips with that and moved on.
"Look at it this way. This is a chance to start from scratch, to do some good, to see if you really are 'The Flash.' And I think that's what scares you. You're worried that you'll win and won't be able to handle the job.
"You've heard me quote Oliver Wendell Holmes more than once. 'Life is passion and action and each man must take part in the passion and action of his times at peril of being judged not to have lived.' I believe that. You've been hiding in the DA's office trying to avoid being noticed, but you've got to come out sometime. It'll be scary, pal. You'll be risking failure. But who knows, maybe you'll surprise yourself."
Chapter Sixteen.
Nightmares wrecked Amanda's sleep and she was drenched in sweat when she awoke in the dark, exhausted and slightly nauseous, an hour before her alarm was set to go off. Amanda usually started the day with calisthenics, occasionally followed by a decadent pancake breakfast at a cafe that had been a neighborhood fixture since the fifties. This morning, she settled for an ice-cold shower, a toasted bagel, and tea.
Amanda's loft in the Pearl, a former warehouse district, was a brisk fifteen-minute walk from her office. She left her car in the garage in hopes that the cool weather and mild exercise would calm her anxiety. She would be sitting opposite a violent killer later this morning but, she reminded herself, it would not be the same person who had inspired the horrors that had invaded last night's sleep. That person was dead. Jon Dupre would be manacled, and Kate Ross would be with her in the interview room. Logically, there was no reason to worry, but she still felt light-headed when she arrived at the law offices of Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi. The fear stayed with her while she worked--a tiny insect she co
uld feel skittering across the pit of her stomach no matter how hard she tried to distract herself.
Kate Ross had picked up the discovery in the Travis and Hayes cases from the district attorney's office, and it was waiting on Amanda's desk when she arrived. Amanda read the police reports first and avoided looking at the crime scene and autopsy photographs until she could no longer put off the task.
Amanda spread the photos of Harold Travis's and Wendell Hayes's bodies on her desk, praying that they would not trigger a flashback. She told herself that viewing the pictures was part of her job--an unpleasant part, but an important part. Amanda took slow breaths as she studied the crime-scene photos. She had read the autopsy reports and went through the autopsy photos quickly. When she was done, she shoved the photos into the case file and noticed that her hands were trembling. She closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair, and tried to relax. The worst was over--she'd seen the pictures and had not had a flashback--but still Amanda wondered if she had made a mistake when she agreed to accept the Dupre case.
Amanda and Kate arrived at the Justice Center at ten-thirty. They showed their IDs to the guard at the jail reception desk, and Amanda asked for a contact visit with Jon Dupre. The guard made a phone call. As soon as he hung up, he told Amanda that Jail Commander Matthew Guthrie wanted to speak to her. A few minutes later, Guthrie lumbered into the reception area. He was in his early fifties, a bright-eyed Irishman with salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders, and the beginning of a beer gut.
"Morning, Amanda."
"Good morning, Matt. Is this a social call?"
"Afraid not. I'm not allowing contact visits with Dupre. I wanted to tell you in person because I know you're gonna scream and holler."
"You got that right. I don't want to talk to my client through a sheet of bulletproof glass like he's some sort of animal."
"Well there's your problem," Guthrie answered calmly. "Dupre is an animal. The last time we let him have a contact visit with one of your brethren he stabbed him in the eye and cut his throat. I'm not giving him the opportunity to do it again. And before you say it, it's not because you're of the female persuasion. I didn't know who was gonna get stuck with this dreamboat when I made the prohibition."
"Look, Matt, I appreciate your concern for my safety, but I need to meet face-to-face with Dupre if I'm going to establish trust between us. The first meeting is very important. If he thinks I'm afraid of him he won't open up to me."
"I'm not changing my mind on this. One dead attorney on my watch is enough."
"You can manacle him. And Kate's with me. She's an ex-cop and she's very good at self-defense."
Guthrie shook his head. "Sorry, Amanda, but I'm sticking to my guns. It's a noncontact visit or nothing."
"I can get a court order."
"You'll have to."
Amanda saw that it was useless to argue and she knew that Guthrie meant well.
"I'll take what I can get, for now, but I'm going right to Judge Robard as soon as I'm through."
Guthrie nodded. "I expected you would. No hard feelings I hope?"
"This just reinforces my opinion that you're a narrow-minded redneck," Amanda said with a smile.
"And proud of it," Guthrie laughed. Then he sobered. "You watch yourself with this son of a bitch. Don't let him con you and don't you let your guard down for an instant. Jon Dupre is very, very dangerous."
"Don't worry, Matt. He's one client I am definitely not going to underestimate."
"Okay, then." He stuck out a massive paw, which Amanda shook. "Say hi to your dad for me."
Guthrie left and Amanda showed the contents of her briefcase to the guard, then went through the metal detector. As she waited for Kate to follow, Amanda had to admit that she was relieved that there would be a concrete wall and bulletproof glass between her and Jon Dupre.
The noncontact visiting room was so narrow that Kate Ross had to stand behind Amanda with her back pressed against the door. Amanda sat in a gray metal bridge chair and rested her notepad and file on a ledge that projected out from a wall that was directly in front of her. The bottom of the wall was concrete and the top was bulletproof glass. It was impossible to hear through the glass, so attorney and client communicated through phones attached to the wall on both sides.
A door opened on the other side of the glass, and a guard pushed Jon Dupre into an identical space. Amanda's first impression of her new client was that he was handsome and hyperalert. Dupre's ankles were shackled, which forced him to shuffle forward unsteadily. The prisoner riveted his eyes to Amanda's, and they stayed on her. It was unnerving, but Amanda sensed fear as well as aggression. When he drew closer, she saw that Dupre's eyes were red and swollen, and there were bruises on his face.
The guard pressed Dupre down onto his chair and left. The jumpsuit her client was wearing was short-sleeved. He placed his manacled hands on the metal ledge, revealing a row of stitches on his right forearm and cuts on the sides of his fingers on both hands.
Amanda forced a smile as she picked up the receiver of her phone and gestured for Dupre to do the same.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked.
"I'm Amanda Jaffe and I've been asked by the court to be your attorney."
"Jesus, they sent me a cunt for a lawyer. Why don't they just give me my lethal injection now."
Amanda stopped smiling. "You've been appointed a cunt for a lawyer, Mr. Dupre, because all the swinging dicks were too scared to take your case."
"And you're not?" Dupre said, tapping the receiver against the bulletproof glass.
"The jail commander wouldn't let us meet face-to-face. As soon as I'm through here, I'm going across the street to the courthouse to get an order forcing him to let us meet in a contact room."
Dupre pointed the receiver at Kate. "Is she your bodyguard?"
"No, Mr. Dupre. She's your investigator. Now, are you going to keep testing me or can we get down to work? I've got a number of questions I'd like to ask you. You're in a lot of trouble. You murdered a prominent attorney and you're looking at a very real possibility of a death sentence."
Dupre sprang to his feet, leaning against the ledge to maintain his balance. Even though there was a wall between them, Amanda pushed her chair back, stunned by Dupre's sudden rage.
"I didn't murder anyone and I don't need a DA's flunky for an attorney. Get the fuck out."
"Mr. Dupre," Amanda shouted into the phone. Dupre smashed the receiver against the glass, struggled to the rear wall, and slammed his manacled hands against the steel door. The door opened and the guard stepped back to let Dupre into the hall that led to his cell. Amanda sagged onto her chair.
"What an asshole," Kate said.
Amanda gathered her papers, her eyes still on the door through which her client had disappeared.
"What are you going to do now?" Kate asked as she opened the door into the hall.
"I'm going to give Dupre time to cool off while I get a court order from Robard. Then I'll set up a contact meeting and hope it goes a little better."
"Good luck."
"Meanwhile, you and I will draw up a game plan for the trial and the penalty phase."
Kate pressed the button for the elevator.
"We should spend most of our time on figuring out how to keep the jury from sentencing Dupre to death. I've read the police reports. I don't think that the guilt phase is going to take too long."
"That's negative thinking," Amanda answered with a tired smile. "We don't do that at Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi."
"Hey, I'm positive. I've even got a few theories of defense. Martians may have beamed powerful thought rays through the concrete walls, which forced Dupre to chop up Mr. Hayes, and the Sci Fi channel had this movie about demonic possession. I'll write for their research file."
The elevator took them down to the reception area of the jail. When the doors opened they could see a group of reporters milling around.
"Oh, shit," Amanda said. "Someone tipped them off."
The reporters shouted questions at Amanda as she walked through reception. She stopped in the lobby. The lights from one of the TV cameras blinded her for a moment, and she squinted.
"Are you representing Jon Dupre?" one reporter asked.
"Did you meet with him face-to-face?"
Amanda held up her hand and the questions stopped.
"Judge Robard asked me to represent Mr. Dupre and I've just come from a meeting with him . . . ."
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