Eyes of a Child (45 page)

‘Yes.'

Caroline's expression became admiring; the look was something that Salinas as a man, could not pull off. ‘And you also worked?'

Duarte nodded. With a note of mingled pride and resentment, he said, ‘Summers and nights. Except for scholarships, I paid for the whole deal myself.'

‘Does any of that lead you to resent others who, as Mr Paget did, had it so much easier?'

Duarte shrugged. ‘Resent? Let's put it this way. I'd hire
me
before I'd hire them – it's all about what I call ‘walking-around sense,' ‘knowing how to cope. But I don't want my kids to work like I did, and I'm not going to resent them when they don't.'

Caroline smiled. ‘Then they're fortunate, because lots of parents do. But what about a stranger, like Mr Paget?'

Duarte gave her a sardonic look. ‘Well,' he said, ‘I
did
notice he had a Latina girlfriend.'

All at once Paget was on edge: it was impossible to tell whether this was a satiric gibe at Caroline for doubting the objectivity of a nonwhite; an expression of dislike for the rich man who became involved with Richie's wife; or a grudging concession that, in at least one area of his life, Paget was himself not biased. Caroline put her hands on her hips, smiling at Duarte as if he had her complete interest. ‘Are you determined to be hard on me, Mr Duarte?'

He spread his hands. ‘It's like this,' he said, in the tone of someone whose patience was being tested. ‘I didn't like being judged on ethnicity, all right? So even if other people do it,
I
don't. I came here to listen to the facts and make a judgment. Just like I do in my business.'

To Paget, the response sounded grudging. Though Duarte might try to be fair, he would make no connection with Paget as a person – he had not ever mentioned Paget's name. But Caroline was giving him a look which managed to suggest that Duarte had impressed her deeply. Paget surprised himself with the thought that his lawyer was a very attractive woman and, for all her air of certainty, a subtle one. Without a word, she was having an effect on Duarte: his face eased, and his gaze at Caroline became equable again.

‘Thank you,' Caroline told him quietly. ‘I appreciate your time, and your patience.'

Her voice carried an undertone of respect; it suggested that she had met someone interesting and that he had won her over with his fairness. It was not until she turned away from Duarte, eyes narrowed in doubt, that Paget saw the extent of her artifice.

‘Mr Salinas?' Lerner asked.

Salinas stood. Firmly, he answered, ‘The people pass Mr. Duarte.'

When Caroline reached the defense table, Moore leaned forward. ‘Take him,' he whispered, ‘and you're looking at the jury foreman.'

Caroline nodded. ‘Beginning to miss Mr Rhee?' she whispered to Paget.

‘You bet. This guy says he'll judge me fairly. But class and race are like a little worm inside him.'

‘I know that.'

‘Ms Masters?' Judge Lerner said from the bench.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Please, Your Honor, a moment.'

Her tone was unintentionally curt, and she did not wait for an answer. As if sensing the strain of the decision, Lerner folded his hands and waited.

‘There's another thing,' Paget murmured to Caroline. ‘At least to a point, this guy could be Ricardo Arias – the disadvantaged Latin, struggling to make it. On some level, he may feel like it's
his
wife I “stole.” Which is one way to decipher that little crack of his.'

Caroline looked at him intently. ‘But he
isn't
like Richie, and we can turn it around if he believes that Richie was a bum. And the race thing works both ways, Chris – we've bumped every Latin male on the panel.'

‘So why keep this one?'

‘Because we've got two Asians next, and based on Johnny's data, both of them look bad to me. This guy believes he's made a commitment to me, and – whatever else goes on inside him – he'll try to honor it as a point of pride.'

‘Ms Masters?' Lerner asked again.

Ignoring him, she gazed at Paget. ‘Last juror, Chris, remember? It's judgment time, and I want to make the call.'

He had seconds to decide. Paget felt himself draw breath. Softly, he answered, ‘This is no time for pride, Caroline. Yours or mine.'

Caroline studied him until she understood what he was telling her. Then she nodded, her expression grave and troubled. But when she turned, facing Joseph Duarte, the look she gave him was one of triumph and complicity. ‘The defense,' she said, ‘passes Mr Duarte.'

Duarte gave her a short nod, as if his honor had been satisfied. Watching, Paget saw Victor Salinas smile to himself.

‘Then we have a jury,' Judge Lerner said. ‘Thank you, Counsel
and
, of course, the ladies and gentlemen of the panel. The trial will commence tomorrow at nine, with opening statements. The clerk will now swear the jury.'

Lerner's clerk stepped forward facing the jury and instructed them to raise their right hands. ‘Do you solemnly swear,' he intoned, ‘that you will well and truly try this case, based on the law and facts, and render a true verdict, so help you God?'

In ragged chorus, the jurors affirmed the oath. Lerner's gavel cracked. ‘All rise,' the stubby bailiff called out, and Jared Lerner left the bench.

There was noise again, jurors stirring, reporters talking amongst themselves or leaving to file stories. Victor Salinas made his way across the courtroom with a look of undistinguished pleasure. Ignoring Paget, he said to Caroline, ‘The district attorney would like to see you. I think it's time, don't you?'

Still sitting, Paget looked up at him. ‘Sure,' he said before Caroline could speak. ‘I haven't seen Mac in months.'

Salinas turned to him with a neutral expression. ‘I don't think he was asking you.'

‘And
I
didn't ask to be here. If Brooks wants to talk, he can damned well talk to both of us.'

In mute appeal, Salinas looked at Caroline. Paget was sure that she did not want him there. But Caroline simply said, ‘Where I go, Chris goes.'

‘I hear the jury's for shit,' McKinley Brooks said in matter-of-fact tones. ‘Unless you're Victor.'

Caroline gave a generous smile, which took in both Brooks and Salinas. ‘Victor's very excitable. He also has a sporadic hearing problem.'

Salinas moved his mouth in a perfunctory smile of his own. ‘Don't kid a kidder,' Brooks responded. ‘We basically got the folks we wanted, and your risk of losing just shot up. Even,' he added pointedly, ‘if you got the
judge
you wanted, however you pulled
that
off.' He leaned back. ‘Jared Lerner lets in everything, and damn the rules of evidence. You think you can win by attacking Arias, and maybe this office. But Victor's more than ready for a fistfight, if that's what you want. This is our last chance to work things out before the free-for-all begins.'

It was past six o'clock; the windows were dark, and the room was the sickly yellow of artificial light. Although Caroline and Paget sat across Brooks's desk, with Salinas next to Brooks, they spoke as if Paget were not there. He sensed that this was more than aversion to talking in front of a defendant; Brooks and Paget had once been nominal friends, and the handling of the inquiry seemed to have made Brooks uncomfortable. ‘What do you have in mind?' Caroline asked him.

Brooks leaned back, folding his hands across his stomach. ‘We might consider,' he said carefully, ‘dropping this to murder two.'

Caroline raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you intend to do that? Say that Richie composed his own suicide note and then Chris decided to help him in a spontaneous fit of rage?'

It was eerie, Paget thought, to listen to himself being bargained over. But he was glad that Caroline seemed unimpressed; it was what he would have done. ‘Come
on
,' Brooks was saying. ‘Have you ever seen a judge turn down a deal that lawyers recommended, no matter how bogus?
Our
problem is politics – persuading the public we haven't sold poor dead Richie down the river.'

‘Oh, you can fix
that
part,' Caroline rejoined. ‘So, bottom line . . .'

‘Fifteen to life, plus three for using a gun, which means Chris is eligible for parole after twelve. We'll tell the court we think that he acted under emotional stress, due to all the problems with Richie, and remind Lerner of what we have to prove for first-degree murder: “calm and careful reflection,” the “considered decision to kill,” evidence of planning in advance – all that stuff.'

‘Which,' Salinas interjected, ‘is more than
you
can argue, isn't it, Caroline?'

Caroline turned to him. ‘You'll have to explain that.'

‘I think you're going with suicide.' Salinas gave her a derisive smile. ‘Once you do that, your choices narrow. You can't just tell the jury, “We think Arias killed himself, but if Chris
did
kill him, it was because he was all excited.” I mean it just doesn't work, does it? Especially' – he shot his first quick glance at Paget – ‘because your client has the little problem about testifying. If he
doesn't
testify, there's no one to say it wasn't murder one. And if he
does
, he has to say either that he didn't do it or that he did, but only in a blind rage.' He gave Caroline another smile. ‘Without a deal, your client's choice is not guilty – probably by trying to sell this bullshit about suicide – or being convicted of murder one and going away for twenty-five to life. because no parole board will let him out any earlier.'

It was, Paget thought miserably, a telling description of the box he was in. ‘There is another choice,' he said. ‘Maybe
Mac
could testify.'

These, his first words, brought a reluctant gaze from Brooks. In a tone that suggested he was humoring Paget, Brooks responded, ‘What about?'

‘All the conversations you had with people about this case.' Paget paused, adding mildly, ‘Beyond the ones with people in law enforcement, that is.'

Brooks examined his hands as if they were of real interest. ‘Why don't you tell me what that means.'

‘Manslaughter,' Caroline said in her most astringent voice. ‘Three years max. Assuming that Chris condescends to take it.'

Salinas looked from Caroline to Brooks; Paget could see him wondering what the district attorney had not told him. ‘I'm not prepared to give you manslaughter,' Brooks said slowly. ‘The papers would kill me for it.'

Caroline shook her head. ‘Oh, McKinley,' she said. ‘It really is a thankless business isn't it? Carrying water for the mighty.'

Brooks's face grew hard. ‘There's nothing there,' he said tersely. ‘And I'd hate to see you play with matches. You could get burned.'

‘
Someone
might.' Caroline's eyes glinted. ‘As for me, I'm going home tonight, turn out the lights, and lie there in the dark wondering what I
ever
did to make you think I'd sell my soul for a politician I wouldn't wipe my floor with.'

Brooks seemed to sit back in his chair, and then he gave her a wintry smile. ‘You always were the cat who walks alone, Caroline.'

She looked him in the face. ‘I still am.'

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Brooks's gaze broke, moving from Caroline to Paget and back again. ‘You're going to lose,' he said to Caroline. ‘Murder two is the best I can offer.'

She turned to Paget. ‘Is this even worth discussing?'

‘No,' Paget answered softly, then turned to Brooks. ‘And no. Because you fucked with me, Mac. You trashed my home, scared my kid, and hassled Terri and her six-year-old daughter. All so
you
could curry a little favor with Colt by running me out of politics.' He paused. ‘And because, eyewitness or no,
I didn't do it
.'

Salinas was quick to ask, ‘Does that mean that you're going to testify?'

For another moment, Paget kept looking at Brooks. ‘I don't know,' he said to Salinas. ‘It depends on whether you catch my interest.'

Salinas sat back studying him.

‘Is that all, McKinley?' Caroline asked.

Brooks slowly nodded. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘I guess that's all.'

Caroline and Paget stood. ‘See you tomorrow,' Salinas said brusquely, and opened the door.

Without another word, Caroline and Paget walked to the elevator.

Alone with him in the elevator, Caroline expelled a deep breath. Somehow, Paget thought, she looked smaller.

‘You're doing a great job,' Paget said.

Caroline gave him a half smile. She said nothing.

They reached the underground garage. Caroline walked beside him to her car, still silent. She unlocked the door, and then stood there as if seized by a thought, turning back to Paget. ‘Buy me a drink, Chris, and tell me we did the right thing.'

For a moment, he thought, Caroline Masters looked tired and a little lonely. Paget shook his head. ‘I have to get back to Carlo. You understand.'

‘Of course.'

Paget looked at her. Impulsively, gently, he kissed her on the forehead, and then looked into her questioning eyes. ‘We did the right thing, Caroline. No matter what happens.'

‘Want to shoot some hoops?' Paget asked.

Carlo pushed his chair back from the dining room table, stretching his legs and studying his father with veiled eyes. In the almost ten years they had lived together, Paget had recently calculated, they had eaten perhaps three thousand dinners in this same room – usually just the two of them, sitting under the eighteenth-century crystal chandelier at a walnut table that seated twelve – discussing the events of the day, or sports, or politics or Carlo's school friends or whatever came to mind. Paget had reviewed Carlo's second-grade math homework there; admired the watercolor that won the school art contest when Carlo was ten; helped him write his first term paper and fill out his applications to high school. Since his arrest, every moment with Carlo seemed to resonate with earlier moments; sitting here, it seemed to Paget that he had watched Carlo grow up at this table.