Motion for Murder (34 page)

The file was not as mountainous as I feared. Mike pointed to a small table in the office lobby, and we brought over the two file folders the clerk had given me. I knew they must have backup copies somewhere, but the clerk watched us surreptitiously to make sure we didn't run off with the file.

"So what kind of case are you working on?" Mike asked.

I pointed to the name on the file folder.

"State versus Masterson," he mouthed. Mike thought about it for a second and then pulled open the file. He dug out the criminal complaint and began reading. "What exactly are you planning to do with this file?"

"I'm friends with Rachel Hannity, George Hannity's widow. She's asked me to take another look."

He folded his arms and bobbed his head seriously. "Uh huh. Take another look at what?"

"She's thinking about a civil case," I said nonchalantly. "Her lawyer thinks they can get a judgment if I can get a little more evidence."

"Wow." He sounded genuinely impressed. "That's kind of a big deal."

No shit
it's a big deal
, I thought.

We pawed through the binders in silence, like two teenagers on a study date. I wasn't looking for anything specific in the court's file, but my conversation with Les Trondheim had convinced me that I didn't know half of what I needed to know about the case. My half of the file contained pretty standard stuff, much of it in the form of pre-trial motions. In college I had spent most of a semester shadowing a criminal defense lawyer, and that was enough for me to forget law school forever. Despite what you see on TV, most legal work involves pushing papers around. The Masterson case didn't seem any different. There had been some motions about juror sequestration and suppressing evidence, but nothing too interesting.

The transcripts of the trial were more helpful. One officer described the gruesome crime scene, a stoplight intersection halfway between the city and George and Rachel's home in the suburbs. I hoped Rachel wasn't forced to listen to that line of gory testimony.

Mike cleared his throat. "The DA called your friend Rachel to the stand about halfway through the trial, and Cody's lawyer made about a million objections along the way."

"Who was his lawyer?"

"Charlie Frank. He's—"

"I know who he is. He was the mob's lawyer, wasn't he?"

"One of the best," Mike said. He had me read a section of the transcript that looked pretty damning for Masterson. Rachel was on the stand testifying that her husband, like most people, would not pause at an intersection and roll down the window for a complete stranger in the middle of the night. The assailant had to be someone he knew, or at least recognized.

"Well," I said, "that kind of blows up the defense's whole car-jacking theory. George wasn't the sort of guy who would stop to chat with a stranger in the middle of the night."

"Nobody is."

Mike sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "Add to that the gun found at his house, and the fact that the killer had to be someone, like Cody, who Hannity knew. And there wasn't really another plausible theory to sell to the jury, either."

"Maybe I can quit right now," I said, only half-joking.

"I wouldn't. You only get one chance at a civil trial, and you don't want to go in unless you've got something rock solid."

Maybe Mike wasn't as dumb as he seemed.

I had read enough of the transcript, and I knew I would have voted to convict Cody Masterson. It was 11:15, and Mike excused himself to leave for court. I thanked him and flashed a big smile. He didn't blush.

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