Untitled (24 page)

  These moments always fascinated Marshall. Power was awesome when you were so close to it. Most people lived their lives believing that there is some Great Authority out there that protected fairness and assured justice. In reality, it was not true. People made the laws and executed them. People printed the newspapers and swayed public opinion. And these people, these men and women, were just as fallible, weak, stupid, and susceptible to pressure as any of us. The only Great Authority of life was money, power, and the inborn instinct for self-preservation.

  This made Marshall more worried than Nate or Toby. If anyone found out that his brother had information on the Douglas case, he was through in the department. Toby would have his ass for not telling her, and Langworthy would disbar him for nondisclosure. They would have to. Someone would have to pay so that the myth of the Great Authority would be served.

  "So, when do we get the results of the DNA tests?" asked Toby.

  "Maybe today," said Marshall. "Mbutu wanted the doctor limited to DNA testing only. We agreed, of course."

  "If that test is negative for him, we'll all look like fools," said Toby.

  "It won't be," said Nate. "Everything I know tells me it was him up there."

  "I agree with Nate," said Marshall.

  "And if it is positive," said Toby, "then we quickly go in for the kill."

  "You should know, Toby, that Rashad wants to speed the trial up," said Marshall.

  "Why? We're already on a fast track," said Nate Williams.

  "Yes," said Marshall. "But it seems that they want to go even faster. He wants to go in a month."

  "What's that bastard up to?" Toby asked aloud. "He's making every wrong move in this case."

  "Maybe Rashad's lost it," said Nate. "After all he's been through in the past years, losing a child, mental breakdown, it's conceivable he's not the man he used to be."

  "I don't think so," said Toby. "I saw that man on a spe cial segment of
Nightline
last month. He was talking about criminal procedure. His analysis of the Constitution, its laws, and their application was the most brilliant, thoughtprovoking legal analysis I'd ever heard. I don't believe for one minute that he's lost his faculties. He just wants us to think he has."

  "I've decided not to take him up on his offer," said Marshall. "It gives him too much control over what we do and when we do it. Langworthy will only go that fast if the government agrees."

  There was silence on the phone line for a moment. Faintly, Marshall could hear the soft crackle of the phone's connection.

  "Agree to the motion," said Toby.

  "Excuse me?" said Marshall.

  "Stipulate with Rashad to speed things up. I think he's trying to use the media to his advantage. Think about it. Normally, it's the defense that drags a case along, trying to let memories lapse, evidence get stale. Rashad has already tipped his hand: conspiracy. What better way to bolster this theory than by yelling to the world that his case is so strong that he's ready to go now."

  "Are you sure, Toby?" asked Nate. It was rare for him to question her, and he looked concerned about it.

  "With all due respect—" began Marshall.

  "You know, I hate that term," said Toby, cutting him off. " 'With all due respect.' What it really means is: I think you're full of shit. Don't 'duly respect me' Marshall, just do it, and get your team on its toes, because when I go to trial, I mean business."

  Marshall glanced at Nate to see if there were any signs of support in his eyes.

  Nate was silent, which meant he was agreeing with her, or had been steamrolled. Either way, Marshall was fighting a losing battle.

  "Yes, ma'am," said Marshall. "I'll let Rashad know today."

  "Prepare a stipulation and have it ready," said Toby. "If he backs off, then we leak it to the public. If he signs it, we go to trial ASAP."

  "Looks like we got a live one," said Nate. He smiled, but Marshall could still see the concern in his eyes.

  "Yes, let's see what he's made of," said Toby, finishing the thought.

  They were quite a pair, Marshall thought. They seemed of the same mind at times. When they were together, he noticed that their body language complemented each other. Toby leaned toward him, and vice versa. It was as if they were married, or joined in some other way beyond a professional relationship.

  Nate and Toby had known each other for many years and were both happily married to their respective spouses. So Marshall didn't think they were involved sexually. Still, there was something between them, these two, something deep, mysterious, and just a little disturbing.

  This was Marshall's last chance to stop this foolhardy move, but looking at Nate's complete compliance at this moment told him that he'd be running into a brick wall.

  For a second, he considered telling them everything that he suspected, that the Johnson double murder was a setup, his brother knew valuable information, and the CIA was creeping around like ghosts. It seemed as if someone was trying hard to make sure that he didn't lose this already very winnable case. But he let the thought go. This case was a career-maker, and even though he considered himself a maverick, he was no fool. There are some things that a lawyer doesn't do, and pulling the attorney general into a crazy conspiracy theory was probably number one on the list.

  "I'm on it," Marshall said.

  He left Nate's office and went back to his own. On his desk were two messages from Chemin. She'd called from her office at Hallogent and wanted him to call back. The last one was marked URGENT. He picked up the messages and looked at them with a sense of doom. What did she want? Lately, she never called him at the office. He feared the very worst.

  He picked up the phone, then put it back down. He was afraid, scared of what she wanted. A divorce? More therapy? He didn't need that trouble in his life right now. It was far from courageous, but he'd wait and talk with her later after he got back home.

  Marshall decided instead to call Danny. Danny's case was going well, so far. The man he'd beaten pled guilty to the robbery and assault charge, but he was suing the city. He knew he was screwed on the robbery charge and wanted only to get the money in the police misconduct case.

  If the city could get rid of the case, then Danny could be in the clear. The city didn't like to fry cops, but they hated to write large checks to plaintiffs.

  Danny was in pretty good spirits when he picked up the phone. "Hey man," he said to Marshall. "You're in the paper every day."

  "Don't remind me," said Marshall. "That escape cost me."

  "Don't panic. Moses is like a fuckin' bad penny. He'll turn up again, and when he does, somebody will put him down for good. Just wish it could be me."

  "I just called to see how you were doing," said Marshall.

  "Okay," said Danny. "Hangin' in there, you know."

  "Just lay low and let the lawyers handle your suspension. You take care of Vinny. I'm sure she needs you right now."

  "Shit, she's damned near back on her feet already. That's one tough woman I got."

  "I know that."

  "I just gotta get me something to do. The time off was good at first, but this sitting on my ass is killing me."

  There was a hanging silence on the line, and Marshall knew what Danny was thinking even before the words came out.

  "You and Chemin any better?" asked Danny.

  "No. I've been too busy to even think about it."

  "Yeah, well you hang in there too. Man, we're a fuckedup pair, ain't we? We could swap lives and it wouldn't make a damned bit of difference." Danny laughed and Marshall had to join in.

  "Look, call me as soon as something happens in your case, okay," said Marshall."

  "You got it, brotha. Peace."

  "Bye."

  Marshall hung up the phone, then walked over to the conference room, where he knew Mbutu and Rashad would be waiting. He stopped at the door to the conference room for a moment. Toby was eager to call the bluff she'd attributed to Rashad, but he was a little apprehensive about going to trial so soon. These things were delicate matters never to be taken lightly.

  Now he knew why lower level lawyers got high-profile cases. Their bosses were political players, who put their subordinates' careers on the line while maintaining the appearance of being in charge. It was a no-lose situation for Toby. If he won, then she'd be the brilliant, avenging attorney general who brought a murderer to justice. If he lost, then she'd be the righteous attorney general whose trusted soldier had failed her. But it was a bad deal that young lawyers kept taking because they had to, because it was their job, and basically lawyering was a shitty occupation and everyone wanted to break out of the pack.

  Rashad and Mbutu sat next to each other in the conference room. Marshall had purposely not called in the team. That would signal that something major was up, and he didn't want Rashad to know that this meeting was serious.

  "This can be quick," said Rashad. "Do you accept our terms to go to trial next month?"

  "No," said Marshall. He was disobeying Toby's orders, but he wanted to see if he could get anything out of them.

  "I knew it," said Mbutu. "Let's go."

  They were about to get up when Marshall said: "However, if you add two weeks, I can do it." Marshall was shooting from the hip now. Two weeks would be a concession that he could sell to Toby and he could live with himself. The extra fourteen days would be a welcome cushion in case anything went wrong. Also, if for any reason Langworthy extended their timetable, he would have that much more time.

  "Why?" asked Rashad. "We're talking a capital murder case, why do a few extra days make a difference?"

  "Because it does," said Marshall. "So, either take the offer, trial in six weeks, or we'll let the judge decide."

  "No," said Mbutu. "I need the time—"

  Rashad cut off his statement with a hand. He took Mbutu aside. Mbutu coughed hard, and it sounded bad, as if he were coming down with something. Marshall covered his face. He didn't want to get sick while working on the case.

  "Okay," said Rashad, walking back to Marshall. "We agree to your schedule."

  Marshall shook hands with Rashad, then left. He immediately called Toby and Nate and told them the news. Toby was upset about the haggling, but she was ready to go to the press and say that the government was going for swift justice.

  Bob Ryder and the litigation team were upset at the news. The fast-track schedule would have had them in court in midspring. That was moving fast as it was, but six weeks felt as if they were being fed to the lions. They argued and cursed, but in the end, they accepted it just like Marshall had. They were all young lawyers too and knew the drill.

  Marshall went back into his office and rested. He just wanted to get the trial over with now, to put it past him. Suddenly, he wanted swift justice too, to put Mbutu away, and save his failing marriage.

  He glanced at the picture of Chemin on his desk. They were moving even further apart with the trial coming on. They even came home at different times so as not to run into each other. They were in separate worlds and seemed to be content there. It was easy to see their marriage was going to end, and for the life of him, he couldn't think of how to stop it.

  Of course he could give up the case, he thought. He could go to Toby and resign and let someone else take over his duties as hero/fall guy. Then he could go back to figuring out how he could get over his fear of extending his lineage with the woman he loved. But he could never do that. This job had become his salvation. The lessons of the ghetto were always with him. What would he do if he let his career go? What if it didn't work out with Chemin? He'd be alone
and
stuck in a dead-end job. No, he'd have to stick it out, find a way to save his marriage and win the day in court.

  There was a loud knock at his door. He heard voices on the outside.

  "Come on in," he said.

  The door opened and there stood his litigation team huddled around a messenger. The messenger was a kid and looked like a frightened animal surrounded by hungry wolves.

  In the hands of the startled young messenger was an envelope that had to contain the results of Mbutu's DNA test. In the envelope was the future of their case. If the hair they found in the crawl space didn't match Mbutu, then they would have to release him, and he'd be left with nothing. Everyone involved in the case would run away from the failure, and his career would be ruined.

  Marshall signed for the package and sent the messenger away. His hands shook a little as he tore open the envelope and read the top sheet of the report. He smiled, and for the first time in a long time, excitement filled his heart.

  "We got him," he said.

M
oses was almost ready. He'd been working, planning, and waiting patiently since his escape from prison. He sat on the dirty old sofa in the dank basement of the drug house on the city's east side. The walls were brown but seemed to have been a different color at some point. The ceiling was cracked and there were holes in the concrete floor. The only light was from an old lamp in the corner. A brand-new bulb was screwed into its socket, almost mocking everything else in the room. Sunlight glowed behind the dirty windows at the top of the walls.

  The house was a low-level drug den run by a man they called Half and Half. He'd gotten the name because he was part black, white, Asian, and Native American. Everyone called him Half. Moses couldn't remember what his real name was. Half was Moses' emergency friend. Not even his old crew knew about the relationship. Moses had saved Half's life by getting him off the hook with some dirty cops who were squeezing him for payoffs. That favor was now due.