John Lescroart by The Hearing

I’m sure there were days . . .” Gina Roake shook her head.
    â€œEven so.” Torrey spread his hands wide as if to tell her that’s what he meant—it could look very bad for Abby Oberlin. He let a silence gather and then sighed heavily, a brief wash of compassion coming to his face. “Ms. Roake. Gina. Did I not ask you to come and see me as a courtesy?”
    She nodded.
    â€œWhy do you think that is?” He patted the folder again. “When, based on the accusations your client’s brother has brought against her, I would have been justified sending out some officers to place her under arrest?”
    â€œUnder arrest?”
    â€œThat’s right. Her name in the paper with the whole story, everything Jim has accused her of.”
    â€œNo, you can’t do that. It’s not . . .” Visibly, she brought herself under control. When she spoke after half a minute, her voice was calm, reasonable. “Jim just wants money, Mr. Torrey. He has no career. He’ll never hold a job. That’s just who he is. He’s desperate. Abby didn’t do anything he says.”
    Torrey crossed his hands on the Desk, reapplied the stern visage. “You didn’t answer my question.”
    She wrung her hands. “I’m sorry. What was it again?”
    â€œWhy do you think I asked you down here today?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWell, I’ll tell you.” The tone softened again. “I’ve prosecuted more cases like this than I’d care to tell you about, and I’ve developed a good sense, a very good sense if I may say so, of how these things play out. In this case, there was verifiable physical trauma to Abby’s mother. A finder of fact will conclude that there are grounds for a hearing, and after that in all likelihood a full-fledged trial. You know this. Your client probably will be arrested”—he held up a hand, stopping her protest—“although bail will be reasonable. She’ll spend, if she’s lucky, about half a million dollars in attorney’sfees, experts, investigation, which is good news for you, except that she won’t be able to take any of it out of the estate while it’s being contested. The process will take a minimum of two or three years out of your client’s life and after all that, even if we don’t prove she did anything she’s charged with, some civil jury might give her brother all the money on the theory that definitely he did no harm and your client might have.”
    Gina had all but collapsed back into the soft leather of the couch. “So what do you suggest?” she asked helplessly, talking all but to herself.
    He leaned forward, suddenly friend and perhaps savior. “The truth is that I believe you. Jim doesn’t care what happened to his mother, beyond that she is dead.”
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been—”
    â€œBut that’s not saying he won’t let all of this . . . unpleasantness . . . proceed. From where I sit, it’s a no-lose situation for him, and it’s no-win for your client.”
    She came forward on the sofa. “She’s not going to give him any of the money, Mr. Torrey. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s an evil man, and this is wrong.”
    The chief assistant nodded in agreement. “Nevertheless, if this prosecution moves forward, the next time I see you, we won’t be talking like this.” He leveled his gaze at her. “Tell your client that although it’s a repugnant solution, if you throw a bone to her brother, I believe you could settle his civil claim. And if he’s satisfied, I don’t think we’d see any need to file a criminal case. If I were her, from a purely self-protective, even selfish motive, I’d think about that.”
    â€œBut it’s so wrong . . .”
    Torrey couldn’t argue the point and