a bottled water, turned back again. “So how’d it go?”
Wu lowered herself onto the couch. “Not perfectly, I’m afraid. The judge—Johnson—detained him.”
“No surprise there. It was murder. They always detain.”
“I know, but I thought maybe with his age and no previous record, plus Hal North’s money if they asked him to pay for a private security guard for Andrew . . . Anyway, it doesn’t matter—I never even got the chance to argue that.” She paused again. “Jason Brandt—the prosecutor?—he came out swinging and got all histrionic. I guess it worked.”
“How’d the clients take it? They fire you?”
She broke a bare smile. “Not yet, but every call I got this afternoon when I got back here, I thought I’d throw up.”
“Thanks for sharing.” But he grinned, softening it. “So what’s the status now?”
“Well,” she said, “if there’s any silver lining, it’s a loud wake-up call for Andrew. The continued detention blew him away. He thought North would somehow take care of it like he always has. But when Andrew realized that wasn’t happening, it gave me the chance to acquaint him with a few hard truths.”
“Like?”
“Like the evidence.” Suddenly animated, Wu came forward on the couch. “It might have been the first time he actually realized why they arrested him. So I went through what little discovery I’d seen, which was a good start, since it placed him at the murder scene with the weapon, for example.”
“He didn’t already know that?”
She shook her head. “He thought he’d gotten rid of the gun without having mentioned it to anybody. Which in fact he did. But—bad luck—a witness saw it first. I surprised him with what he must have done, and sure enough, he admitted it. And this is to say nothing of five or six other evasions and outright lies, or the ID.”
“He didn’t know he’d been ID’d?”
“Not the specifics. Though by the time I left him I believe he was getting a clue.”
Hardy sat back in his chair. “And how, again, is this a silver lining?”
“Well, it is,” she said. “It really is.”
“I want to believe you, but traditionally it’s not good news for the client when the DA’s got you nailed.”
“It is this time.”
“And why is that?”
“Because Andrew finally sees that they can put him away for life.”
“And that’s good news? Maybe it’s semantics,” Hardy said. “The meaning of ‘good.’ ”
“It is good. It means Andrew’s on his way to admitting.”
“I would hope so, given the fact that you’ve already made a deal to that effect with Mr. Boscacci, haven’t you? I didn’t imagine that whole thing, did I? Boscacci filing juvie? All of that?” Hardy chewed on the inside of his cheek, added ruminatively, “Although I still can’t imagine why Boscacci went for it.”
Wu curled a leg under herself on the couch. “Because it’s all about numbers. The public understands convictions. Jackman’s gearing up for reelection. If Andrew admits, Jackman gets not one, but two murder convictions on the books, instead of a long messy trial with a sympathetic teenage defendant and a wealthy stepfather with ties to the media. You would have done the same thing.”
“Maybe, but that’s me. And I’m notoriously softhearted.”
“Right. Anyway, I reminded Allan how hard it is to get convictions, San Francisco juries, blah, blah, blah. I told him it was possible North might even be monetarily grateful at some time in the future for saving his son the extra fifty years in the slammer, perhaps a slight exaggeration on my part.”
“I hope slight,” Hardy said.
Wu shrugged that away. “I don’t think Allan bought it anyway. But he did buy the fact that this was a young man’s crime of passion. By the time Andrew’s twenty-five, he’ll be a different person, rehabilitated by the juvenile system instead of hardened by the hard time. And so on.”
“In other words, you snowed
Wu lowered herself onto the couch. “Not perfectly, I’m afraid. The judge—Johnson—detained him.”
“No surprise there. It was murder. They always detain.”
“I know, but I thought maybe with his age and no previous record, plus Hal North’s money if they asked him to pay for a private security guard for Andrew . . . Anyway, it doesn’t matter—I never even got the chance to argue that.” She paused again. “Jason Brandt—the prosecutor?—he came out swinging and got all histrionic. I guess it worked.”
“How’d the clients take it? They fire you?”
She broke a bare smile. “Not yet, but every call I got this afternoon when I got back here, I thought I’d throw up.”
“Thanks for sharing.” But he grinned, softening it. “So what’s the status now?”
“Well,” she said, “if there’s any silver lining, it’s a loud wake-up call for Andrew. The continued detention blew him away. He thought North would somehow take care of it like he always has. But when Andrew realized that wasn’t happening, it gave me the chance to acquaint him with a few hard truths.”
“Like?”
“Like the evidence.” Suddenly animated, Wu came forward on the couch. “It might have been the first time he actually realized why they arrested him. So I went through what little discovery I’d seen, which was a good start, since it placed him at the murder scene with the weapon, for example.”
“He didn’t already know that?”
She shook her head. “He thought he’d gotten rid of the gun without having mentioned it to anybody. Which in fact he did. But—bad luck—a witness saw it first. I surprised him with what he must have done, and sure enough, he admitted it. And this is to say nothing of five or six other evasions and outright lies, or the ID.”
“He didn’t know he’d been ID’d?”
“Not the specifics. Though by the time I left him I believe he was getting a clue.”
Hardy sat back in his chair. “And how, again, is this a silver lining?”
“Well, it is,” she said. “It really is.”
“I want to believe you, but traditionally it’s not good news for the client when the DA’s got you nailed.”
“It is this time.”
“And why is that?”
“Because Andrew finally sees that they can put him away for life.”
“And that’s good news? Maybe it’s semantics,” Hardy said. “The meaning of ‘good.’ ”
“It is good. It means Andrew’s on his way to admitting.”
“I would hope so, given the fact that you’ve already made a deal to that effect with Mr. Boscacci, haven’t you? I didn’t imagine that whole thing, did I? Boscacci filing juvie? All of that?” Hardy chewed on the inside of his cheek, added ruminatively, “Although I still can’t imagine why Boscacci went for it.”
Wu curled a leg under herself on the couch. “Because it’s all about numbers. The public understands convictions. Jackman’s gearing up for reelection. If Andrew admits, Jackman gets not one, but two murder convictions on the books, instead of a long messy trial with a sympathetic teenage defendant and a wealthy stepfather with ties to the media. You would have done the same thing.”
“Maybe, but that’s me. And I’m notoriously softhearted.”
“Right. Anyway, I reminded Allan how hard it is to get convictions, San Francisco juries, blah, blah, blah. I told him it was possible North might even be monetarily grateful at some time in the future for saving his son the extra fifty years in the slammer, perhaps a slight exaggeration on my part.”
“I hope slight,” Hardy said.
Wu shrugged that away. “I don’t think Allan bought it anyway. But he did buy the fact that this was a young man’s crime of passion. By the time Andrew’s twenty-five, he’ll be a different person, rehabilitated by the juvenile system instead of hardened by the hard time. And so on.”
“In other words, you snowed
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