Part 31 (1/2)

”Funny how that works. Do somebody a favor and it comes back to bite you in the a.s.s.”

”The law is not politics,” I tell him. ”That is, if it works right.”

He smiles. ”Of course not. Which brings us to the reason for today's meeting. Some pretty fortuitous events,” he says, ”the death of a witness on the eve of testimony. I'll bet that hasn't happened in one of your cases before?”

”Not that I can recall,” I tell him.

”Obviously it's thrown a glitch into the people's case.”

”We noticed,” says Harry. Harry's getting tired listening to the bulls.h.i.+t. He wants to cut to the chase. ”Why did you call us in here?”

”We still think we have a solid case against your man. Don't get me wrong,” says Tate.

”Is that why you called? To tell us you have a solid case?” I ask.

He looks at Tannery, smiles. ”No. I called you here to discuss a possible resolution. As it stands, your client can't be sure he's gonna beat the wrap. Don't misunderstand; the Epperson thing throws up some dust. It may not be quite as clear as it was before, but there's still the question of the cable ties in his pocket, the tension tool in his garage, the fact that he and the victim were not on good terms. The medical evidence points to a skilled hand dismembering the body. There's plenty there for a jury to chew on,” he says.

”And given this . . . mountain that we have to climb, what are you prepared to offer?”

”A solution that provides your client with a more certain result,” he says.

”What? You gonna pump the poison directly into his heart instead of his arm?” says Harry.

”What if the result avoids the death penalty?” says Tate. ”Perhaps a life sentence without possibility of parole.”

”Not a chance,” I tell him.

Tate looks over at Tannery once more. The expressions that are exchanged between the two lead me to conclude that this was not Tannery's idea. He knows he doesn't have the leverage, but you can't blame Tate for trying.

”Okay. Second degree,” he says. ”We drop all the special circ.u.mstances, he gets fifteen to life; with good behavior he could be out in ten. That's as good as it gets,” he says.

I look at him, say nothing, Mona Lisa smile on me.

”Fine, we'll sweeten it a little.” Tate doesn't know when to stop talking. ”Your guy pleads out, we agree not to bring any charges regarding the Epperson thing as to him, if he cooperates with us.”

”Cooperate how?” I ask.

”Tells us what happened.”

”No problem. Mr. Epperson committed suicide,” I say.

”And you believe that?” he says.

”The last time I looked, there was nothing in the Evidence Code giving rise to presumptions based on what I believe. But I think if you look at the facts they might bear it out. Do you have evidence that Epperson didn't commit suicide?”

Tate doesn't have good lawyer's eyes; perhaps that is why he left the courtroom and became a politician. His big brown ones say, No.

He swallows, clears his throat, looks over at Tannery. ”Evan, maybe you should get involved here.”

Tannery edges over. ”It's a good deal,” he tells me. The devil in front of me, and the devil in my ear.

”I'll take it to my client,” I say.

”Will you recommend it?” says Tannery.

”No.”

”Why not?”

”Because your case is in a ditch. I'd have to be incompetent to recommend a deal like that.

Tannery looks at me; his eyes get wide.

”All the testimony regarding my client's alleged motive to kill Kalista Jordan, the supposed racial genetics studies intended to inflame the jury, that's all out. Everything Tanya Jordan testified to is hearsay without Epperson, so all you have are some nylon cable ties and a tensioning tool found in the defendant's garage, that and some bad blood between Crone and Jordan. At worst, this can be characterized as a severe case of professional differences. What's more,” I tell them, ”did you know that Epperson asked her to marry him? That she turned him down just a few days before she disappeared?”

I can tell by the look on their faces that this is news.

”Who told you that?”

”You want to find out, we'll do it in court,” I tell them. ”On the other side of the slate, you now have a suicide note and a confession typed on Epperson's computer admitting that he killed her.”

”Unsigned,” says Tate.

”Did you find anybody else's fingerprints on Epperson's computer keyboard?”

Dead silence.

”I didn't think so. You have the physical evidence at the scene, which is consistent with suicide. You have cable ties and a tensioning tool found at Epperson's.”

”Very convenient circ.u.mstances,” says Tate.

”Convenient or not, the jury is more than likely to find reasonable doubt in those circ.u.mstances.”

I wait a beat to see if they want to contradict this. They don't.

”I will a.s.sume silence as a.s.sent,” I tell them. ”And we have an order by the trial judge compelling you to deliver whatever other evidence is in your possession regarding Epperson's death to us by tomorrow morning. I'd say we're in pretty good shape. I think we'll wait.”

Tate's eyes get beady, little slits of meanness. ”We won't give up on Epperson's murder,” he says.

”That's going to be a problem for you.”

”Why?”

”Because first you're going to have to prove it was murder, and then you're going to have to find a witness willing to commit to perjury.”

”What are you talking about?” he says.