Hardy 05 - Mercy Rule, The (35 page)

‘Of course not,’ Leland said. ‘I wouldn’t suggest—’

A discreet knock on the door was immediately followed by a waiter bearing a tureen, from which he ladled a dark, clear consommé into their bowls.

After the waiter had gone, Leland tasted the soup to no comment or reaction. It was perfect — dark, intense, rich, perfectly balanced — perhaps the best soup Hardy had ever tasted in his life, and he had to say something.

‘Thank you,’ Leland said in response to the compliment. ‘
Yes
, it’s quite nice.’ Conveying an air of ‘What else could it be?’ Then he went back to Graham, precisely where they had left off, on the money. ‘But Helen would like to’ — another glance at his wife — ‘actually,
we’d
like to help out, monetarily.’

‘I don’t know,’ Hardy began, only to have Leland cut him off.

‘I have spoken to some of our attorneys here at the bank,’ he said, ‘and they tell me there’s no ethical question. My understanding is that you would be free to accept remuneration from any source, so long as it was understood that Graham was your client, that you represented
his
interests, not ours. Is that correct?’

Hardy had to laugh. ‘This question doesn’t exactly come up every day. What you say sounds right, though. I’ll check and make sure. I’d still want to talk to Graham about it.’

Helen reached over and this time put her hand over Leland’s. This was evidently some preemptive-strike code they’d worked out. ‘We’d expect that, wouldn’t we, Leland?’

‘Of course.’ A pause. ‘Sure.’

Leland Taylor wasn’t a man who said
sure
very often, and from Hardy’s perspective it came out stilted. But maybe not. Maybe everything just seemed a little bit skewed up here.

‘Good,’ Helen said. ‘Now, Mr Hardy, if we may, can we ask how you plan to proceed?’

Hardy nodded. ‘You can ask,’ he said, ‘but it’s pretty early. I’ve barely begun looking at the evidence, so anything I say now wouldn’t be set in stone.’

‘We understand that,’ Leland said. They were definitely two-teaming him. ‘But certainly the general plan will be to play up Sal’s illness, Graham’s closeness to him, particularly at the end? You’re shaking your head. You don’t agree?’

‘Actually, I do. Graham doesn’t.’

‘What do you mean?’ Helen asked.

‘He tells me he wasn’t there. He wasn’t any part of it.’

The waiter entered again during the ensuing silence, removed the tureen and the soup bowls, then set in front of each of them a little work of art featuring seared scallops, angel’s hair pasta, some zucchini blossoms. A limpid bright orange pool of sauce. A bottle of Kistler Reserve Chardonnay appeared, was poured.

Hardy thought he might swoon from the first taste, but again, to Leland it was just grub. As soon as the door closed, he continued as though there had been no interruption. ‘But isn’t that Graham’s best defense? That the killing was out of mercy?’

‘It might be, sir, but he wouldn’t even plead to that last week. Legally, that’s still murder.’

Helen spoke. ‘He’s afraid he won’t be able to practice law.’

Hardy nodded. ‘That’s right. That’s what he tells me too.’

‘He wasn’t exactly tearing up the field to this point, though, was he, Helen?’

This seemed to invite some response from Graham’s mother, and Hardy waited until it was clear none would be coming. ‘The problem is,’ he said, ‘there are certain… irregularities. Somebody else may have been there. There might have been another motive. Sal might in fact have been murdered.’

‘But not by Graham.’ Helen was certain about this.

‘No, but that’s who’s going to trial for it.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Leland said. ‘I’m hearing all kinds of conflicting reports here, Mr Hardy. Do you believe Graham killed his father or not?’

Hardy thought for a minute. ‘I guess I don’t think he did.’

‘Even out of mercy?’

‘No.’

Helen blurted out, ‘But all those articles, all this…’ Winding down, she stopped.

Leland picked up the thread. ‘That means you think someone else did it?’

Shaking his head, Hardy grabbed for his wineglass. A sip during the daytime wouldn’t kill him and he wanted the extra second to think. ‘I don’t think it’s out of the question Sal killed himself. The coroner didn’t even rule it out. I might go that way.’

‘I see.’ Leland busied himself with another bite, thinking ‘What would happen, though, if you argued for assisted suicide and the jury believed you?’

‘Graham wouldn’t let me do that.’

‘But if he would…’

‘No one can predict what a jury is going to do.’

‘I’m not trying to. I’m asking you a simple factual question. What would be the result if a jury decided Graham had assisted Sal’s suicide, or helped him die in some compassionate way?’

This was in many ways a fascinating turn, and Hardy considered it a minute. ‘That’s not a technical defense,’ he said carefully, trying to be precise. ‘A jury that followed the law
should
convict on murder.’

‘Should?’ Helen picked up the nuance, the wrinkle.

Hardy nodded. ‘Except that this is San Francisco. Here you never know. Even a judge like Salter might not instruct the way the prosecution wants. Any given jury — if the defense can guide them right — might do anything.’

‘If they concluded it was an assisted suicide?’

‘They might.’

‘You mean they’d find him simply not guilty?’ Helen wanted to be sure she understood.

‘Yes. Not guilty.’

‘Well, then,’ Leland concluded, ‘that’s your defense.’

Hardy demurred. ‘It’s not that simple. The prosecution is going to make sure the jury knows that assisting a suicide isn’t a defense to murder, and the judge should instruct that way.’

‘But might not.’ Helen didn’t want to let it go.

Hardy wanted to keep her hopes in check. ‘But probably will. It’s moot anyway — Graham won’t let me do what we’re talking about here.’

‘So what’s your mandate,’ Leland asked him, ‘to do what your client wants, or to get him off?’

And that, Hardy thought, was a hell of a good question.

They’d gotten to dessert — a cream puff stuffed with brulee, fresh blueberries, coffee.

‘All right’ — Hardy put his cup down — ‘now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a couple of questions for you.’ They both were listening. ‘Sal broke into your house three times in the past couple of months, didn’t he? Why didn’t you press charges?’

The couple communicated in their wordless way, and Helen took it. ‘We thought he needed help. We did contact the social services. They were, I believe, arranging something when Sal… died.’

‘But it must have bothered you?’

Leland answered. ‘It was very traumatic for Helen. We thought the best approach would be to leave it to the authorities. You can appreciate that we didn’t want to become involved with Sal again. Helen had already been through all that years ago. It was painful.’

Hardy kept his eyes on the wife. ‘And you weren’t concerned it might happen again?’

‘I didn’t believe Sal would hurt me. It was more sad than anything, really. Pathetic. He just seemed so confused.’ Helen hadn’t really answered the question. He would never have accepted it from a witness, but here there wasn’t much he could do. She continued on. ‘He really seemed to believe he still lived with me. At the Manor.’

‘The Manor?’

A pretty, embarrassed smile. ‘Our home.’

‘He was that far along? With the Alzheimer’s?’ Hardy asked.

‘I don’t know anything about the disease,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t malicious. He just didn’t know where he was, where he belonged. I felt sorry for him,’ she repeated.

‘I didn’t,’ Leland interjected. ‘I wanted him arrested. It’s all right, Helen, I’m on the record with this. I thought he was a grave danger to my wife.’

‘And George, your other son,’ Hardy said to Leland, ‘I gather he agreed with you?’

This question appeared to stun both of them. Their magic code seemed to fail. Finally, Leland took a sip of coffee, wiped his lips with his napkin. ‘George isn’t any part of this,’ he said with finality. ‘To answer your question, yes. What dutiful son wouldn’t object to the father who’d deserted him coming back to harass his mother? But this is not a Taylor family matter. This is about Graham, not George.’

As if on cue — perhaps some button had been pushed under the table — the waiter reappeared. ‘It’s two o’clock, sir.’

Leland looked at his watch and made a face. ‘Some oil leases,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’ve really got to run. Mr Hardy, you’ll contact us after you’ve spoken to Graham, about what we discussed, helping him out? Good, then. Helen?’ He reached out a hand to help his wife up from her seat. Lunch was over.

22

When Leland Taylor’s limo dropped him back at his office, Hardy had a message from David Freeman asking him to come down. Something had come up with Dyson Brunei and Tryptech, and they needed to talk.

What now? Hardy thought.

But Freeman was — no surprise — in court for the afternoon. In the meanwhile a messenger delivered another box of discovery documents on Graham. This stuff kept pulling him along until nearly five o’clock, when he realized he had better try again to see what Freeman wanted.

The old man was buried in some legal text in the law library off the Solarium. He was chewing contentedly on the butt of a thick cigar. Three half-finished china cups of coffee told Hardy he’d been back in from court for at least an hour. But he showed no sign of impatience. Time didn’t exist for Freeman — only the beautiful law.

Hardy pulled up a chair next to him. ‘Dyson Brunei,’ he said. ‘What’s happening?’

Freeman finished his paragraph, made a notation in ink in the margin of the book, marked his place with his cigar, and closed it. ‘This dredging fee.’

‘What about it?’

‘Dyson’s having trouble pulling the cash together to pay for it. Tryptech’s running a little thin. He wants to pay you and Michelle in stock options for a while.’

Shocked, Hardy sat back in his chair. ‘In stock options? For Tryptech?’

Freeman nodded. ‘It’s not unheard of.’

‘I’m not saying it is. I’m wondering what I’m supposed to live on until I can cash them in.’

‘I thought you’d wonder that, tell you the truth.’ Hardy didn’t need this at all right now. Tryptech was his main source of liquid income, his salary. ‘You’d tell me if you thought they were going belly up, wouldn’t you, David?’

‘I don’t think it’s like that, Diz. Brunei tells me the company’s still very strong. I think I believe him. It’s a cash-flow issue.’

‘But they don’t want to pay us in money? That’s one way to keep the rest of the old cash flowing.’

‘He says they’re doing some restructuring, trying to make their cash outflows look a little leaner.’ Freeman lowered his voice, implying a confidence. ‘The annual report is coming up, Diz. They’re carrying the eighteen-mil container loss forward on their books. And that, plus our legal fees…’

‘Not exactly the national debt, David.’

‘No, but all out of pocket. It directly impacts the bottom line.’ Freeman held up a palm, cutting off Hardy’s rejoinder. ‘I’m just delivering the message here. I didn’t think this up. Dyson says he’s worried about his shareholders, who tend to notice these things. He’s afraid the company won’t look as good on paper as it could. As it is.’

Hardy heard his warning bells going off. ‘And they’re offering stock options?’

‘No. Actual shares. I’m inclined to accept. I think we’re looking at a large recovery down the road, and we’ll do better than all right. The problem is, I won’t be able to keep paying you for your hours, or at least not as many of them. Brunei might manage half-time hourly cash for one employee…’

‘I’d call that a rather substantial problem, David. If I’m not paid, I can’t work. What am I supposed to live on?’

‘I know, 1 know. But even for a few months?’

‘Jesus, I don’t know, David. If it turns out to be worthless paper…’

‘Yeah, well, Brunei’s story is it could work out to be a very lucrative deal.’

‘What else is he going to say? That it probably won’t work? We’ll all get stiffed?’ But Hardy realized he was just whining. He might as well hear the complete proposal. ‘So what’s the offer?’

‘They discount their shares to two and deal you twenty thousand to carry you through, say, September.’

‘That’s very generous.’ The ironic tone was thick. ‘What’s the stock going for now, three?’

‘And an eighth.’ Freeman spread his hands. ‘I know, it’s low, but Dyson says that’s all the better for us — we’d get more of them. It’s been as high as nine. Maybe it’s going there again, maybe higher. It could be worth a fortune, way beyond your billables. I’m keeping the firm in, if that’s any consolation.’

‘It’s not a matter of consolation.’

And in truth — if the Tryptech ship wasn’t going down the way its container had — Hardy knew that potentially this was a great deal. At today’s price Dyson was offering him sixty thousand plus in stock, far more than he would make in the next four months. But he also knew that the operative word was
could
. Unfortunately, the stock market, like any given jury, was notoriously unpredictable. ‘It’s not that I don’t believe it could be lucrative,’ he said, ‘but I’m a working stiff who kind of depends on a paycheck every month.’

Freeman was silent for a beat. ‘You really might want to do this, Diz,’ he said at last. ‘As a long-run move it could really work out.’

Hardy’s brow creased. As a matter of course he knew that David had run a Standard & Poors on Tryptech before taking them on as clients, and if David still thought the company checked out, it would probably survive. It wasn’t the biggest manufacturer of computers and parts, but it wasn’t the smallest.

But even David Freeman had been fooled before. And after having worked with him for the better part of a year already, Hardy was of the opinion that Dyson Brunei wasn’t America’s most honest man. The offer more than worried him. Could Tryptech have gotten to the point where it could no longer pay any of its contractors, not just its lawyers? If that was the case, they were dead, and soon.

Plus,
restructuring
was a scary word; it meant they were laying off employees. Hardy knew this had been going on at Tryptech with increasing regularity. Of course, as long as the company was in business at all, it would need legal help, but this late-in-the-day finagling to get his services, essentially for nothing, in exchange for stock that had been in free fall for months, struck Hardy as desperate.