Missing Justice (36 page)

If Townsend knew what Clarissa was up to with Gunderson, I wasn’t finding that out with this polygraph. If he weren’t represented, I could probably shake him up with the little I already knew, but I wasn’t anywhere close to having the goods it would take to rattle Roger. I suppose that’s why people hire lawyers.

I was going to have to live with the fact that I might not be able to wrap this one up by myself. There were other people who could handle the wrapping just fine. Russ Frist was at least as capable as I was, and he’d make sure that my stunts with Szlipkowsky wouldn’t ruin the Jackson prosecution. I didn’t have complete confidence that the bureau would make the Gunderson investigation a priority, but Russ knew some questions needed to be answered before the Jackson trial. Once those answers started rolling in, I had to believe that someone would pay attention Jessica Walters, or maybe the Attorney General’s Office. Maybe Duncan would even let me get involved again.

But for now, I thought as I pulled out of the Justice Center parking lot, I was tired of beating my head against the wall. I had lingering issues in my personal life to deal with, too.

Tension with my father was foreign to me, and I still hadn’t figured out a way to move past it. But he had extended the olive branch by calling me this morning, and I owed it to him to return the gesture.

I don’t know why I did it, but, perhaps for the first time in my life, I knocked on the front door of the house I grew up in.

“Hey, look at you. What a surprise. Come on in. Did you lose your key?”

“I couldn’t find … I just wasn’t sure… well, you know.”

He gave me a sad smile, and my eyes welled up looking into his. Then he got teary-eyed too, and that did it. I burst out crying in front of my father for the first time since I had walked in on Roger and then driven straight to my parents’ house.

Just as he had then, he sat me on his couch, put his arm around me, and rocked me, telling me everything would be OK before I’d even told him what was wrong. When I finally quieted down to the point of quiet sniffles and deep breaths, he asked me what happened and why I wasn’t at work.

“Nothing,” I said, wiping my cheeks with my sleeves, “it’ll be fine. I just want to be here right now if that’s OK.”

“It’s more than OK. It’s a treat. You hungry? I could make something.”

I still hadn’t eaten lunch, but it wasn’t even four o’clock. If I ate dinner now, I’d be hungry again before bed, then I’d be up all night. “That’s all right,” I said. “Can you stomach a couple hands of cribbage?”

My mother had been the cribbage player, passing the habit down to me so she’d have someone to play with other than my father, who never hid the fact that he played only to make her happy.

After I soundly trounced him, he insisted that I begin to shuffle more thoroughly. I was on my sixth waterfall when I finally brought up my reason for being out of the office in the middle of the afternoon. I didn’t bog him down in the legal details, but I gave him the gist: I’d persuaded the defense attorney to raise a stink about a bribe the victim was taking, and now I’d been tossed off the case.

To his surprise, though, when he started in on Duncan, I

actually defended the decision. “I don’t know, Dad. It might’ve been for the best. For a first homicide case, it was probably a little too much for me to handle on my own.”

“You were doing the right thing, but it happened to lead you to the doorstep of some people who don’t want a hard-working prosecutor looking into their business deals. Who knows? Duncan may have pulled you off because he’s in the pocket of this guy what did you say his name was?”

“Gunderson, Dad. And Duncan can be political, but he’s not on the take.”

“You’d be surprised, Samantha. The people who get into a position like Duncan’s most of them would sell their own mothers to get an advantage. This is exactly what I was worried about. You challenged the wrong people, and now they won’t be happy until your credibility is run into the ground.”

Just then, my pager buzzed. I didn’t recognize the number, so I ignored it.

“No one’s trying to ruin my credibility, Dad,” I said, shutting off the signal. “I got removed from one case, and it was because I blew it. I got so wrapped up in the Gunderson angle that I forgot who the bad guy was. I used Jackson’s defense attorney to prove my hunch was right, but in the process I handed him a defense theory that might get his client acquitted.”

Dad nodded to appease me, but I could see that he disagreed.

“I can tell something’s on your mind, Dad. Go ahead and say it.”

He chose his words carefully. “You said you forgot who the bad guy was, but I don’t see what’s good about this Gunderson fellow. Even if you’re right and he didn’t set up Jackson, that doesn’t make him a good guy.”

Now it was my turn to sigh with exasperation. “All I meant was that he wasn’t as bad as Jackson.” He looked at me skeptically.

“Oh, come on, Dad. Gunderson slipped a low-level city judge a few bucks so he could develop some old building. Jackson killed a woman. There’s no comparison.”

“But that’s how these people get away with things, Sammy. There’s always someone out there who’s scarier, who’s more threatening. And every time someone whose heart is in the right place someone like you finally starts to go after the white-collar types, out comes a bogeyman to prey on the public’s darkest fears. As long as the world’s afraid to walk in their neighborhood at night because of Melvin Jackson, guys like Gunderson can always say, “Hey, I’m not so bad. The police should be going after that guy over there.””

“But Jackson is worse. If my probing around Gunderson means Jackson gets off, it wasn’t worth it.”

Dad shook his head.

“What?”

“I just don’t buy into the assumption that there has to be a trade-off. That sounds like something Griffith came up with so he could sweep his pal Gunderson out of the mess you were about to create for him.”

“It doesn’t have to be a trade-off, Dad. He said he’d make sure the bureau looked into it.”

“But who in the bureau’s going to do that? I mean, you’re always talking about how good Chuck is at his job. Will he be the one to work on it?”

“No,” I conceded, “because it’s not under MCT’s jurisdiction.”

“Right,” he said. “It’ll go to some overburdened detective who’s got his hands full of burgs and car thefts and whatever other property crimes have been thrown at him. You won’t stand a chance of making a case stick against Gunderson.”

This conversation was echoing some of the broader debates we’d had about the allocation of law enforcement resources.

I knew how frustrated Dad was, for example, that some of the highest-profile white-collar perps remained unindicted years after their scandals erupted. And I knew he saw a link between corporate practices that thwart the American dreams of everyday workers and the desperation that causes people to rob, sell drugs, or even kill, like Melvin Jackson. To Dad, economic crimes and street crimes were inseparable, each feeding the continuation of the other.

“I don’t get it, Dad. You originally begged me to stay away from this case because I might wind up stepping on the toes of someone with influence. But now it sounds like you want me to go after Gunderson.”

“The only reason I was worried was that I knew something like this would happen if you started scrutinizing the wrong people. And, sure enough “

“You told me so?” I said, with a small laugh.

“No,” he said, also laughing. “I was worried that if something like that were to happen, your office wouldn’t back you. That’s what I meant when I said ‘sure enough.” So, yeah, someone needs to go after Gunderson, but it should be someone who’s not going to get hung out to dry.”

My pager buzzed again, the same number as before. Someone was being terribly pushy, considering I didn’t know them well enough to recognize their phone number.

“Duncan said he’ll get the bureau to look into it,” I said. For an attorney who makes her living persuading people I’m right, it was lame. Even I didn’t sound convinced, and, from Dad’s expression, he clearly wasn’t either. “OK, so maybe it’s going to fall through the cracks,” I conceded. “At this point, I can live with that.”

For only the second time in my life, my father looked disappointed in me. The expression had been there for just a moment,

but it was enough to bring me back to that day in second grade, when the principal called him after I teased the poorest girl in school for wearing the same jeans three days in a row.

“What, Dad? What do you expect me to do?”

“I want you to take care of yourself, Samantha. But, in the process, don’t tell yourself something you know isn’t true.”

“So you want me to be self-interested but mad about it? That’s totally messed up,” I said, laughing.

He smiled, but his eyes were still serious. “You’ve always had a way of putting things.”

And he had always had a way of forcing me to acknowledge the truth. I knew in my heart that Gunderson wouldn’t be indicted, and I had tried to comfort myself that an ending with Gunderson walking away would still be just. It wouldn’t.

I rose from the couch, kissing the top of his head.

“You’re heading out?” he asked, surprised. “I thought you’d stay for dinner.”

“Not tonight. But don’t worry. I’m good.”

Before I could even take out my cell phone to call the impatient pager, the device hummed again, this time to the number we used to dial into the office voice mail system, followed by my extension. Apparently someone wanted me to check my messages.

It was Russ Frist. “Don’t ignore your pager again, Kincaid. Next time it might be a murder call-out. I know you’re officially off the case, but I wanted to let you know that Duncan called me. He met with the bigwigs all afternoon and laid out where we stand. The agreement is to ask the defense to stipulate to a continuance while the Attorney General’s corporate affairs department investigates Gunderson. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

He left his home number in case I needed anything. “Oh… and I’m assuming you’re coming back to work tomorrow. I noticed you took the pictures from your cork board, but maybe you’re out buying new frames for them with your time off.”

I would indeed be in tomorrow, but I wasn’t going to wait for the AG’s office to do something. I may have gotten kicked off of the Jackson case, but I wasn’t going to stand by while Duncan and the bureau found a way to ignore whatever Gunderson and Clarissa had been up to. I hit the 9 button on my keypad to save Russ’s message, just in case I needed him later.

Fifteen.

If I was going to get any answers, I needed more information so I could ask the right questions. I drove straight to City Hall.

I had just missed closing time, and security wouldn’t let me in. But I got lucky. Clarence Loutrell actually answered when I called his office.

“Judge Loutrell, it’s Samantha Kincaid from the District Attorney’s Office.”

“Oh, sure, from the other day. Yes, well, would you mind calling tomorrow morning? My secretary left for the day. I picked up because I was expecting my wife.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid it can’t wait.”

“Unless it’s a real emergency, I’m afraid it’s going to have to. I was just about to head home for the evening. Promised to help at the house with some things. You know.”

Actually, I didn’t, since I did just about everything myself. But Loutrell didn’t need to hear about my domestic issues.

“That’s fine. I’ll call tomorrow,” I said. Too bad for him, he didn’t know I’d already checked with security. After five, all employees had to exit through the Fourth Avenue doors. I planted myself on a bench across the street in the park, hoping he meant it when he said he was leaving soon.

As it turned out, he must have walked out right after we hung up. I jaywalked across traffic to catch up with him at the corner, pulling out a copy of Clarissa’s memo from my briefcase while I walked. He didn’t hide his dismay when he saw me.

“I’m sorry, but I really do need to speak to you. I’ll talk as you walk to the car if I have to.” I handed him the copy of the memo. “Apparently Clarissa had a discussion with Dennis Coakley about an appeal filed by Gunderson Development. She cared about it enough to lock a copy of the file and this memo in a safe deposit box. I need to know why she took such a special interest in the case, and I thought, as chief administrative judge, you might have some idea.”

I left out the fact that Nelly overheard him with Coakley arguing over whether to tell me about it. Nelly said that Loutrell sounded like he wanted to talk to me, so I hoped I could get what I needed without diming Nelly up.

“I’m sorry, but if Clarissa had such a discussion with Dennis and I’m neither confirming nor denying that she did the conversation would clearly be privileged.” He was walking so quickly I had to alter my stride to a slow jog.

“And, I’m sorry, Judge Loutrell, but now Clarissa’s dead.”

“Attorney/client privilege survives the client’s death.” I got the impression he was parroting back the words he’d heard from Coakley.

“It does, but unlike the City Attorney, you never represented Clarissa Easterbrook. You’re just her coworker. Even if her conversations with Coakley were privileged, what you know is fair game if she came to you about her concerns first.”

He knew I was right about the law. On the other hand, he was still thinking through what Coakley might say in response. One more push would do it.

“If it makes a difference, I already know, but I need confirmation.” That one always worked on my junkie drug informants, and it was enough at least to get him to stop walking. “Clarissa was biased on the appeal. She ruled for Gunderson as a favor of some kind. That’s why she recused herself from a case filed by Grice Constuction. Grice was complaining about unfairness in the urban rehabilitation project, and Clarissa knew from personal experience that at least one company was getting preferential treatment.”

Still nothing. If the push didn’t do it, maybe a shove would.

“I can have a grand jury subpoena at your house this evening, but I really don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”