No Way Out (32 page)

The house had been empty when she got home and she took this as a sign that Gene was working late as usual. Now as she prepared Boef Bourguignon in an empty house, she felt guilty about leaving Gene to shoulder this burden alone while she had been up in Oakland, fighting for that lowlife who was – as Gene had said – so unworthy of her efforts.

But at least, she told herself, it enabled her to surprise Gene with a beautifully laid table, when she finally came home. The only trouble was that as eight O’clock went by and blended into nine O’clock, there was still no sign of Gene. At first Andi tried to keep the food warm for Gene’s arrival, but had finally given in and turned it off altogether, rather than let it get overdone and dried out.

But now with nothing more to do but wait, a desolate loneliness swept over her. Being here alone, made her feel uncomfortable and she realized now how uncomfortable it must have been for Gene all these days in her absence.

Seized by guilt she went out to her car and drove off to the rape crisis center.

“Hi Bethel. How are you holding up?”

“Okay,” Bethel replied weakly.

“Did you see what happened in court?”

“Yes… on the TV…”

“Me too.”

“Oh.”

Bethel had been staying at a witness hostel in Oakland because she had to continue attending the trial until she was discharged, in case either party needed to recall her as a witness. But after the adjournment she had got a message on her cell phone that had changed all that

“I was afraid they were going to throw the case out.”

“But they didn’t,” said Bethel.

“I know. I guess now we know why the DNA implicated Claymore.”

“Yes but now that they’ve found out…”

Bethel trailed off, unable to get the words out.

“I know, I know. But that was always the risk. You know what the Italians say: Que Sera, Sera.”

“What?”

“What will be, will be.”

“Oh.”

Beth started to cry.

“Hey listen. I don’t want to hear any of that. At least you gave the bastard a good scare.”

“Yes but that’s not what I’m worried about.”

“There’s
nothing
to worry about. Even if Claymore is cleared, that doesn’t make you a liar. And they can’t touch you. All it means is that it was a case of mistaken identity.”

“No, you don’t understand! I scratched you
too
!”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I dug my finger’s into your arm. Don’t you remember?”

There was a moment’s hesitation.

“That was your
right
hand. I’m sure of it.”

“Yes you’re right. I mean
my
right. I mean…”

“Well which of your hands did they take the nail clippings from, left or right.”

“The left I think. No wait a minute. I think they took from both. Two from the left and one from the right.”

“Okay well never mind. That’s nothing to worry about. They’re using Y chromosome DNA, and only men have that. Anyway, there’s nothing to compare it to – nothing from me I mean.”

“All right.”

“Okay well anyway, get a good night’s sleep… and stop worrying.”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“There’s something else… something weird happened on Saturday.”

“What?”

“I had a call from a woman. I don’t know how she got my number. But she said that she was going to make sure that Claymore got what he deserved.”

“And it wasn’t anyone you know?”

“It sounded familiar, but it was a bit distorted.”

“Did she say how she got your number?”

“No.”

“Did you ask her?”

“I didn’t think about it at the time. She caught me off guard.”

“And did she say who she was? Or
what
she was? I mean what she did, I mean.”

“No… but I think she said her name.”

“Her name?”

“I mean she told me a name, but it was kind of a weird name.”

“Well what was it?”

“I think it was something like… Lannosea. At least that’s what it sounded like.”

“Lannosea?”

“Yes. Does it mean anything?”

“No. But I think I’d better Google it and see what comes up.”

As she drove to the rape crisis center, Andi continued to dwell on her guilt feelings as she thought about what she was actually doing: helping a rapist who had allegedly reformed but who had grown rich on the strength of his notoriety. And yet in terms of professional ethics she was doing nothing wrong. It was these negative thoughts that went against the canons of her profession. People in her line of work were not supposed to get emotionally involved in their cases.

Fight like hell for your client no matter what you personally believe. But if they go down for the crime, you’ll know at least that they were given a fair trial and the system worked.

And what if, on the other hand, you manage to save them when they may in fact be guilty? How do you live with that?

She knew the answer. The system has its own kind of natural selection in the long run. A criminal who makes a lucky mistake may go one of two ways. They might learn from the experience of almost going down for the crime and be so frightened by the experience that they go straight. Or they might get cocky and think that they can carry on breaking the law with impunity. That might seem bad, but the more they break the law, the greater their chances of getting caught in the future.

That’s the way the system worked. It didn’t catch all the bad guys and it didn’t necessarily always spare the innocent. But in a rough and ready sort of way it balanced itself out and maintained some semblance of equilibrium..

And yet it made her feel uncomfortable. Even
one
injustice was one too many, especially when it was a crime like rape. But Andi knew that she couldn’t allow herself to get personally involved – neither with the client not the alleged victim. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. But not everyone can switch off their emotions like that.

The hardest thing was that she wasn’t sure if Claymore was guilty or not. He talked like an innocent man, even in the privacy of a conference with his own lawyers. And yet Bethel Newton insisted that he was guilty. The scientific evidence also suggested guilt, albeit inconclusively.

As she withdrew from these painful ruminations, she became aware of her new surroundings. Somehow she had arrived at the rape crisis center without noticing the journey. As she pulled up in the parking lot at the back of the building, she dreaded to think how she must have been driving on the way here.

She got out of the car and swept into the building, still rigid with the tension that she couldn’t shake off. An armed female guard recognized her through the video-intercom and pressed the button to open the first of the reinforced glass doors. Andi entered the “airlock” as she thought of it and the guard opened the inner doors to let her into the building. They exchanged a smile as Andi went up the stairs to the first floor.

A few steps at a languid pace took her to Gene’s office halfway down the wide corridor. But when she looked through the small porthole-type window in the door to see if Gene was alone, she got a surprise. For there was her lover engaged in earnest conversation with Bethel Newton.

Louis Manning was in a private room at the Alta Bates Medical Center, handcuffed to the bedrail, with a uniformed police officer sitting by the bed at all times. He had now been charged with the attempted rape of Martine Yin, but the arraignment had been postponed as he was in no position to be moved. His broken leg was still in traction. But at least it was a private room.

He smiled at the irony that he was getting better medical treatment as a criminal than he ever had as an ordinary citizen. However, he knew that his leg had healed enough to permit escape as soon as the opportunity arose. The trouble was that the opportunity had yet to arise. He felt confident that he could walk – or at least limp – but he certainly couldn’t run.

And the fact that he was handcuffed to the bed when not eating, meant that he could not run away when the officer left his bedside, as occasionally happened.

He had considered other options such as stabbing the officer in the eye with a syringe and then grabbing the keys for the handcuffs. There were sometimes syringes within reach, especially when they injected pain killers into the bag of his saline drip. But he dismissed the idea on two grounds. Firstly, the syringe was never inserted into the saline bag and then left unattended. When the saline bag was injected there was always a nurse or a doctor nearby. Secondly, even if there were no other persons nearby, sticking a syringe into the cop’s eye would cause the officer to scream with pain, thus attracting the attention of others, thereby making escape more difficult. He had to contend with the reality that he might not be able to walk but only hobble and for that reason he needed to escape quietly, without attracting the attention of anyone.

But he was working on another plan, and he was implementing one stage of it now as the nurse approached him with his night sedation. Because a hospital is a busy place, even at night, the patients were offered night sedation to help them sleep. The sedation came in the form of a tablet to be orally imbibed. But what Manning had been doing these past few days was not swallowing the tablet, but rather holding it under his tongue and swallowing the water that was offered with it.

It was a tricky operation, but he managed it with ease, once again. Under the tongue, swallow, hand back the plastic cup, wait twenty seconds or so while the nurse went away, reach for a tissue and spit it out into the tissue under the guise of coughing or sneezing. When the cop went to relieve himself, he would add the pill to the collection that he had accumulated, wrapped in a single tissue in the bedside cabinet. He was building up a nice little consolidated supply of sleeping pills and when he was ready, he would make his move.

Andi stood there for a few seconds, thoroughly confused.

Gene wasn’t supposed to have any contact with Bethel Newton. She was under a legal injunction.

What was Gene doing talking to Bethel now? And did this mean that she had been in contact with her the whole time leading up to the trial? How long had this been going on?

She needed to know. But would Gene tell her? If Gene was doing things behind her back would she open up now? Should she confront Gene and demand to know what was going on?

The trouble was that Bethel Newton was in there too. If she went in now and confronted her lover, then what sort of effect would it have on Bethel? It would be frightening… traumatic. And Bethel had been through enough trauma to last a lifetime.

What right do I have to add to her suffering by storming in there now to demand answers?

Her beef was with Gene.

And in any case, if she went in now and they had a scene, she had a duty as an officer of the court to notify the judge. That would lead to a mistrial and the whole process would start again, with Claymore still in custody. She had a duty to him too. He was in prison, in solitary confinement, living every day in fear that another inmate would kill him. If she caused a mistrial now, the next free slot for the trial might be months away. They couldn’t even argue that this would be a violation of his right to a speedy trial – because the defense would have
caused
it, or at least
contributed
to it. She couldn’t condemn Claymore to several more months in jail awaiting trial. She had to find a way to deal with this sensibly.

An idea struck her. It might
still
lead to a mistrial, but it was worth a shot.

She turned sharply and walked out.

“So it looks like both the Claymore and Manning tests are invalid,” said Sarah Jensen.

She had tried to call Detective Riley earlier in the day, after the courtroom debacle with Steven Johnson. But she was told that Bridget was in transit, and she couldn’t reach her on her cell phone. Bridget was now back at home in Ventura and Sarah Jensen was filling her in on what had happened in court yesterday, with particular emphasis on the afternoon’s proceedings.

“Still, it’s funny that both results were positive.”

“Yeah, weird that,” said Sarah. “But the evidence sample they compared it to was falsified, so the old result doesn’t mean jack shit.”

“Yes but that’s what worries me. What if it happens again with the back-up sample? What if we get two matches?”

“It c
ould
happen. Sedaka’s already established that there are 37,000 African-Americans with that same haplotype.”

“I have a bad feeling about this. I think Sedaka’s going to try and throw up a smokescreen.”

“He’s done that already. We’re just going to have to point out that the DNA isn’t the only evidence against Claymore. It’s just one piece of the puzzle.”

It was late that evening when Andi came home. Gene was curled up on the couch in the den. She had been the TV, but she leapt to her feet up when Andi entered.

“Where were you? I was worried about you!”

“What do you mean?” asked Andi coldly.

“I found the dinner you cooked. Where d’you go… Andi?”

 Gene had finally noticed the anger on Andi’s face. The next thing she knew Andi’s hand was lashing out towards her. Instinctively she covered against it and blinked. But what she felt against her forearm was not a blow, but the light slap of a piece of paper. When she opened her eyes a split second later, she saw that the paper was an envelope. Andi made no effort to hold on to it and let it slip from her fingers. Again, acting more on instinct than thought, Gene caught the envelope before it hit the ground.

“You’ve been served,” said Andi coldly.

It took Gene a second to understand what was happening as she looked into Andi’s piercing eyes and saw the intractable look. She tore open the envelope and opened up the folded page to see a subpoena ordering her to be available as a witness on Monday the thirty first of August until discharged by the Court in the case of the State of California versus Elias Claymore.