The 7th Canon (43 page)

“I’m afraid not.”

“What did you say to me the first time we met in this office?” Donley lowered his head, as if thinking, but he remembered Ramsey’s words well. “Justice isn’t always about right or wrong. It’s all about what we can and can’t prove.”

Ramsey nodded.

“I found Father Martin’s Bible and the log-in sheet for that night.”

Ramsey paused. “Did you?”

Donley pulled folded papers from his pocket. He’d given the original copy to Aileen O’Malley. “Connor took it when he broke into the office. He was worried it would reveal that Bennet had brought a tape to the shelter.”

Ramsey cleared his throat. “Does it?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“Well,” he said, “I guess we’ll never know if a tape ever existed then, or if Connor was just bluffing.”

“Bluffing?”

“Whether he made it up.”

Donley looked around the spartan furnishings. “It looks like everything worked out for you, didn’t it?”

“I’m eager to win and to get to Sacramento and get started.”

Donley turned as if to leave, then turned back. “You have no remorse, do you?” When Ramsey did not immediately answer, Donley said, “You could have put a stop to it. You could have done the right thing. I just gave you another chance to do the right thing, but you have no interest in that, do you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Dixon Connor told me all about it that night, about your father on the videotape, and the money you were going to pay Connor to get it back. He told me everything.”

Ramsey raised his chin, defiant to the end. “And as I said, Mr. Donley, justice isn’t always about right and wrong. It’s about what can and can’t be proven. And you can’t prove anything. Not now, anyway. Not with Dixon Connor dead.”

Donley smiled. “I’ve always wondered why it is that men like you and your father end up landing on your feet while people like Andrew Bennet get trampled.”

“People get trampled every day,” Ramsey said. “It takes strength to survive. It takes great strength.”

“Dixon Connor said something similar to me. He called it survival of the fittest.”

“Perhaps,” Ramsey said, “though I wouldn’t want to be linked in any way to Dixon Connor.”

Donley locked eyes with him, reached inside his jacket, and removed a copy of the videotape. Ramsey went white. Donley placed the copy on Ramsey’s desk.

After a moment, he said, “And yet you are.”

EPILOGUE

The ceremony to reopen the Tenderloin boys’ shelter was short and simple. Archbishop Donatello Parnisi gave a brief speech from the steps of the building to a crowd of about fifteen who had braved a cold March morning to celebrate. Then, he and Father Martin cut a red ribbon stretched across the entrance, and Parnisi extended to his full height to pull down a piece of brown paper covering a bronze plaque above the shelter’s entrance.

THE FATHER THOMAS MARTIN BOYS’ SHELTER OF THE ARCHDIOCESE OF SAN FRANCISCO

Frank Ross popped a cork on a bottle, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Sparkling cider,” he said, filling Mike and Rochelle Harris’s outstretched paper cups.

“I’ll take one with alcohol,” Lou Giantelli said.

“No, you won’t.” Sarah said. She looked to Peter. “I have to watch his diet like a hawk.”

Ruth-Bell held out her glass. “I’ll take his and mine. He’s more ornery than before he had the heart attack.”

Lou had cut back work to two days a week and retired completely from any trial work or court appearances, though he still ventured into the office every day “just to check on things.” It was Donley’s practice now. He’d turned down the offer to work for Max Seager.

Danny Simeon released colorful balloons into a clear blue sky, which thrilled Benny, who was bundled in Kim’s arms. Then Simeon handed Father Martin a computer mouse. “You got one kick-ass computer, Father T. I’m just sorry I won’t get to teach you how to use it.”

Simeon was moving on. He’d received a job offer with a computer company in Daly City.

“I’m happy you won’t,” Father Martin said.

“I’ll be back, though,” Simeon said. “You can count on it.”

Father Martin approached Donley and Kim, who was starting to show. The two men stared at each other for a moment. Then Father Tom pulled Donley close, embracing him. “Thank you,” he said. “For believing in me.”

“Thank you for believing in me,” Donley said.

Father Tom released his hug, and Parnisi put a meaty hand on Donley’s shoulder. “As the new attorney for the archdiocese, I’ll expect to see you in church tomorrow,” he said. “That’s my only requirement of church counsel.”

“Is it a deal breaker?” Donley asked.

Kim slapped his shoulder.

“I’ll be there,” he said. “With Lou’s clients, I can’t afford to lose one who can actually pay its bills.”

They laughed.

“Shall we see inside?” Father Martin said to those assembled.

Parnisi and Father Martin walked up the ramp to the entrance to the shelter. Kim handed Benny to Uncle Lou, and the others followed inside. With the money from the settlement of the civil action, and significant donations spurred by the media coverage of the events, the inside had been remodeled and updated, including Father Martin’s own bedroom and private bathroom. He also now had a staff.

Frank Ross lingered behind with Kim and Donley. “Aileen O’Malley tells me Gil Ramsey is squealing like a pig.”

Ramsey had little choice. The videotape clearly revealed his father, Augustus, with Andrew Bennet.

“His lawyers are trying to work out a plea deal,” Donley said, “but the new district attorney isn’t interested. She’s pushing an obstruction of justice charge, among others. Apparently, she has political ambitions and sees this as an opportunity for advancement.”

Ross chuckled at the irony. “What about Augustus?”

“So far, he’s not saying a thing, but they’re also focusing on him for what happened to Father Tom the night he got his blood drawn.”

“Will they prosecute him as a pedophile?”

“I don’t know. There are statute-of-limitations issues, but whether they prosecute him or not, he’s done. Nobody wants anything to do with him.”

Ross smiled at Kim. “Congratulations, by the way. When’s the baby due?”

“September,” she said.

“Summer. That’s good,” Ross said.

“Have you heard anything?” Donley asked. Frank Ross and his wife had filed to adopt twin boys.

“If all goes well, we’ll have our new sons in six months.”

“Congratulations,” Peter and Kim said.

“I’m going to head in,” Ross said. “You coming?”

“In a minute,” Kim said, gripping Donley’s hand and holding him back.

After Ross had departed, she reached into her purse and handed Donley a red envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Your Christmas present.”

Donley opened it and pulled out a sonogram. He stared at it, feeling the same glow he’d felt when they’d first seen Benny’s sonogram. It felt good. It felt like a family. Lou had been right. Donley had needed to climb one more mountain, and now that he had, standing atop it, he could see their future. He liked what he saw.

He looked at Kim. “Are you going to hold me in suspense, Doctor?”

Kim smiled. “Say hello to your daughter, Peter.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wrote the first draft of this book in 1996. In 2003, when my agent went out with my first three novels, we received an offer of publication but decided to go a different direction with the first two David Sloane novels. This book got put in the proverbial writer’s desk drawer. More than a decade later, after several more reiterations—OK, about ten rewrites—I’m pleased that it will be published.

I’m pleased because this book includes so many people who meant so much to me. Sam Goldman was, for seventy-three of his eighty-five years on this planet, a newspaperman, selling the
San Francisco Call-Bulletin
on San Francisco streets when he was not yet a teenager. I don’t think Sam stopped for a minute from that point forward. He became a high school teacher, then a college journalism instructor and adviser, and that’s where he came into and changed my life. Sam’s enthusiasm and energy were boundless. I never saw him tire. He’d work all day in the journalism room, then jump in the car with his wife, Adele, and drive down to a Giants or 49ers or a Stanford game, and work in the press box. He called everyone hero, chief, and friend, even President Jimmy Carter. I know. I was there. When I mentioned it to him, he said, “He puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like me and you, chief.”

He was one of a kind. He passed a couple of years ago, but I think of him almost every day. He’s with me when I teach and when I write. He’s with me every time I put on a tie—one of his ties, given to me by his daughter, Ruth. Usually I wear Mickey Mouse, but sometimes it is a tie with dozens of books on bookshelves. I keep smiling, Sam, for you. I keep smiling.

Bo the Rhodesian ridgeback also passed before this book was published. After twelve years, he developed Alzheimer’s or dementia, and it was painful to watch our dog—our children’s first dog—deteriorate. We were grief-stricken when the time came to say good-bye, but Bo, being such a great dog, made the decision easy. He looked at my wife, whom he loved most of all, lay down on the veterinarian’s table, and just closed his eyes. He never regained consciousness. He just slipped away. We buried him with Nick, our first Rhodesian and his buddy.

Archbishop Donatello Parnisi was based on my cousin, Monsignor Charles Durkin. “Cuz,” as I called him, was a bear of a man, more than six foot six and 250 pounds with a voice that made an organ envious. He smoked a pipe, and I recall the smell of it and the way he held it in his mouth, though I now wish he’d never smoked. Stomach cancer took him just short of his eightieth birthday. Charlie was the historian for the Branick, Mullins, and Durkin families. I loved him like he was my uncle. At his funeral, his nephew relayed Charlie’s battle with the then-archbishop of San Francisco. I, too, was aware of it. So I decided to make Charlie the archbishop of San Francisco as Donatello Parnisi. I hope you’re up there in heaven having a good laugh, Charlie.

Lou Giantelli is loosely based upon my uncle Lou, who for many years was counsel to the Archdiocese of Sacramento and an incredibly formidable lawyer. Back in the day, he was also a celebrated football player. Lou used to come to our house and balance us on the soles of his feet, then drop us, but he always managed to catch us. He was great fun. He, too, has passed, along with his wife, Auntie Gerry. They were good to our entire family, always hosting us for Easter in Sacramento, where they had a pool and a big backyard. I loved them both.

All other characters in this book are fictional.

Let me also say that while Peter Donley’s father was a monster, my father, William Dugoni, was the best man I’ve ever known. I lost “Pops” in June 2008, but I was blessed to be there when he went. He taught me many life lessons. In death, he taught me perhaps the most important. As I sat at his desk the morning he died, I was looking at all his watches and rings. My dad liked to go to New York and collect them. Some weren’t worth much, but some he’d picked up on his and my mother’s travels, and they were worth some money. And yet, as I sat at his desk that morning, he spoke to me. He said, “It’s just stuff, Bobby. It’s just stuff.” And he’s right. I’ve never again worried about the stuff in life, and I’ve never felt so unencumbered.

Because the novel was first written two decades ago, much of the settings have changed. At the time, I relied on my knowledge of San Francisco, having lived and worked there for fifteen years, as well as on research. The city has changed, however, and I’m well aware of that. So I kept the story set in 1987, when the Superior Courts remained in city hall, the Hall of Justice was on Bryant Street, the new jail hadn’t been built, and we didn’t have cell phones or e-mail. I love San Francisco. I know it isn’t perfect, but to me, it remains the greatest city on the planet.

I’m blessed to have so many who have helped my career from the day I took a leap of faith and left the practice of law to write novels.

Thank you to super agent Meg Ruley and her team at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, including Rebecca Scherer, who offers terrific suggestions for my manuscripts and is an absolute wiz on everything to do with e-books. From the day I wrote
The 7th Canon
, Meg said it would be published, and she was right, as she is with just about everything that has to do with my career. Thank you all.

Thanks to Thomas & Mercer for believing in this manuscript. This is the fourth novel with the T&M team, and I couldn’t be happier with everything you’ve done for me and my career. Special thanks to Charlotte Herscher, developmental editor. She’s edited all my novels. This one was challenging, and she patiently allowed me to work some things through. Thanks also to Elizabeth Johnson, copy editor. I asked for the best, grammar and punctuation not being my strength, and they immediately recommended Elizabeth. She pushes me on just about every sentence and word choice, and the books are infinitely more accurate.

Thanks to Jacque BenZekry, then in marketing, who is a true force of nature and does an incredible job promoting my novels. Your efforts pushed me to number one, and I hope we can light that number again. Thanks to Tiffany Pokorny and Sarah Shaw in author relations for always going the extra step to make me feel appreciated. My family has become a big fan of Thomas & Mercer for all the terrific gifts and little acknowledgments you send. You are the best. Thanks to my publicist, Dennelle Catlett, for promoting me and my work. Thanks to my former publicist and new editor, Gracie Doyle. She works tirelessly to help me improve my work and find the next great story. Thanks to Kjersti Egerdahl, acquisitions editor, and Sean Baker, production manager. Sean, your covers are the bomb! Thanks to publisher Mikyla Bruder, associate publisher Hai-Yen Mura, and Jeff Belle, vice president of Amazon Publishing. These people all walk the walk when it comes to their authors and their authors’ work, and each has helped me quickly to feel at home.