The Hearing

'Mrs Gold, are you pointing to Sharron Pratt, the District Attorney of San Francisco?'

'Is that her name? Yeah, whatever, that was her.'

40

Stu

From his spot in the middle of the courtroom, Hardy spoke gently. 'No, I don't think you did, Ms Pratt.'

'But then…' Hill all but stammered up on the bench. 'Mr Hardy?'

'The defense calls Gabriel Torrey.'

In spite of everything, the Chief Assistant gave no sign that he was beaten yet. He sat straight-backed in the witness chair, his face set but by no means fearful. If anything, he appeared ready for a fight.

Hardy stood squared off five feet in front of him. 'Mr Torrey, did you meet with Elaine Wager on the night she was killed?'

'No, of course not.'

'No? Was that because you were, in fact, out with Ms Pratt the entire evening?'

'No. I wasn't out with Ms Pratt.'

'That's right, you weren't. If you had been, Estelle Gold would have seen you at David's Deli, isn't that right?'

'I guess she would have, if she saw Sharron, as she said.'

'But just this morning, didn't you tell my associate David Freeman that you specifically remembered that you had spent the entire evening of Elaine Wager's murder with Sharron Pratt?'

For the first time, there was the slightest hesitation. 'So what if I told him that?'

'So it's not true?'

'No.'

'It was another lie, you mean?'

A sardonic snort. 'When did I stop beating my wife, is that it? The answer is that I wanted to get rid of him. He's a pest. I told him whatever would serve that purpose.'

'All right.' Hardy cast a glance at Judge Hill, then came back to Torrey. 'Will you then please tell the court, and truthfully, what you were doing on the night of Elaine Wager's murder?'

'I was at my apartment, alone.'

'And what is the address of your apartment?'

'564 Bush Street.'

Hardy repeated the number. 'And how many blocks is that from Maiden Lane?'

Torrey shrugged. 'I don't know. I've never counted them.'

'Interesting,' Hardy said. 'I'd have thought you would have. I did this morning. It's three blocks.'

Puffed up in his arrogance, Torrey turned to the bench, queried the judge. 'Your honor? Was that a question? This is ridiculous. I'd like to be excused.'

But Hill wasn't buying that. 'I don't think so, Mr Torrey. Mr Hardy, continue.'

'Thank you, your honor.' He came back to his witness. 'So you spent the entire night at your apartment three blocks from Maiden Lane, is that correct?'

'Yes.'

'You never left your apartment, not even once?'

'No.'

Stymied, fighting his frustration, Hardy took another tack. 'Isn't it true, Mr Torrey, that Mr Visser supplied you with a firearm?'

This brought an actual laugh. 'Absolutely not. I don't own any firearms. Never have.'

'You did not get any weapon from Mr Visser, is that so?'

'That's right.'

'You realize that your friend Mr Visser is going to give you up for immunity, don't you?'

This wasn't any kind of reasonable question, but no one objected, and Hardy had had enough. He wanted to bring this all home to Torrey.

And in fact, the reality of Hardy's point did slow him down. It showed on his face.

Hardy didn't let up. 'Visser was in on the Gironde scam, too, wasn't he? And Logan? Once they're charged with conspiracy to kill Ms Wager-'

'Get a grip. They were both in LA that night.'

Hardy turned and faced the DA. 'Well, that would only leave Ms Pratt, then, wouldn't it? She was with Ms Wager…'

Torrey considered a beat, then he shrugged. 'I don't know about that. I doubt it.'

Hardy's eyes stayed on Pratt as the truth hit her – if he had to, and it looked as though it had come to that, her Chief Assistant, lover, and political mentor was prepared to give her up.

And this, finally, was more than she could bear. She came to her feet. 'You doubt it?' she all but screamed. 'No, you know about that, Gabe. You know it wasn't me.'

Torrey looked straight ahead with all the expression of a dead man. As Hardy watched, Pratt's face first broke then hardened as she finally came to accept what she'd obviously feared and denied for all this time. In ten seconds, before Hardy's eyes, she aged a decade.

He spoke to her. 'You telephoned Mr Torrey sometime during the night, didn't you, Ms Pratt, while you were arguing with Elaine at David's Deli? After it became clear that things weren't going well. You weren't going to be able to convince her to let it go, were you?'

'It was Gironde.' Pratt hung her head and now she raised it. 'The minority contracts. That part was sacred to her. That's what she couldn't forgive Gabe for manipulating.'

Torrey snapped at her, 'Shut up, Sharron. For God's sake.' He was coming up off the witness chair, 'Don't be a fool.'

A brief bitter laugh before she reassembled her face. Now she faced her betrayer calmly. 'Were you going to let them pin it on me, Gabe? Do you think I'd sit here and let you do that?'

She came back to Hardy, to the judge. 'He lied. It wasn't gambling debts with Logan – it was kickbacks from Gironde's competitors. When Elaine came to him the first time – because she'd once liked him – and called him on it, he told her he'd call off the harassments, which turned out to be another lie. That's when she came to me.'

'Sharron, you can't-'

She ignored him, dead eyes on the judge. Nothing could stop her now. 'He wasn't at his place when I got there that night. He told me that when I called him he'd gotten upset and gone out for a walk to clear his head-'

'Sharron!' Torrey not giving up. 'Stop. Don't you understand? There's still no proof. There's nothing tying me to the gun…'

Withering him with a long stare, she finally spoke without any inflection. 'Visser gave you the gun, Gabe, and everybody in this courtroom knows it.'

There's nothing-'

She cut him off. 'You know how it works.' She shook her head miserably. 'They'll find all the proof they need now. They'll go through your clothes, match fibers to something on Elaine. There'll be blood on your shoes.'

Pratt looked to the bench, stopped talking.

In the stillness, Hardy walked solemnly back to the defense table, behind his client, and rested his hands on the young man's shoulders. 'Your honor,' he intoned, 'the defense rests.'

41

He must have dreamed it, but so often the left hand didn't know what the right was doing that it had the force of epiphany.

Glitsky, alone, woke up completely alert in his bed on Saturday morning. Before his eyes were really open, he reached for the telephone. Sergeant Ridley Banks hadn't signed out on a city-issued vehicle on the night he drove out to see Eugene Visser in his office on one of the piers. He'd taken his own car. Glitsky's dream, or whatever it was, had Ridley pulling into an open spot a block off the Embarcadero. On his first call, Glitsky got the license plate number of Ridley's personal vehicle, then he called the city tow lot.

Yep, they told him, they had the car. Cost him a hundred and twenty-five bucks if he wanted to get it out.

Glitsky, Hardy, Thieu, a crime scene investigation team, the drag line dredge unit, and half a dozen uniformed officers made it a substantial party, but nobody was happy. Contributing to the gloom, a cold storm had blown in overnight, bringing with it a steady rain driven by winds gusting to twenty-five.