“There's an issue of principle here.”
“No, in my hypothetical case there's only an issue of money, and when the case is over all that will happen is that money will move from one party's bank account to another's-”
“But only because patented vaccines cost more than unpatented ones. What about the millions of AIDS victims in Africa who can't afford AV/AS?”
“Who's talking about AV/AS? This is just a hypothetical situation I'm describing. What you're talking about is international politics. That's way over our heads-who's going to subsidize access to the vaccine, who's going to lobby for condoms, who's going to insist on abstinence. This is way beyond the reach of two trial lawyers.”
“Did you have this little heart-to-heart with Robert Pearsall before he was killed?”
For the first time since he started eating, Thorpe put down his silverware. Two tables away, a head turned. Thorpe's voice was quiet but pitiless. “You know even less about Bob Pearsall than you do about his case. He was a complicated man.”
“Studying philosophy never killed anyone.”
“Then you have forgotten your Dialogues, what Plato had to say about the trial and execution of Socrates.” Thorpe took in Seeley's surprise. “You attended a Jesuit college. Of course you read the Dialogues.”
The old lawyer surveyed the almost empty dining room. “You have also mistaken San Francisco's surface charms for its substance. This city can be a very dangerous place for lawyers who let their ideals get in the way of their pragmatism.”
Seeley said, “We really deceive them, don't we? You, your buddy Jake, and me.”
“Deceive who?”
“We let people think that some lawyers are good, doing their pro bono work, while others just chase after money. But that's only a distraction so that people don't consider the real harm we can do, the corruption, the profound evil that a lawyer can commit.”
After that, they could have been strangers, or a father and his son, the way that they finished their meal in brooding silence.
Seeley spent the rest of the day preparing for tomorrow's witnesses. He needed a break from Palmieri, and the young partner didn't complain when Seeley sent him off to write the first draft of his closing argument. McKee was in and out of Seeley's office, educating him on technical details of the AV/AS patent that Seeley would need for his cross-examination. It was almost 11:00 when Seeley filled his briefcase with papers and turned out the lights.
As much as he enjoyed his solitary morning walks from the Huntington down to Heilbrun, Hardy's offices, it was retracing that route at night, the great dark bay at his back, that truly gave Seeley pleasure. Except for Grant and Stockton, still a blaze of neon with streams of shoppers and late-night diners, the maze of streets spidering out from the Embarcadero along and across the borders of Chinatown was deserted at this hour. The signs on the darkened storefronts mixed Chinese characters with English words and, in the shuttered tenements that rose above them, Seeley felt the presence of alien lives, sleeping, eating, watching the Chinese soap operas on cable. He felt safer on this empty street than he did across a restaurant table from Thorpe.
He thought of Lily, as he had throughout the day. If he could persuade her to tell the Chronicle what she knew about Steinhardt and his work on AV/AS, that could be the trigger for the mistrial that he needed. Each time, though, Seeley dismissed the thought of asking her for help. It wasn't Judge Farnsworth's order not to talk with the media, directly or through others, that concerned him; he could handle those consequences if he had to. No, he admitted to himself, what stopped him was the simple thought of picking up the phone. Asking for help was Leonard's weakness, not his.
As he crossed Joice Street, a dim alley off Sacramento, Seeley felt his skin prickle. He sensed that he was no longer alone. A sound like the rattling of dry leaves swept up the alley-his thoughts shot back to the dark sedan by the railroad tracks-but the tempo was pointed and rhythmic and had an unmistakably human source.
The rattling stopped, and an instant later a sharp blow at the back of Seeley's knees sent him crashing to the pavement. A second blow stung a shoulder, and his chin struck the asphalt. A burst of high-pitched chatter like a quarrelsome flock of birds flew up from his assailants, and at once pointed sticks expertly dug and prodded at his body. The voices were harsh and nasal, and the words-it sounded like an Asian language-were as sharp as the probing sticks. His attackers were rebuking him for some offense.
In English, one cried, “DO NOT ENTER! DO NOT ENTER!”
Seeley turned in the direction of the screeching demand and raised himself, crooking an arm to protect his eyes from the continuing blows. He was looking at a boy, no older than seventeen or eighteen, his long dark hair streaked with blond, frantically shaking a bamboo rod in the direction of a street sign where the alley began. Seeley was stunned that the blows had already driven him this far from the intersection.
“DO NOT ENTER! DO NOT ENTER!”
The traffic sign at which the boy was pointing displayed a red circle with a slash through it, warning drivers not to enter the one-way alley. The boy's cries turned to shrieks of hysteria as he gestured with the bamboo to his companions. All three were in T-shirts and baggy chinos cut off above the ankle, rubber flip-flops on their feet. At a whoop from the leader, there was a flurry of lashings, several striking Seeley across the ribs, others pummeling his sides. The pain of each blow was excruciating, but Seeley forced himself not to cry out; he would not give them that satisfaction.
“DO NOT ENTER!” the leader jeered, his laughter pure idiot hatred.
The alley was empty, as was the crossing where the sticks first brought him down. Seeley could make out figures moving along Clay Street at the other end of the alley, but they were too distant to hear him even if he did call out. Street grit scraped at his jaw; the stench of garbage rotting at the curb sickened him. From his dog's-eye view the long brick wall of a building stretched across from him. Behind him, he remembered, was an empty parking lot surrounded by a torn chain-link fence. Even if anyone was watching from the dark tenements, no one would call for help. He had to get up; lying on the street like this, he could not possibly maneuver. But when he moved to rise, the beatings quickened.
Seeley felt a tug of nausea, the taste of copper at the back of his throat. These are kids, he told himself. If they were going to rob or seriously injure him, they would have done so by now. Ignoring the pain, he pushed himself up, forced his body into a crouch, waited for his strength to gather, then lunged at the youth closest to him, the leader. He caught the boy's wrist and, twisting it against his back so that the bamboo dropped, Seeley lifted and hurled him against the chain fence. The surprise of the boy's weightlessness threw Seeley off balance. When the dazed youth came back at him-a rebound, not an act of will-Seeley circled one arm around a thin neck and with the other again pulled the boy's arm up behind his back.
While his captive gasped and whimpered, the two other youths froze, staring at Seeley, uncertain of what the rules now were. Panic replaced the empty looks and one, then the other, dropped their bamboo rods and ran off in the direction of Clay Street. So much for loyalty, Seeley thought. The leader was shivering in Seeley's grip, his entire body exhaling a spoiled, meaty smell. Breathless, Seeley said, “What's this about?”
The panting youth didn't answer.
Through the cheap T-shirt, Seeley felt the boy's heart beating frantically, like a small bird's. He said, “Your friends aren't coming back to help you.” Against his will, Seeley felt sympathy for the terrified boy-why did he take pity on his tormentors? — and thrust him away. “Get out of here!”
Staggering, the boy went down the alley where the others had gone. Pain seeped into Seeley's bones as he bent down, lifted the bamboo rods, and threw them over the chain-link fence. Then he walked to the corner and retrieved his briefcase.