to avoid sitting in the same room with Caffrey.
When the motion was argued, I stayed out of it as planned, but I found
myself rooting for Slip. As much as I hated the idea of letting the
defense use Caffrey as a distraction, I deplored even more the idea of
Caffrey invoking the legal process to protect his ass politically.
Fish's polka-dotted bow tie wasn't helping matters.
I watched Caffrey occasionally catch himself chewing his lower lip
while his attorney argued the motion. When Fish had finished his
presentation, he summarized his principal point. "Your honor, Mr.
Szlipkowski's subpoena would add nothing to this case other than an
opportunity to question a high-profile public figure under oath about
private matters, a spectacle that should be permitted only if there is
a clear showing of the need for the information. Mr. Szlipkowski has
made no showing at all, let alone a clear one. Put simply, even if he
were to establish what he alleges a contention that we are not
conceding it would have no bearing whatsoever on the question of Mr.
Jackson's guilt."
Put simply, Fish was insinuating that the subpoena was setting up a
political perjury trap. He couldn't have spun it any better,
especially for a big party Democrat like Prescott. There wasn't a soul
among the party faithful who wasn't wary about demanding answers about
sex under oath.
Slip did his best, but in the end, it was all a big so-what? So what
if Clarissa and Caffrey talked? So what if they were even boffing each
other? There was no other reason to believe that Caffrey knew anything
about Clarissa's murder.
Except, of course, that nagging coincidence that she was found and
Jackson worked at a property whose value would be determined by T. J.
Caffrey's vote.
Prescott being Prescott, she had to take a break in chambers before
issuing her ruling. When she finally retook the bench, it was clear
that Fish's spin had taken. She quashed the subpoena, thanked Caffrey
for being present in the event she had decided otherwise, and told him
he was free to leave.
Hopefully, the news crews would be waiting for him outside, yelling the
questions on the street that he'd bullied his way out of in the
courtroom.
Slip had played his last card. He did his best to gnaw away at the
medical examiner's report, arguing that the state should be barred from
proceeding until they reconciled their theory of the case with the fact
that Clarissa had been dressed after she was killed. But, in the end,
we all knew that wasn't the law. He'd have to do that kind of gnawing
in front of the jury.
"Does the defense have any more witnesses?" Prescott asked.
"Not for this afternoon, your honor," Slip replied, "but we had assumed
that the hearing would continue until Monday. I would like to have the
weekend to reconsider. As your honor knows, the parties were given
only a day to prepare by Judge Levinson."
Any other judge in the courthouse would have ripped Slip a new one for
assuming anything about the length of the hearing. To judges who have
forgotten what it's like to practice, the lack of time to prepare is
never an excuse for a lack of preparation.
Prescott, however, had no problem with it. "I was planning on taking
the weekend to consider my decision, so here's what we'll do: Reconvene
here Monday morning at nine. If either party wishes to submit
additional evidence, the record remains open. Otherwise, I will
announce my decision then. And, in the event that it makes a
difference to the lawyers, I have formed a tentative opinion based on
what I've heard today."
She was sending a message to Slip. He was going down in flames, but
she was going to give him a reprieve before pulling the trigger.
Slip caught up with me on the staircase. "What'd you think about
Caffrey?"
"He's a skunk, Slip, but he's not your murderer. For your sake, you
might want to reconsider your Plan B before trial."
"Maybe Plan B is for the two of us to sit down and talk. Got time for
a drink after work?"
"Sure. Right at five?" I'd been up late enough the night before
working on the prelim. I wasn't about to spend my entire Friday night
talking about the case.
"Meet you at Higgin's. You still drinking martinis straight up?"
"Damn straight."
"You're my kind of woman, Kincaid."
"Let's see what you've got to say after we have our little chat."
Whatever Slip's plan had been for the prelim, it had clearly failed.
Prescott may have thrown him a line, but we both knew he was in no
position to grab it. I was sure the meeting at Hig-gin's would be a
fish for a plea.
I had three new voice mails back at the office. The first was from
Jenna Markson. "It's Jenna again about your question on the property
adjacent to your crime scene. You were right. Gun-derson Development
owns another hundred and twenty acres west of the property he's
building on. Gunderson purchased all the land at once as four separate
parcels. You probably already know this, but the other parcels are
mandatory rural. That's probably why he's not building on them."
At least, not until they were re designated as ripe for development.
"I'm sending my printouts about this to you interoffice mail," she
said. "Let me know if you need anything else."
The next message was from Nelly. "This is Nelly Giacoma. Judge
Easterbrook's clerk? I testified today in the hearing you had on
Jackson?"
I've noticed that the people I remember assume I don't know them, while
the people I've forgotten think we're best pals.
"I overheard something after the hearing and think I should talk to you
about it. I'm at City Hall right now, but I'm leaving in a few
minutes." She had left her home telephone number and asked me to call
over the weekend. I noted the time of her message, only fifteen
minutes ago. Maybe I could still catch her.
The third call was from Russell Frist. "I just got done with my grand
jury. Looks like you're still out, so I'm assuming you're still in
your prelim. Jesus, with Prescott running the show, she might hold you
over until Monday. Anyway, I was calling to see if you were up to
having a drink after work. Let me know how it went."
As much as I was warming to my new boss, fifty-plus hours a week at the
courthouse is enough time for me to talk with my coworkers. I'd update
him on the case, but we'd do it on the clock.
First, I was calling Nelly. The voice that answered sounded flustered.
"Oh, I'm glad you caught me. I was just about to leave, and I was
worried you'd call while I was out running around."
"Well, it sounded important."