Mike Kersee shrugged. 'He was just a low-level staffer from a low-level country that we could threaten. We can't do that with England.'
'Why the hell not?' Pittman frowned and thumped his hand hard against the arm of his chair. 'England isn't worth shit anymore.'
The phone on Dowd's desk rang, and he raised his hand for quiet. 'That's probably Jules Halpern. He said he'd call at ten and he's an efficient bastard. If it is, I'll put him on the speaker box. This should be as interesting as a rectal exam with a cactus.'
Dowd picked up and exchanged pleasantries with the defense attorney for about thirty seconds. Then Halpern cut him off. I believe we have matters of substance to discuss. My schedule is rather tight today. I'm sure you're hard pressed as well, Mr. Dowd.'
'Yes, let's get down to business,' Dowd said, raising his thick, curly black eyebrows. 'As you know, the police have a qualified privilege to arrest anyone if they have probable cause. You simply don't have a civil case, Counselor--'
Halpern interrupted Dowd before he had finished speaking. 'Not if that person identifies himself from the outset as having diplomatic immunity, which my client did. Colonel Shafer stood in the doorway of his therapist's apartment waving his British Secret Service shield like a stop sign, saying that he had immunity.'
Dowd sighed loudly into the phone. 'There was blood on his trousers, Counselor. He's a murderer, Counselor, and a cop killer. I don't think I need to say anymore on the subject. With respect to the alleged defamation, the police also have a qualified privilege to talk to the press when a crime has been committed.'
'And I suppose that the chief of detectives' statement in front of reporters, and several hundred million others around the world, isn't slander per se?'
'That's correct, it isn't. There's a qualified privilege with respect to public figures such as your client.'
'My client is not a public figure, Mr. Dowd. He is a very private individual. He is an intelligence agent. His very livelihood, if not his life, depends on his being able to work undercover.'
The chief counsel was already exasperated, possibly because Halpern's responses were so calm, and yet always delivered rapid-fire. 'All right, Mr. Halpern. So why are you calling us?'
Halpern paused long enough to make Dowd curious. Then he began again. 'My client has authorized me to make a very unusual offer. I have strongly advised him against it, but he maintains his right to do so.'
Dowd looked startled. I could tell that he hadn't been expecting any kind of deal offer. Neither had I. What was this about?
'Go ahead, Mr. Halpern,' said Dowd. His eyes were wide and alert as they roamed around the room looking at us. 'I'm listening.'
'I'll bet you are, and all your esteemed colleagues as well.'
I leaned forward to hear every word.
Jules Halpern continued with the real reason for his call. 'My client wants all possibility of a civil case being brought against him waived.'
I rolled my eyes. Halpern wanted to make certain that no one could sue his client in civil court after the criminal court case was concluded. He had no doubt seen how O.J. Simpson had been set free in one court, then bankrupted in the other.
'Impossible!' said Dowd. 'There's no way in hell that will ever happen. No way.'
'Listen to me. There is a way, or I wouldn't have broached the subject. If this is done, and if he and I can be convinced of a speedy route for a criminal trial, my client will waive diplomatic immunity. Yes, you heard me correctly. Geoffrey Shafer wants to prove his innocence in a court of law. He insists on it, in fact.'
Dowd was shaking his head in disbelief. So was Mike Kersee. His eyes were glazed with astonishment as he glanced across the room at me.
None of us could believe what we had just heard from the defense attorney.
Geoffrey Shafer wanted to go to trial.
Book Four
Trial and Errors
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Seventy-Eight
Conqueror had watched her work Kensington High Street for nearly six weeks. She became his obsession, his fantasy woman, his 'game piece'. He knew everything there was to know about her. He felt, he knew, that he was starting to act like Shafer. They all were, weren't they?
The girl's name was Noreen Anne and a long time ago, three years to be exact, she had traveled to London from Cork, in Ireland, with lovely dreams of being a fashion model on the world stage.
She was seventeen then, nearly five foot ten, slender, blonde, and with a face that all the boys and even older men back home told her was destined for magazine covers, or maybe even the cinema.
So what was she doing here on Kensington High Street at half past one in the morning? She wondered about it as she forced a coquettish smile and occasionally waved a hand at the leering men in slowly passing cars that made the rounds of the High Street, DeVere Gardens, Exhibition Road.
They thought she was pretty all right, just not pretty enough for British or American magazine covers, and not
