“And how does AV/AS reach the conserved region?” Here was the elegant arc of the invention, and for a brief moment Seeley regretted depriving this miscreant, this would-be perjurer, of his shower of glory.
“To reach the conserved region,” Steinhardt again drew himself up in the witness chair, “AV/AS employs a human antibody, specifically a monoclonal antibody, that does not exist in nature but has been synthesized in the laboratory expressly for this purpose. This antibody can specifically target a receptor in the conserved region of the virus envelope, bind to it, neutralize it, and prevent it from infecting cells.”
“Would you say that AV/AS works like an arrow, piercing through this mushroom forest until it reaches its target?”
“Yes, Mr. Seeley”-the familiar arrogance replaced the confusion in his voice-“it works like an arrow, and when it reaches the targeted part of the virus it disables it.”
Seeley imagined the picture in Steinhardt's mind of that arrow piercing his lawyer's heart.
“Thank you, Dr. Steinhardt.” The rhythm of the questions had so far subdued Seeley's rage, but now it rose like a gorge in his throat, making it difficult to speak. “We have no more questions, Judge.” He didn't trust his voice. “May we have a recess?”
Pushing through the courtroom's double doors, Seeley evaded Barnum's reach and, grabbing the man's elbow instead, steered the general counsel to the alcove at the end of the long corridor. Leonard trailed, trading looks with Barnum. Leonard had lied when he told Seeley there was only one set of lab notebooks. Seeley dropped Barnum's arm. “Where's Steinhardt?”
Leonard said, “I've got a plane to catch, Mike. I have to be in Washington tonight.” He looked back down the corridor. “He went to the men's room.”
“You can wait until I finish with your general counsel.” To Barnum, Seeley said, “Your scientist wasn't in his lab when his notebooks say he was, and Thorpe knows that. He's going to chew him up on cross.”
“Maybe Alan got some of his dates mixed up. Thorpe's not going to call him on it.”
Leonard, his back to them, was studying the black-and-white photographs of old-time San Francisco that hung on the alcove wall. The styled, too-blond hair was like a taunt to Seeley, the sum of his brother's contrived innocence. Golden boy.
“The only way the dates got mixed up is if there were two sets of books. Steinhardt wasn't the first inventor.”
“You're forgetting that St. Gall already stipulated priority. Thorpe won't be able-”
Behind them, the double doors of a courtroom opened and the broad black face of a bailiff emerged. The man smiled at them gently and placed a finger to his lips before disappearing behind the doors.
“Bob Pearsall knew about the second set of books, didn't he?” Steinhardt arrived at Barnum's side. “What are you talking about?”
“Your resume puts you in Berlin, Geneva, and Bologna on the dates your notebooks have you in your laboratory.”
Steinhardt drew his lips into a grim line and dropped his head. On the stand, he must have suspected Seeley's discovery of the amateurish deceit. “You have to understand-”
Seeley said, “I don't want to hear anything from you. The less you say from now on, the less harm you're going to do to your employer's case. Right now, I don't give the case much of a chance.”
Leonard wandered down the corridor, still looking at photographs. How deep is his shame, Seeley wondered. If he knew his brother, Steinhardt's lies had barely made a dent.
Steinhardt glanced at Barnum, but got no response, then turned to Seeley. “What should I say if Thorpe asks me about the notebooks? The dates?”
“First,” Seeley said, “make sure you understand his question. If you don't understand it, ask him to repeat it.”
“And, then?”
“Tell him the truth.”
An unhealthy reek came off the scientist; his breath had turned rank.
“Look at this as your Miranda warning, doctor. People go to jail for perjury.” Seeley gestured at Barnum to take Steinhardt back to the courtroom. “I'll catch up with you in a minute. Remember what I told you. Pause before you answer, no matter how innocent the question sounds. Give me the chance to object if I need to.”
Leonard was back in the alcove, examining a San Francisco harbor scene as intently as if he might find the words there that could win over his brother. Seeley spoke to Leonard's back. Neither wanted to see the other's face. “You knew about the second set of notebooks when you came to see me in Buffalo.”
“Would you have taken the case if I'd told you?”
“That's why you needed me. Pearsall found out about the notebooks, and wouldn't go along. You figured that even if I discovered Steinhardt's fraud, I'd stick with the case out of loyalty to you.”
“Pearsall didn't know. If he knew, Barnum would've told me.” Leonard turned to face him. “You've got to give us cover on this, Mike.”
“If this comes out in Thorpe's cross-examination, there's nothing I can do.”
“It won't come out.”
His brother was deceiving himself. “You should be proud of yourself, Len. All these years, and you haven't changed at all.”
Leonard immediately understood what his brother meant. The events of thirty-two years ago remained fresh for him, too.
“You're forgetting,” Leonard said, “I was the one who stole the gun from his dresser. I was going to throw it in the sewer.”
“And when you lost your nerve, you got me to cover for you.”
“You haven't changed, either.” Leonard's smile was tentative, his eyes worried. “You'll find a way to fix it.”
The leather-clad doors of the neighboring courtroom burst open in a din of voices and a crush of people swept by. Seeley recognized a Silicon Valley CEO whose picture was in that morning's Chronicle over an article about a stock option scandal. The crowd disappeared and the corridor returned to silence.
It was more than fifteen minutes since Farnsworth called the recess, and Seeley knew she would continue the trial without him. It didn't matter. Palmieri could take over and Seeley could walk away from the trial right now. Wasn't this why he had gone into solo practice-to take the cases he wanted, and leave the ones he didn't? Even remembering why he took the case-David against Goliath-failed to move him.
Leonard said, “What happened wasn't my fault.” He had turned back to the pictures on the wall.
“Of course it was. You screwed up and you were weak, so I took the blame for you.”
Leonard continued speaking to the wall. “He was a bastard, but you didn't have to knock him down. Hold his own gun on him.”
What so infuriated Seeley was that Leonard had no idea what a pitiful coward he was. He knew what had happened while he hid in the bedroom only because their mother had told him. But the possibility that he was complicit never occurred to him.
“Go catch your plane.”
Leonard didn't move. Seeley studied the back of his brother's plump neck, and for an instant had the sensation of the damage he could do with a baseball bat.
Leonard turned, his features as contorted by pain as if Seeley had in fact struck him.
Seeley stuffed down his fury. “You had something to tell me. Before, in the courtroom.”
Sensing forgiveness, Leonard brightened, quickly recovering, the way he did as a boy. “Renata arranged a field pass for you. You can pick it up at the will-call gate.”
The Stanford football game. My brother creates misery and this is what he thinks about.
“You won't tell her, Mike? The problem with Steinhardt?”
Seeley said nothing, but walked back to the courtroom. He was grateful to Palmieri for heading off Steinhardt's perjury. But the timing disturbed him. Palmieri had reviewed Steinhardt's notebook entries a week ago, and had seen the scientist's resume long before that. Why had he remained silent about the conflict in dates until Seeley was in the middle of his direct examination, when the disruption would do the most harm? Or was Seeley just passing the blame for not catching the discrepancy himself?
Thorpe's cross-examination of Steinhardt was already under way when Seeley came in. The courtroom felt
