“And what will it accomplish?” I asked, since that was exactly the question I was wrestling with.
“It puts a crack in the prosecutor’s case. At the moment, the only crack we’ve got.”
“At the price of humiliating the Lees and destroying a dead man’s reputation. What else do we accomplish? It won’t get Whitehall off.”
“What about our client’s reputation? Look what’s happened to his good name.”
“This is a little different, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t.”
“For Chrissakes, Katherine, at least our client’s alive.”
“In a Korean prison cell where he’s been beaten, publicly humiliated, and nearly starved. He’s being accused of the most despicable crimes imaginable and he’s facing a death sentence. Don’t get your sympathies confused, Drummond.”
I might ordinarily have continued arguing, except this wasn’t really a debate, because I’d known before I even uttered my first word exactly how she’d come down. It’s how I’d come down, too, but I guess it made me feel better to force her to be the one to make the hard, bitter decision. She was the lead counsel. I was selfishly exploiting that fact.
She knew that, of course.
I said, “At least they won’t be beating him anymore. With only six days till trial, they won’t want him parading in front of cameras with bruises all over his face.”
“Some consolation,” she mumbled.
“Speaking of which, with only six days left, what the hell are we going to say in court?” I asked, reaching across and taking a sip from her beer. Actually, it was a bit more than a sip. I drained the rest of the mug.
She stared down at her empty stein. “I got a call from the prosecutor just this morning.”
“From Eddie Golden?”
“He wants to meet this afternoon.”
“He say what for?”
“No. What do you think? Does he want a deal?”
“If he’s a damn fool. He’s got the best murder one case I ever saw. Not to mention there’s enough ancillary charges, he’s guaranteed a win.”
“Are wins important to him?”
Wins were important to every attorney, but I knew what she meant.
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Son of a bitch even sends a signed baseball bat to every attorney he beats.”
“Sounds like a sweetheart.”
“Put it this way. Imagine a young Robert Redford with a gift for bullshit you’d die for. He once had a court- martial board rise to their feet and applaud when he finished a summary.”
“You’re just trying to frighten me,” Katherine said, with a properly skeptical look.
“I saw it with my own eyes. I was the defense attorney. It was easily the crappiest day of my career.”
“Wow.”
“Katherine, Eddie’s tried maybe seven or eight murder cases. He doesn’t lose. He’s the current holder of the JAG Corps’s Hangman Award. Has been the past five years. I’m not trying to rattle your confidence, but the Army’s got the deck stacked pretty good. A killer prosecutor, a judge who hates defense lawyers, and a case so lopsided, we’re drowning under the weight of it.”
I can’t ever remember seeing any hint of anxiety or self-doubt on Carlson’s face. But I thought I did this time. Just a flicker, but I was pretty sure it was there.
I said, “Say Eddie does offer a deal? Would you take it?”
She brought her hand up to her forehead and began kneading it, as though her head was about to explode into a thousand shards unless she held it together. I never thought I’d feel sympathy for Katherine Carlson, but I did.
“Would
“Depends on the deal, I guess. Wouldn’t take much, though. Anything less than murder one or a sentence less than death, and I’d probably leap at it.”
“Why? Because we’re six days out and all the evidence points at Thomas? Or because you believe Thomas is guilty?”
“Because it’ll keep him out of the electric chair. That’s maybe the most we can hope for at this moment. We can appeal later. Maybe we’ll find something down the road that exonerates him.”
“We, Drummond? As soon as this trial’s over, you’ll be assigned to your next case, right? And OGMM will damn sure try to shift me to my next case.”
“He’ll get somebody to represent him.”
“It’s not an option. Thomas won’t buy it. He told me, no deals,” she said, sounding as distressed as I’d ever heard her.
I reached across and took hold of her tiny hand. I tried to sound soothing. “Take a deep breath and count to ten. You’re taking it too personally again.”
“Damn right I am!” she exploded, suddenly yanking her hand back and giving me a perfectly pernicious glare.
I thought she was going to slap me. I don’t pretend to understand women, and I’m even more perplexed when the woman is gay, like Katherine. But this caught me completely by surprise. This woman changed moods faster than models change clothes.
“Damn it, Katherine, I’m just trying to get you to think rationally. You better know what you’re doing when you meet with Golden. Trust me on this – the guy can take you to the cleaners and have you steamed, pressed, and folded before you blink. He ain’t called Fast Eddie for nothing.”
Although, actually, we called him Fast Eddie because he could get into and out of a girl’s pants faster than any human being on earth. Not that I worried about that part with Katherine, because, after all, her electrodes were upside down.
Her face was still surly, but she said, “Maybe you’d better come along.”
“Love to,” I said, although actually I wouldn’t love to at all. In fact, I’d be perfectly happy if I never saw Eddie Golden again for the rest of my life. A man’s got to know his own limitations, and Eddie had amply demonstrated mine, twice, before a jury of our peers. The truth was, Eddie scared the hell out of me.
CHAPTER 21
I’ll give Katherine credit; she collected herself with inhuman speed. She was as cool as an ice pick when we got to Eddie’s office. She bounced with confidence as she walked through the door, entered like she owned the place; as though
Unfortunately, Eddie wasn’t easily flustered. He stood behind his desk and flashed his most Redfordesque, gorgeous-boy-next-door, I’m-gonna-cut-your-ass-into-tiny-pieces smile.
“Miss Carlson, I can’t begin to say what a great pleasure it is to finally meet you,” he announced, warmly shaking her hand and playing the perfect gentleman to the hilt. Then he tilted his head and looked at me curiously. “You’re, uh, Drummond, right? Haven’t we met before?”
Eddie Golden, if I hadn’t mentioned it before, is a master at playing mind games.
I nodded shyly and said, “We’ve… uh, we’ve met twice, Eddie.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, like he wouldn’t have recalled it if I hadn’t jogged his memory. “The Dressor case, back in, uh… When the hell was that? The summer of ’95, right? And… uh, Clyde Warren, back in ’99? You were defending them, right?”
Depend on Eddie to remember everything about every case he ever won.
“That’s right, Eddie. I’ve got two of your baseball bats stored in my closet at home.”
“Heh-heh,” he chuckled, like, What a silly habit, but, aw shucks, I just can’t help myself. “Well,” he said, returning to his most-charming-host-in-the-universe routine. “Won’t you be seated? Can I get you anything?
