“Thanks for the support, Dad.” Steve tied the baseball into the glove with a length of twine. With a deeper, softer pocket, maybe Bobby wouldn’t drop all those lazy pop-ups.
“Ease up on the reins, son. Victoria’s got a chance to make a name for herself, so let her do it.”
“What about me?”
“You’ve had your shot.”
“Hey, my career’s not over. I’m still young, as lawyers go.”
“All Ah’m saying, put your relationship first and be supportive of your gal.”
“You been watching
“Bullfeathers! Ah worshiped your mother and Ah adored mah kids.”
“You weren’t there for any of us, Dad. Every night, clients, or Bar Association dinners, or judicial conferences. Always on the make, always polishing your own plaques. I wish I had ten bucks for every ball game and graduation you missed.”
“Aw, don’t be such a grumble guts.” Herbert raised the tumbler and drained half the Jack. “Ah was a good father to you and your worthless sister.”
“You ever put that up to a vote, you’d lose two to one.”
“Family’s the most important thing in the world. And spending time with family is priceless.”
“Where’s this coming from? You been stealing Hallmark cards from the Rexall?”
“Ah mean it, Stephen. You and Bobby are mah life now. You’re what Ah live for.”
“Really? Bobby’s got a baseball game Sunday. You wanna come?”
“Sunday?” Herbert took a sip to think about it. Steve waited. It turned into a three-sip wait. “Nah. Ah’m caulking the boat Sunday.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Besides, why’s the boy want me hanging around?”
“No good reason. Except he loves you, Dad.”
Herbert could have said,
Herbert poured himself more Jack and swirled his glass, the ice cubes
“Be my guest. I just thought you might have a tip or two on defending a felony murder trial.”
“No way to defend it. It’s the one charge that’s stacked in favor of the state, and you know it.”
“But Dad, with all your experience-”
“You got any theory of the case?” Herbert interrupted. “You got a theme?”
Better, Steve thought, the old buzzard was getting interested. “Not yet.”
“Those ink-stained wretches been calling you?”
“
“Thought she did entertainment news.”
“Since you left the bench, Dad, that’s what murder trials have become.”
“Well, before you say anything, make sure you get your theory of the case and your theme. Then keep pounding ’em. And stay on message.”
Herbert Solomon might no longer be a lawyer-he’d resigned the bench and the Bar rather than face a bribery investigation-but his mind was still sharp. As a lawyer and a judge, he was usually the smartest person in the courtroom, and well aware of it.
“Not that it’s gonna be easy,” Herbert continued. “From what Ah hear, your case is a loser. An open-and-shut conviction.”
Steve dropped his voice into a gravelly imitation of his father. “Ain’t no case open and shut till the jurors open that door and the foreman shuts his mouth.”
“At least you been listening. But you gotta have something to go on. A crack in the brick wall.”
Another of his old man’s expressions. Before he’d been Chief Judge of the Circuit, Herbert T. Solomon, Esq., had been a terrific trial lawyer. He used to say that the prosecution’s job was to build a brick wall. Strong and sturdy, brick after brick, smoothing the mortar, making it all neat and tidy. The defense didn’t have to build a wall of its own. It just had to scratch away at the state’s wall, searching for weak spots. Rotten bricks or weak mortar, that’s what the defense is after.
Right. But sometimes you were lucky just to spray paint some graffiti on that old wall.
“So what do you have?” Herbert asked.
“The state’s time line is fuzzy. Sanders was there three or four minutes before Grisby shot him. What the hell was going on all that time? Why would Sanders go for his gun when Grisby held a shotgun on him? And why’d Grisby shoot him twice?”
“Why was Grisby there at all?”
“He says he expected trouble after Pincher warned him about the ALM. But why be alone? Why not hire a new security guard? Or two or three?”
“You suggesting Grisby didn’t want witnesses?”
“Just asking questions, Dad, the way you taught me.”
“The guard that supposedly quit. He back up Grisby’s story?”
“Can’t find him. Moved without notifying his landlord. I can’t find my client’s girlfriend, either. She was also his accomplice. Moved out of her apartment and hasn’t called Nash. Then there’s the victim. Charles Sanders, last known address, Denver.”
“For your sake, Ah’m hoping he’s got a long rap sheet.”
Steve knew what his father was thinking. When defending a murder charge, it’s always helpful if the victim was a lowlife who wouldn’t be missed by law-abiding, God-fearing citizens like the dozen good folks in the jury box.
“No priors,” Steve said. “Military. Retired Navy. Lieutenant Commander in the SEALs.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Next you’re gonna tell me he’s a war hero.”
“Bronze Star for defusing mines in the Persian Gulf during the first Gulf War.”
“Holy shit. And since then?”
Steve shrugged. “All I know is he was stationed in San Diego when his retirement papers came through.”
“What were his duties?”
“The Navy’s classified everything after Desert Storm.”
Herbert polished off his drink. “Don’t fit. A decorated naval officer hanging out with these animal weirdos.” He reached for the Jack Daniel’s bottle. “That brick wall ain’t crumbling yet, but the mortar’s a little sloppy around the edges.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Jesus, Ah like a good puzzle.”
Deep into it now. Steve watched his father, his crinkled eyes seemingly focused on a distant horizon.
“So what do you think, Dad?”
“Tough cases are more fun, and this one’s a doozy. If only you could stay in the damn thing.”
“Keep going.”
“Can you get your client to waive the conflict?”
“Absolutely. He wants me.”
“Can you keep things peaceful with Victoria?”
“I can try.”
“Then go for it. But keep focused, son. It’s State versus Nash. Don’t make it Solomon versus Lord.”
