given to them. I doubted that Weidemann and LoTempio wanted to hear my
view, though.
'Well, seeing as how they're the grand jurors and I'm a judge, let's
finish up here before you head on up to them, if that's acceptable to
you, Ms. Kincaid?' Weidemann asked.
'Of course, your honor,' I said, reminding myself once again that
displays of ingratiating deference come with the territory when you're
a trial lawyer. The rest of the sentencing was predictable, given
Weidemann's Solomon-like approach. I recommended an upward departure
from the sentencing guidelines, mentioning a few facts I'd noted in the
file that were mildly aggravating some packaging materials, a tattoo
hinting at a gang affiliation, the defendant's choice words for the
arresting officer. Then LoTempio cited a few lame reasons for
requesting a downward departure from the sentencing guidelines. In the
end, Weidemann applied the guideline sentence. The sentencing
guidelines provided 99 percent of all drug sentences and left little
discretion for the judge. Weidemann, though, had to feel like he was
doing something important, so everyone who appeared before him played
along.
When we finished, I ran up to the grand jury room on the seventh floor
and knocked on the cracked door before pushing it open. 'You all
done?' I asked.
The foreperson, a seventy-year-old man in a T-shirt that said I still
love my harley handed me the slip of paper. A single check mark told
me they had true-billed the requested indictment by a unanimous vote.
'Some of us wanted to know if we'd be able to find out what happens in
the paper,' he said.
'Oh, I think you can count on that,' I said.
'Go get 'em, Tiger,' he said. 'And watch out for yourself.'
Maybe grand jurors are a prosecutor's conspirators after all.
I had wasted no time getting the paperwork for the indictment to Alice
Gernstein. I thought I'd have to sneak it through while O'Donnell was
in court, but I got lucky. His legal assistant mentioned that
O'Donnell had left early to head down to his fishing cabin. The
superstar of office paralegals,
Alice had Derrick's warrant in the system by the following morning.
As it turned out, the rush hadn't done me a damn bit of good, because
three days later, Derringer still hadn't been picked up.
The plan was to find Derrick without tipping him off to the warrant.
Once he was in custody, I'd arraign him, confess my sins to Duncan, and
let the chips fall where they may. The arrest might force my boss and
the bureau to come up with a theory that explained all the evidence,
not just the evidence they liked.
I didn't say it was a great plan, just a plan.
The plan was looking even lamer now that I couldn't get even the first
step off the ground. I'd called in my markers with four different pals
in the Southeast district, but they hadn't seen Derringer at his house
or work all weekend.
At one point, I picked up the phone to call Chuck, but I quickly
replaced the handset. Since the showdown at my house, I must have done
this at least a dozen times.
Grace was always good at strengthening my resolve, so I asked her to
meet for lunch at a bistro that was halfway between the salon and the
courthouse. Once we'd placed our orders, I filled her in on my plan.
She wasn't pleased. 'You realize, don't you, that you may very well
get fired over this.'
It didn't sound like a question, but I answered anyway. 'I sort of
figured that if Duncan tried to fire me, I'd use the grand jury
transcripts as leverage.'
'And how, exactly, will the transcripts give you any leverage?' she
asked.
'The press looks at the JC-2 calendar every day to see who gets
arrested. When Derrick finally gets arrested, the media will start
asking questions, so Duncan will at least have to keep investigating
the Derringers and find out how they're involved with the Long Hauler.
If he tries to bury it and get rid of me, I could hint that I might
release the information presented to the grand jury.'
We were momentarily distracted by the arrival of our food. Or, to be
more accurate, by the arrival of our extremely attractive waiter.
Apparently having sex on a semiregular basis over the last month had
altered my cognitive priorities.
'I thought grand jury proceedings were secret,' Grace said, as we both
admired our waiter's extremely attractive departure.
'They are. Doesn't mean Duncan won't worry about the threat.
Prosecutors have been known to leak grand jury information when it
helps them. Look at Ken Starr,' I said.
