“Come on, Devlin. You’ve zeroed in on that computer from the get-go. What about it is so important that you’re willing to let go of the biggest murder conviction of your career? A conviction that would make you a shoo-in for DA when you-know-who decides it’s time to step down?”
“You know why I want that computer. Yamura had more information on the police drug ring. More names—maybe a lot more. I want those names and whatever additional evidence she had. I’ve never made a secret of that.”
I stare hard at Walker, let the corner of my mouth curl up just a little. “There’s more to it than that. You would never trade a David Hanson just to rope in a few more crooked cops.” Now it’s Devlin’s turn to stare. “It’s something close to home, is what I’m betting. The hard-on you have for that laptop isn’t because you want to see what’s on it. It’s because you don’t want someone else to see it.”
Devlin’s jaw stiffens. I’ve struck a nerve, as intended, but he still thinks I’m only guessing. “One last chance, Mick. Your client can plead to voluntary manslaughter tomorrow morning, before we start the day’s testimony. But that offer goes away the minute my first witness is sworn in. Forever.” With that, he turns and walks away.
It’s close to six o’clock by the time I get back to the office. I go right to the conference room, where Marcie is waiting for me. Seated at the far end of the table, she watches me as I enter and close the door behind me.
“There’s fresh coffee,” she says, nodding to the white porcelain pitcher sitting in front of her. “I assume you’re planning on a late night.”
“I’ll get some later,” I say, taking a corner seat closest to Marcie. For someone who’s spent all day sitting in a crowded courtroom, she looks remarkably fresh. Her conservative blue pantsuit doesn’t have a wrinkle, and not a hair is out of place on her head. The faintest wisp of perfume dances across my face, and I wonder whether Marcie just spritzed herself in the ladies’ room or if she’s wearing some immorally expensive fragrance that has a time-release element built in.
Marcie and I sit for a moment, looking at each other, until I split the silence with a single word. “Edwin.”
Marcie smiles. “Yes, Edwin,” she says, her eyes alight. “He and I had a little sit-down this morning at his office. The sun wasn’t even up, but he was already at work, as I knew he would be. He thought he’d have a fun day in the courtroom, hanging my husband out to dry. I convinced him otherwise, made him see that he hadn’t thought things through.”
“What exactly did you threaten him with?”
“David was general counsel at HWI for close to ten years. His job was to manage all of the company’s legal problems. Manage as in keep secret. Hide. Sweep under the rug. David told me to convey to his brother that if Edwin hurt him with the jury, the phones would begin ringing in every major news outlet in the country as well as in dozens of state and federal regulatory agencies. Payoffs to politicians, here and abroad. Environmental violations, big and bigger. Cover-ups of discrimination claims. Falsified drug-test results. Weapons technology sold secretly to certain unsavory governments. Violations of international trade agreements. And the paperwork to back it all up. By the time David and I finished with him, poor Edwin would have to spend the next decade testifying before congressional subcommittees. And then, of course, the United States attorney would take his turn.”
I sit back in my chair and take all this in. What Marcie is telling me without shame or hesitation is that her husband, along with his brother and their henchmen, engaged in corporate villainy on a titanic scale.
“What about Kevin Kratz?”
“What about him?”
“You’re going to lop off his head,” I say.
“As soon as the verdict comes down, no matter what that verdict is. Same with that worthless enabler, Barbara King. I made Edwin promise.”
“But what if Kratz makes the same threat to Edwin you have? Demands to be kept on or given some huge golden parachute?”
Marcie laughs outright at this. “Come now, Mick. Do you really think that little weasel has it in him?”
She’s right, of course. Kevin wouldn’t dare take on David or Edwin Hanson.
I tell Marcie what Judge Henry said after court about possibly reconsidering his admission of David’s gathering $4 million on the eve of trial. Marcie smiles and says, “I think after tomorrow, the judge will do just that.”
Her remark instantly fills me with worry. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you know how many people have been starving in South Sudan? How many have been displaced around the world by civil war?”
I can feel the blood draining from my face. “What have you and David done this time?”
Marcie pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. She stares at me as she takes a deep drag. Then a second. “David didn’t kill that tart. And I’m not going to let him go to prison for her death.”
“How can you be so sure he didn’t do it? Maybe they got into a fight. Maybe he lost control.”
“David doesn’t lose control,” Marcie said.
“Everyone loses control! You didn’t see David the morning of his arrest, sitting in that prison cell. That was not a man in control.”
Marcie glares at me.
“And what’s your answer to the video?”
“All it shows is David going in and out of the house.”
“During the time period Jennifer Yamura was killed. David would be sunk if that film ever got out.”
“Oh, knock it off. This isn’t just about you protecting David. If it ever got out about that video and your role in keeping it under wraps, you’d be charged with obstruction of justice. You’re protecting your own ass as much as you’re looking out for David.”
I grit my teeth but say nothing. Marcie’s right. That video would damn me, too.
Marcie stands, puts her coat on, wraps the strap of her handbag around her shoulder. I watch her walk to the door, thinking she’s going to leave without saying good-bye. But she turns.
“I know this case has been rough on you. And that it’ll probably get rougher—for a whole lot of reasons. David and I aren’t making it any easier. I know that, too. But we can’t just sit back and hope the legal system works the way it’s supposed to. David and I have assets—relationships and avenues not open to most people. We’re going to take advantage of them. You disagree, but we think our efforts will help. But even if they don’t, at least David and I won’t look back with the regret that comes from not doing everything one could have.” Marcie looks at me for a long moment, then turns and walks out the door.
When she’s gone, I stare at the empty conference room for a long time.
I know all about regret.
30
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 14
Devlin Walker, Christina Wesley, and I are seated before Judge Henry in his small office adjoining the courtroom.
“Well?” the judge asks. “Have you considered my request for a plea deal?”
Devlin jumps in before I can answer. “We offered Man One, Your Honor. As sweet a deal as this defendant could ever hope to get.”