The Lincoln lawyer - By Michael Connelly Page 0,136
for the day. They’ll beat the traffic and tomorrow things will run so smoothly and quickly that I have no doubt they will be deliberating by the afternoon session.”
She looked at Minton and then me, as if daring one of us to disagree with her. When we didn’t, she got up and left the bench, probably in pursuit of a cigarette.
Twenty minutes later the jury was heading home and I was gathering my things at the defense table. Minton stepped over and said, “Can I talk to you?”
I looked at Roulet and told him to head out with his mother and Dobbs and that I would call him if I needed him for anything.
“But I want to talk to you, too,” he said.
“About what?”
“About everything. How do you think I did up there?”
“You did good and everything is going good. I think we’re in good shape.”
I then nodded my head toward the prosecution table where Minton had returned and dropped my voice to a whisper.
“He knows it, too. He’s about to make another offer.”
“Should I stick around to hear what it is?”
I shook my head.
“No, it doesn’t matter what it is. There’s only one verdict, right?”
“That’s right.”
He patted my shoulder when he got up and I had to steady myself not to shrink away from the touch.
“Don’t touch me, Louis,” I said. “You want to do something for me, then give me my fucking gun back.”
He didn’t reply. He just smiled and moved toward the gate. After he was gone I turned to look at Minton. He now had the gleam of desperation in his eye. He needed a conviction—any conviction—on this case.
“What’s up?”
“I have another offer.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ll drop it down further. Take it down to simple assault. Six months in county. The way they empty that place out at the end of every month, he probably won’t do sixty days actual.”
I nodded. He was talking about the federal mandate to stop overcrowding in the county jail system. It didn’t matter what was handed down in a courtroom; out of necessity, sentences were often drastically cut. It was a good offer but I didn’t show anything. I knew the offer had to have come from the second floor. Minton wouldn’t have had the authority to go so low.
“He takes that and she’ll rob him blind in civil,” I said. “I doubt he’ll go for it.”
“That’s a damn good offer,” Minton said.
There was a hint of outrage in his voice. My guess was that the observer’s report card on Minton was not good and he was under orders to close the case out with a guilty plea. Trash the trial and the judge’s and jury’s time, just get that plea. The Van Nuys office didn’t like losing cases and we were only two months removed from the Robert Blake fiasco. It pleaded them out when the going got rough. Minton could go as low as he needed to go, just as long as he got something. Roulet had to go down—even if it was only for sixty days actual.
“Maybe from your side of things it’s a damn good offer. But it still means I have to convince a client to plead to something he says he didn’t do. Then on top of that, the dispo still opens the door to civil liability. So while he’s sitting up there in county trying to protect his asshole for sixty days, Reggie Campo and her lawyer are down here taking him to the cleaners. You see? It’s not so good when you look at it from his angle. If it was left to me, I’d ride the trial out. I think we’re winning. I know we’ve got the Bible guy, so we’ve got a hanger at minimum. But who knows, maybe we’ve got all twelve.”
Minton slapped his hand down on his table.
“What the fuck are you talking about? You know he did this thing, Haller. And six months—let alone sixty days—for what he did to that woman is a joke. It’s a fucking travesty that I’ll lose sleep over, but they’ve been watching and think you’ve got the jury, so I have to do it.”
I closed my briefcase with an authoritative snap and stood up.
“Then I hope you got something good for rebuttal, Ted. Because you’re going to get your wish for a jury verdict. And I have to tell you, man, you’re looking more and more like a guy who came naked to a razor fight. Better get your hands off your nuts