Page 81 of The Wrong Side of the Law

No, I say in my head. He’s not stupid. But you are, Anderson. Stupid and lazy.

“No, Mister Anderson,” the young man says, echoing the thought in my own head. “I’m not stupid. I’minnocent. And there’s a difference, there. I can’t give Mister Cooper any information about anything, because I don’t have anything to give. I don’t know where the drugs came from, and I don’t know where they were going.”

“You’re going to prison, Frank,” Anderson says, pleading with his client. “Do you understand that? Prison!”

“Yes, I know,” Frank says, a sad half-smile on his lips, still maintaining eye contact with me. “But it’s better to do fifteen for something Ididn’tdo than thirty-five for lying and saying Ididdo it.”

“Okay, then.” Jesus. He really is innocent. He really didn’t do it. “I guess we don’t have anything else to talk about,” I say, closing the file and standing up. “I’ll get the pretrial conference calendared, have the notice sent over to your office, Mark.”

“Gabriel, please, man. Wait! Don’t-”

“I’m sorry, Mark,” I tell him, spreading my hands with a shrug. “Nothing I can do, man. Your client rejected my deal.”

“Gimme the rest of the day!” he pleads. “I’m begging you. Gimme a chance to get some sense into him.”

I just shake my head.

“Deal’s off the table, Mark,” I say, shaking my head. “We’ll notice your office for the PTC.”

I’m still shaking my head in the hallway when the conference room door closes behind me. Start to finish, there’s been one hand in this entire mess. One person has screwed up every single phase of this: Margaret Wilson. Her hand put this kid in the position he’s in, framed for a crime I’m now sure he didn’t commit. She created the financial straits that’s keeping Frank from having a good defense counsel. Margaret’s own misguided, idiotic jealousy is what’s keeping the poor bastard from having Lisa on the case, no matter what the finances look like.

A quick call on my iPhone, and Court Services has the pretrial conference calendared. It’s two weeks out, and a three-day trial is tentatively scheduled for another two weeks past that. I can only hope something happens in the mean time to force more delay.

I’m not ready to go back to my office yet, back to Emily. Things have been strained between us since Whitehall’s ultimatum yesterday. What the hell am I going to do about that? I’d love to have a drink right now, but I’m still on the clock so it’ll have to be coffee instead of scotch. I don’t want the crap from the office, and a walk would do me good anyway.

The trip to the café down the block buys me nearly a half hour, not to mention a large latte and a pastry for me, and a second one of each as a pathetic peace offering for Emily, who thanks me in an icy tone.

“Have you talked to your brother lately?” I ask.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I haven’t had a chance to sit down with him in a week at least. Between work and, y’know…”

Emily smiles at me, faintly, but it’s the first time all day and my heart does a flip-flop at it. It fades all too quickly, though, and her eyes drift away from mine to look at something over my shoulder.

I turn, looking back through the still-open office door. There’s Karin. Watching, and openly. She’s not even pretending she’s not. I give the door a good shove with my foot, and it closes with a satisfyingthunk.

By the time I turn back, the smile is gone from Emily’s face, and that hurts. I take a deep breath, knowing that I’m about to cross a line, and kneel down next to Emily’s desk.

“I just met with Frank and the public defender they stuck him with,” I tell her. “Goddamn PD tried to get Jack to take a plea.”

“What?” Emily is incensed. “But he’s innocent.”

“Yeah.” I shake my head. “I know.”

“You- youknow?”

“Yes. I made him an offer that a guilty man would take in a heartbeat, and he wouldn’t take it.” I grimace. “And so now I have to take an innocent man to trial.”

Emily just stares at me, horror slowly filling her eyes as she understands what I’m saying.

“You heard Whitehall,” I say, reaching for her hand. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” she says, blinking furiously to hold back the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, “when it’s between right and wrong.”

“Okay, you’re right,” I say. “I do have a choice between right and wrong, and… I’m choosing right.” I squeeze her hand. “I am. But you have to trust me. Taking this to trial buys time. It buys us another whole month of time.”

“You’re right, of course.” Emily wipes her eyes. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go home a little early today.”

“Of course,” I answer. “Spend some time with your family. And talk to your brother. Mark Anderson… Jesus. That guy.”

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