night?"
"They didn't. They've mentioned the possibility, but we haven't made a
decision about whether that's the right way to go yet."
"Maybe you've got some mixed signals. Susan Kerr tells me that the
police, in addition to being very curious about the state of the
Easterbrooks' marriage, asked the husband for a poly last night, just
minutes after telling him that his wife's body had been found. That's
why she was upset enough to call me."
"Shit. Well, she didn't mention it to me, and she just left me a
message this morning."
"She thought it would be best not to put you in an awkward position
between her and your detectives, so she brought her concerns to me."
"I don't know what to say, Duncan. I'll ask the MCT guys about it."
"Good. I need you to be the woman you're being today on this,
Samantha, the person who came in here for your interview; not the
hothead who puts a line of attorneys outside my door complaining about
bad behavior."
It has never been a line: a slow dribble, maybe. "I only know how to
be one person, sir."
"Dammit, Sam. You know what I mean. I'm just warning you, you're
dealing with some very influential people on this one who don't look
kindly on mistakes. In addition to Mrs. Kerr, you've got Townsend
Easterbrook. Let me be clear: If he's the guy, you crush him. But not
until there's good reason to. He's not your typical perp who's used to
being thrown against the car and frisked for looking the wrong way.
He's the chief administrative surgeon at OHSU. For Christ's sake, the
man singlehandedly got the hospital's pediatric transplant wing off the
ground again after everyone wrote the project off as dead. He's Mother
Teresa with a penis."
"So you're asking me to give these people special treatment." It
wasn't a question.
"If you could even begin to think like a realist, you'd know I was
asking you to give them the expected treatment."
There was no use putting up a fight over this, since I'd already been
treating Townsend and Susan "as expected." I assured him I got the
message, loud and clear.
Back at my desk, I put in a page to Johnson. Why hadn't he told me
about the polygraph? My phone sat silent, though, as I finished
screening duty with just a few more strokes of the pen. I couldn't
wait here all day for him to call it was time to get my hands on
Clarissa's files.
I got lucky. My first choice judge, David Lesh, had just finished a
plea and was working in his chambers. Lesh was a former prosecutor. He
was also a former employee of the City Attorney's Office, but his job
there was to advise the police. He wouldn't look kindly on Dennis
Coakley's obstructionism.
He gave me a warm welcome. "Get in here, Kincaid. I haven't seen you
since all hell broke loose. How are you holding up? You look
great."
"Thanks, Judge." Lesh was a regular fixture on the happy-hour circuit
and an absolute nut, but his position required certain formalities.
"I'm doing surprisingly well. I took some time off, and now I'm in the
Major Crimes Unit."
"Well, good for you. You deserve it. If it means anything, I think
you did a great job in the Derringer trial."
His delivery, without an iota of irony, evoked a sharp laugh from me.
An actual guffaw. "Oh, yeah, ended beautifully," I said.
"At least you've got a sense of humor about it. So what are you here
for?"
"I'm working on the Clarissa Easterbrook case."
His tone changed markedly, as was Lesh's way. Irreverence always took
a backseat to the things that mattered. "I heard about that this
morning. The saddest thing. She was such a nice woman. Did you know
her?"
"No, but I did meet her once. I guess you knew her from the City
Attorney's Office."
"Not from work so much as just being around City Hall together. She
was a really great gal, the kind of person who genuinely wanted to hear
the answer when she'd ask how you were doing. Are you guys getting
anywhere on nailing whoever did this to her?"
"Bureau's working on it," I said, shaking my head, "but nothing yet.
That's actually why I stopped by. We want to look at her files to see
if someone might have had a grudge, but we're having some problems
getting in. I don't want to get too far into an explanation since it
would be ex parte, but I'd like to get someone over here from the City
Attorney's Office, if you don't mind."
Judges weren't supposed to talk about a case with only one of the
lawyers present.
"I take it Coakley's not letting you in?" he asked.
"Well, he hasn't said one way or the other, but I wanted to do the file
review yesterday. I even walked over there and was ready to do it."
"Let's see what he's got to say about it."
He picked up his phone and punched in a number from memory. After Lesh
was a prosecutor and before he was a judge, Coakley was Lesh's Duncan
Griffith. Some bad blood was rumored, so this might be fun.
"Dennis Coakley, please. This is Circuit Court Judge David Lesh."
Lesh was too much of a pro to drop his poker face, but I'd heard him
make calls before. He's usually just plain old David Lesh.
"Mr. Coakley, how are you? .. . I've got Samantha Kincaid in my
chambers. Do you have a second to walk over here for a quick
discussion? .. . Well, she doesn't seem to agree.... Unless you tell
me she can get in there right now to see what she wants to see, I think
you do have a disagreement.... I know it's unconventional, but it's
also the easiest way to do it. Do you really want to formalize this? I
could have her apply for a warrant, in which case you wouldn't even be
here for my decision.... All right, I'll see you in a few."
A pissed-off Coakley walked in a few short minutes later. If we'd been
in Toon Town, his face would have been red, his ears smoking, and he
would have been storming in at a forty-five degree lean. In the real
world, his neck vein was pulsing. Not nearly as cute.
"All right," Lesh said, once Dennis was settled, "any need for a court
reporter?" We both declined. "Just so you know,
Ms. Kincaid was careful not to tell me too much about the nature of
the dispute until you were here. I know she wants to look in Clarissa
Easterbrook's files, and you told me you didn't feel you were able to
accommodate that, at least not on the DA's timeline. Is that about
right?"
I nodded, but Coakley had come ready for a fight. "Honestly, Judge, I
can't even believe we're here. Ms. Kincaid showed up at my office
yesterday, unannounced. I gave her the one and only file she described
as being of interest, and I've been working ever since to view the
remaining files for privileged information. I'm nearly done, and
pulling me away from that process only slows things down. I feel
ambushed."
Lesh asked me if I wanted to respond.
"I was not trying to ambush anyone, your honor. The problem is that
Mr. Coakley assumes he has the singular right to d
ecide when and where
and under what terms those files can be reviewed as part of a pressing
homicide investigation. The fact of the matter is I could have applied
for a search warrant and shown up at City Hall with police to execute
it. I thought having a judge mediate the discussion might facilitate
an agreement about the matter."
"Right," Coakley scoffed, "and you just happened to pick a judge who
used to work for me."
Lesh made a T with his hands. "Whoa, that judge is still in the room,
thank you very much. As you know, Dennis, I made a decision when I
became a judge not to remove myself from all cases involving the city
or the DA's office, just the ones that were pending while I worked for
those offices. That said, if you think I'm biased, you are welcome to
ask me to recuse myself, and I won't fight it. We'll get another judge
for you. Just say the word."
Local custom holds that judges will remove themselves from a case based
solely on an attorney's request. But local practice holds that no
lawyer ever actually makes such a request lest it burn them down the
road, either with the challenged judge or the one unlucky enough to
pick up the extra work.
"That's not necessary, your honor."
"Then let's get down to business. You know why the DA wants to get
into those files: There's always the possibility that someone on a case
had it out for Clarissa. Tell me precisely what your concern is about
letting her have a look." Lesh gestured at me. "You'd be doing the
review, right? Not your officers?"
"That's correct, your honor."
Coakley repeated the same line he'd given me the day before.
And Lesh had the same response. "Wait a second. I don't understand
why her files would contain any communications with you. The city's a
party, for Christ's sake."
"We don't know what kind of internal memoranda she made about other
privileged matters in an employment context, though, your honor, or how
she maintained those memoranda. I just want a chance to peruse each
file and ensure that it contains only case information. It's standard
practice in document production."
Lesh made my argument for me. "Maybe in a civil suit, but this is a
murder investigation. You're talking about a theoretical possibility
that Clarissa Easterbrook who is now dead, by the way not only had a
conversation with someone in your office but that she recorded it in
some form and then placed it in a case file where Ms. Kincaid might
stumble upon it unwittingly. And you think this possibility warrants a
delay in a murder investigation?"
"Not a substantial one, your honor. As I said, I'm almost done."
Lesh shook his head. He had worked both the civil and criminal sides
of the bar, but even he was incredulous at this particular civil
litigator's priorities. "How far have you gotten, Dennis?"
Coakley pursed his lips and thought a second. "Probably eighty
percent."
"And was there anything in that eighty percent that you needed to
redact?"
"No, there wasn't."
"Of course not," Lesh said. "OK, here's what we're doing, kids.
Dennis, get the files that you've completed ready for Ms. Kincaid to
review at City Hall. Where should she go?"
Coakley clearly thought about arguing, but hedged his bets that things
could get worse and relented. "Clarissa's office would probably be
best."
"Good. While she reviews those, you're free to continue working on the
remaining twenty percent. But if she gets done before you do, too bad.
The two of you can race to the finish."
We both said thank you and started to leave. Before I walked out, Lesh
called me back. "Samantha, do you have a minute?"
"Of course, your honor."
Once the door was closed, he asked me to sit down. "What was that all
about?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"I certainly hope that's not the case, or you're going to have a very
rough career ahead of you. Did you really need me for that?"
"We were at an impasse, your honor. I thought you'd help us reach a
compromise, and you did."
"It's my job, Kincaid, and I haven't turned into one of those lazy
sacks who's complaining about more work yet," he said, knocking on his
wood desk. "But you didn't even talk to Coakley about this before
coming to me, did you?"
"Not since yesterday," I said.
"Before Clarissa's body was found," he said, shaking his head. "The
guy was eighty percent done, so he meant it when he said he'd been
working on it. The fact is, you could have come to the same solution
with a phone call. But he probably gave you a hard time yesterday, so
that I'm not aware why you handpicked me as your weapon."
I didn't say anything.
"It's not my business, but just some friendly advice. I know Coakley,
and I'd bet money that word of this will get back to Griffith." That
would be terrific, given the meeting we'd just had. "Don't forget,
I've worked for that office too. You've got to stop butting heads, or
you're in for a world of hurt."
People feel perfectly free to lecture me about butting heads, but who
scolds the butt heads Maybe Lesh could bend the will of jerks like
Coakley through charm and personality, but I've found those kind of
people will run me over if I don't stand up for myself. I still loved
Lesh, but until he walked a mile in my Ferragamos, he didn't have a
clue as to what my job was like.
I thanked him again for his help and headed back to my office.
Five.
While I was packing up what I needed for the file review, I heard a tap
on my open door and turned to find Russ Frist wheeling my long-lost
leather chair into the office.
"Lucy," I said in my best Desi impersonation, "you got some 'splaining
to do."
He flicked a manila envelope onto my desk in front of me.
"Good shot." I looked at the envelope but didn't open it.
"What can I say? Too much ultimate Frisbee in the Corps."
"I wouldn't have guessed that about you, Frist. When I was in college,
the ultimate Frisbee guys were big dope smokers."
"Right, but they probably never inhaled. Let's just agree that you
probably shouldn't extrapolate too much from your Harvard experience,
Kincaid."
"Nor you from the Marine Corps."
"Touche."
"Now shut up, soldier, and tell me why you have my beloved chair."
"Open the envelope," he said.
Inside, I found two Polaroids of my chair and a series of ransom notes
written with letters cut from magazines.
"A couple of the guys heard about your unhealthy relationship with the
office furniture and thought it would be a funny way to welcome you to
the Unit. I put the kibosh on it after Duncan called you out on the
Easterbrook case. Seemed like it would be in poor taste."
"Gee. You think?"
"Just take the chair, Kincaid. You have been spared the usual rites of
passage."
&n
bsp; "Spared, or is this simply a reprieve?"
"You're a smart woman."
"Great. I'll keep my back up."
"Like you wouldn't anyway?"
As he turned to leave, I said, "Don't you want to know about the
Easterbrook case?"
"Of course I do. I was just waiting to see if you'd tell me on your
own."
I was starting to like this guy. I filled him in on what I'd learned
so far from the investigation. "I was just about to head over to
review the victim's files." I left out the part where I hauled the
City Attorney into court to speed access. "You want to come with?"
"The joys of document review. No thanks. If I liked scouring through
boxes of files on the off chance of finding a little nugget, I'd be
over at Dunn Simon making a shitload of money."
It's helpful as a prosecutor to remind yourself occasionally of the
things (other than lots of money) that go along with civil practice at
the big prestigious firms. I was a summer associate at Dunn Simon
after my first year in law school. I got paid twice what I make in my
current position for what amounted to a two-month job interview. But I
knew I'd never want to work there after a young partner explained to me