In the silence, a reporter murmured, ‘Jesus Christ!’ There was a babel of sound. Paget glanced at Terri, as if to say: It’s all right, and then Judge Masters’s gavel cracked like a whip.
‘How long,’ she asked in hostile tones, ‘do you expect that process to take?’
‘Two weeks,’ Paget responded blandly. ‘Give or take a day.’
‘
Your Honor
,’ Sharpe cut in angrily, and then Judge Masters waved her silent; to Terri, the gesture said: I’ll take care of this myself. Terri wished she did not have to watch.
‘This is unheard of,’ the judge snapped at Paget. ‘And two weeks’ cross-examination is absurd.’
With whatever effort, Paget looked unruffled. ‘Not just cross-examination, Your Honor. We intend to challenge the admissibility of certain prosecution evidence; to put Ms Carelli on the stand; to put on other witnesses and evidence; and to proffer the testimony of at least two further witnesses in closed sessions in the chambers of the court itself.’ Paget turned to Sharpe. ‘And now that Ms Sharpe knows our plans, I expect she’ll want a bit more than one day. Our two-week estimate includes several days for the prosecution.’
For the first time, Masters’s look of irritation betrayed a certain interest. ‘As I said, Mr Paget, I’ve never seen this done. The role of a preliminary hearing is
not
to replace a trial – even if the prosecution loses for lack of probable cause, they can refile if they find more evidence. Nor does the defense have an automatic right to put on its case in advance of trial.’
Paget nodded. ‘That’s correct, Your Honor, as a general matter. But my understanding of the law is that at a preliminary hearing, the defense
is
entitled to establish an affirmative defense. Self-defense is an affirmative defense to murder, and preventing rape is a form of self-defense.’
Caroline Masters examined him for a while, suspended between annoyance and intellectual fascination, and then permitted herself a thin smile. ‘That’s also
my
understanding of the law. Which may or may not be terribly fortunate for you. Seeing that you propose to give Ms Sharpe a preview of the entire case.’
Paget smiled back. ‘If I’m right, Your Honor, a preview is all that Ms Sharpe will ever get.’
Masters looked dubious. ‘There’s a big difference between “probable cause” and “reasonable doubt.” In my experience, the D.A.
never
blows “probable cause.” It’s hardly a daunting standard.’
‘Daunting enough,’ Paget answered, ‘if the D.A. doesn’t have it.’
‘I would like to be heard,’ Sharpe demanded. When Terri turned, she saw that Sharpe had grasped the table with both hands. ‘Mr Paget’s ten-day ploy has now become transparent. He means to rush the prosecution into a minitrial before the case is ready.’
‘And you bit, Counselor, didn’t you?’ Masters’s tone was dry. ‘Do you still think Ms Carelli’s such a flight risk, or are you willing to loosen her bonds?’
Sharpe shook her head. ‘The People will not change their position on flight. We
will
be ready within the ten-day period, and simply ask that the prelim be set at the end of that period.’
‘Very well.’ Turning back to Paget, Masters used her most ironic tone. ‘Is there anything else, Counselor?’
‘Just one more thing, Your Honor. The matter of Court TV.’ Paget paused. ‘I’ve had several discussions with their representatives, the short of which is that they very much want to televise all public sessions of the prelim. On behalf of Ms Carelli, I request that they be allowed to do so.’ Glancing over at Sharpe, Paget added, ‘The prosecution purports to bring these charges on behalf of “the People.” We believe that “the People” should be allowed to watch.’
Masters was silent for a moment, examining Paget with an opaque expression, and then looked to Sharpe. ‘Ms Sharpe,’ she asked, ‘have you some thoughts on this?’
‘Yes,’ Sharpe answered succinctly. ‘This trick is worse than the last. Having invented an unnecessary hearing on the question of probable cause, Mr Paget now proposes to use it to generate so much prejudicial publicity that it will be impossible to ever select a jury once we
do
prove probable cause. The People are opposed.’
‘Mr Paget?’
‘My reaction is that having invented an unnecessary charge of murder, Ms Sharpe now proposes to hide it.’ Paget paused. ‘The primary concern regarding pretrial publicity is the
defendant’s
right to a fair trial. Ms Carelli believes that fairness is best served by full disclosure.’ Once more, Paget looked at Sharpe. ‘Indeed, listening to Ms Sharpe, I’m reminded of Justice Cardozo’s dictum that “sunlight is the best disinfectant.”’
When Sharpe began to retort, the judge cut her off. ‘Enough, both of you. I think I understand the argument. I will say to Ms Sharpe, without prejudging what should be done here, that a defense request on this issue is entitled to great weight.’ Masters turned again to her deputy. ‘Now I really would like to see the calendar.’
McWhorter brought a bound logbook to the bench. Masters motioned him closer. Bending over the logbook, they murmured to each other. Then Masters turned to McWhorter, said a few final words; he nodded and then retreated to his desk at the side of the courtroom, looking bemused.
Caroline Masters surveyed the courtroom. To Terri, she seemed to sit straighter, look even more like a judge. ‘All right,’ she announced. ‘The preliminary hearing will begin on February 10 and will continue five days a week until concluded.’ She paused, looking from Paget to Sharpe. ‘Generally, this would go to Department 20. but it’s my current intention to delegate my normal caseload to a judge pro tem and to handle the prelim myself.’
With that, Terri knew, Paget had achieved what he wanted. ‘Thank you, Your Honor,’ he said.
Masters nodded to each side. ‘Mr Paget, Ms Sharpe. See you in two weeks. And thank
you
for this morning’s entertainment.’
‘All rise,’ the deputy called out. As the courtroom stood, Caroline Masters walked from the bench.
In the eruption of sound, Terri felt the release of tension. Mary uttered her first words in an hour. ‘Congratulations,’ she murmured to Paget. ‘For a single father, you’re remarkably well prepared.’
‘Congratulate Terri,’ he answered coolly. ‘The reason I’m so well prepared is that after two straight nights of research, she knows more about preliminary hearings than God
or
Marnie Sharpe.’
Mary turned to her. After a moment, she said, ‘Thank you.’
Terri nodded. ‘You’re welcome,’ she said. But Mary had already turned away; Terri stood there, wondering what it was about her that Mary so disliked.
Marnie Sharpe broke into her thoughts.
She had walked briskly up to Paget, reaching him before the press did. ‘Never,’ she said, ‘have I seen someone cut their own throat with such aplomb. At least not since Peter Sellers stopped playing Inspector Clouseau.’
‘Peter Sellers is dead.’ Paget smiled. ‘That’s the wrong joke, Marnie, from the wrong woman, about the wrong movie. The film I had in mind was called
Les Misérables.
You know, the one where a maniacal policeman pursues the innocent for twenty years.’ He paused, adding lightly, ‘
This
film, at least, promises to be shorter.’
When Sharpe turned and walked away, Terri knew that Paget’s nonchalance had only fed her anger. Which was, against Terri’s better judgment, precisely what Christopher Paget had set out to do.
Christopher Paget’s sailboat knifed the water.
Terri watched him. She knew nothing about sailing or the boat itself, a trim twenty-footer. But Paget knew what he was doing; slim and alert, he gazed intently at the water ahead, weight shifting easily with the waves. Johnny Moore, who had clearly done this before, helped with the sails. Terri leaned back against the inside of the boat; it sliced the bay at a forty-five-degree angle, tilting her forward. She looked out at Angel Island and the Golden Gate, breeze cool on her face.
It was the morning after Mary’s arraignment, and unseasonably warm. The three of them needed to talk. Johnny Moore, who hated meetings and liked the outdoors, had told Paget that in this weather he preferred to meet in the middle of San Francisco Bay; when Paget had called to ask her about it, Terri volunteered to pack sandwiches. ‘That clinches it,’ Paget said, and asked what she wanted to drink. The only person who did not like Johnny’s plan was Richie.
‘What kind of job is this?’ he had demanded as she pulled out blue jeans and a sweater.
‘The kind that supports us,’ Terri had answered. Then she had dressed Elena and driven her to day care, Richie’s nameless irritation trailing after her.
After an hour or so, they docked at Angel Island. Wooded and green in winter, the hilly island rose above them and curled around the waterfront. The only sound was the wind and the cries of gulls; behind them, more gulls walked stiffly down the dock, searching for scraps of food. They sat hunched inside the sailboat, looking out at the terraced hillsides of Sausalito and, beyond that and to their left, the distant skyline of the city, white and sparkling. Paget and Terri drank mineral water; Johnny sipped at a long-necked bottle of Beck’s beer, looking contented in the sun.
‘This is better,’ he said. ‘I feel mummified in offices. Especially yours.’
Paget shrugged. ‘My view is nice.’
‘I suppose. The problem is that the building works me over. I step inside, start breathing air that’s been filtered by God knows how many machines, and then surrender to an elevator that’s run by remote control instead of by a person. By the time I’ve risen twenty floors, I’ve given up all control over my destiny, and the only reminder of normal life is when I look about a quarter mile down through your window and I can’t even open that. I feel like a fish in an aquarium.’
Paget turned to Terri. ‘Remind me,’ he told her, ‘to look for space in a trailer park. Something human scale, for Johnny’s sake.’
There was an unwonted edge in Paget’s voice; Terri decided the moment needed some lightness. ‘I like it this way,’ she answered. ‘You provide a decent office, and Johnny takes me sailing. Between the two of you, you’re almost satisfactory.’
Moore smiled at her fondly. ‘That’s my most fervent endorsement,’ he said, ‘since my ex-wife passed up our anniversary dinner for an evening of group therapy. And to think that all I needed to make her happy was to bring Chris along.’
They stopped talking for a moment, gazing out at the city, each with their own thoughts.
‘Would someone please tell me,’ Moore inquired at last, ‘why you two are challenging probable cause? That’s like standing in front of a bullet and asking it to stop.’
As Paget leaned back, squinting slightly, Terri could read how uncertain he still was. He looked not at Moore but at the city.
‘This case,’ he said, ‘is going south. I want to try and end it before it crosses the border. The prelim is our best chance.’
Moore regarded him. ‘You don’t want them to find the second tape.’
‘That’s very much part of it,’ Paget answered. ‘Do you have any idea where it could be?’
‘No. But even the police have had no luck – it’s like dear Mark mislaid it.’ Moore paused. ‘Am I correct in understanding that this tape is worse for you than her?’
Paget shrugged. ‘Aside from whatever it says about me, and whatever it might do to Carlo, I have the strange feeling that it would do Mary no good at all. In spite of what she says.’
Terri watched Moore hesitate, take in how difficult Paget must find this conversation. ‘I wouldn’t think worse of you, Chris, if you
were
just looking out for yourself and Carlo. She’s put you in a terrible place, and long ago.’
Paget’s eyes narrowed further. ‘But
I’d
feel worse. As I did then, lying to serve my own interests, as well as Mary’s. It surely has come back to haunt us all.’
It’s haunted
you
, Terri thought, all along. A single lie, for better reasons than you can believe of yourself, changed the course of your life.
‘Ah, well,’ Paget said. ‘The problem now is to deal with it. Whatever I have at stake, our client is Mary Carelli.’
Moore appraised him. Finally, he asked, ‘You still don’t believe her, do you?’
‘No. She’s hiding something from me. But I don’t know what, or why, and there’s no point in even asking. I just don’t want Sharpe to find whatever it is.’
‘But do you really think there’s any chance to beat Sharpe at the prelim?’
‘After the arraignment, yes.
Some
kind of chance.’
Moore pulled on his beer, plainly skeptical. ‘Because you sucked Sharpe into an early prelim?’
Paget nodded. ‘That, and Caroline Masters. I counted on her being intrigued enough, and ambitious enough, to handle the prelim herself. It was obvious that she’d prefer doing this to cases of sidewalk spitting. What was less obvious – but I think very much on her mind – was that two weeks on television could shoot her up the judicial ladder.’ Paget paused. ‘Which, although I was far too circumspect to even hint at it, was precisely what I offered her.’
‘But why would you
want
her?’ Moore asked. ‘In my observation, the woman’s a real piece of work. Piss her off, and what she’ll offer
you
is two weeks in the eighth circle of hell, and on television at that. I can see the promos now – “Watch Christopher Paget, turning on a spit.”’
Inwardly, Terri winced; perhaps better than Moore, she could feel the pressure of a televised hearing bearing down on Paget. But Moore was too honest and professional to withhold his doubts for the sake of tact. Paget turned to Moore with an expression of weary patience. ‘Why did I want her? Because Terri told me I should. Does that make you feel better?’
‘That makes me feel a
little
better.’ Moore looked over at Terri. ‘Please, reassure me.’
Terri hesitated; inadvertently, Moore and Paget had reminded her how much was riding on her judgment of Caroline Masters, and how much Paget had begun to trust her. ‘I used to work for her,’ Terri said at length. ‘The first thing you notice about Caroline is that she has immense self-confidence, and an overwhelming – and generally justified – belief in her own intelligence. She’s smart enough to see where Chris is going, and one of the few judges with guts enough to throw this out. Assuming that she
buys
where Chris is going. Which she’s more likely to than most.’