Defending Jacob by William Landay

like me is of no value out in the political world. Wherever Canavan was headed, I would not be going along. But that was all still in the future. In the meantime, she was biding her time, polishing her public persona, her “brand”: the no-nonsense law-and-order professional. On camera she rarely smiled, rarely joked. She wore little makeup or jewelry and kept her hair short and sensible. The older people in the office remembered a different Lynn Canavan—fun, charismatic, one of the boys, who could swear like a sailor and drink like she had a hollow leg. But the voters never saw any of that, and at this point maybe the old, more natural Lynn did not exist anymore. I suppose she had no choice but to transform herself. Her life was now an endless candidacy; you could hardly blame her for becoming what she pretended to be for so long. Anyway, we all do have to grow up, put childish things aside and all that. But something was lost too. In the course of Lynn’s transformation from butterfly to moth, our long friendship had suffered. Neither of us felt the old intimacy, the sense of trust and connection we’d once had. Maybe she would make me a judge someday, for old times’ sake, to pay the whole thing off. But we both knew, I think, that our friendship had run its course. We both felt vaguely awkward and mournful around each other because of it, like lovers on the downside of an unwinding affair.
    In any event, Lynn Canavan’s likely ascent created a vacuum behind her, and politics abhors a vacuum. That Neal Logiudice might actually fill it would have seemed absurd, once upon a time. Now, who knew? Clearly Logiudice did not see me as an obstacle. I had said over and over that I had no interest in the job, and I meant it. The last thing I wanted was to live an exposed, public life. Still, he would need more than bureaucratic infighting to get there. If Neal wanted to be DA, he would need a real accomplishment to show the voters. A splashy signature win in the courtroom. He needed a skin. Whose skin, I was just beginning to understand.
    “Are you pulling me off the case, Lynn?”
    “Right now I’m just asking what you think.”
    “We’ve been through this. I’m keeping the case. There’s no issue.”
    “It hits pretty close to home, Andy. Your son might be in danger. If he’d been unlucky enough to be walking through that park at the wrong time …”
    Logiudice said, “Maybe your judgment is clouded, just a little. I mean, if you’re being fair, if you stop and think about it objectively.”
    “Clouded how?”
    “Does it make you emotional?”
    “No.”
    “Are you angry, Andy?”
    “Do I look angry?” I counted out the words one by one.
    “Yeah, you do, a little. Or maybe just defensive. But you shouldn’t be; we’re all on the same side here. Hey, it’s perfectly natural to be emotional. If my son was involved—”
    “Neal, are you actually questioning my integrity? Or just my competence?”
    “Neither. I’m questioning your objectivity.”
    “Lynn, does he speak for you? Are you believing this bullshit?”
    She frowned. “My antennae are up, to be honest.”
    “Your antennae? Come on, what does that mean?”
    “I’m uneasy.”
    Logiudice: “It’s the appearance, Andy. The
appearance
of objectivity. Nobody’s saying you actually—”
    “Look, just fuck off, Neal, okay? This doesn’t concern you.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Just let me run my case. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the appearance. The case is going slow because that’s the way it’s going, not because I’m dragging my feet. I’m not going to be stampeded into indicting someone just to make it look good. I thought I taught you better than that.”
    “You taught me I should push every case as hard as I could.”
    “I
am
pushing as hard as I can.”
    “Why haven’t you interviewed the kids? It’s been five days already.”
    “You know damn well why. Because this isn’t Boston, Neal, it’s Newton. Every frickin’