for business. “You say the teacher was with this girl? How old was he?”
“Forty.”
“Forty,” Hardy said. “And Laura?”
“Sixteen.”
“What a lovely world. And they picked up your client—Andrew?—when?”
“Last Friday.”
Hardy nodded. “So nobody’s rushing to judgment. Homicide must have worked the case pretty well.”
“Looks like.” Wu hesitated. “Also, and you might find this interesting, Andrew Bartlett’s stepfather is Hal North.”
“Is he now?” Hardy, no stranger to the power players in the city, nodded with approval. “So where are you now?”
“Well, I’ve talked to Boscacci. They’ve got a witness who picked Andrew out of a lineup. No question, first try. Beyond that, Andrew’s on the record with half a dozen lies, plus he stole his father’s gun—a nine-millimeter automatic, which in this case is bad luck. Oh, and they found a casing in the car. Andrew’s car.”
“Okay, and the boy’s story?”
“He didn’t do it. He didn’t even realize he was being considered a suspect until the police came and put the cuffs on him. He liked Mooney. He loved Laura.”
When she mentioned the alibi, Hardy asked immediately, without inflection, “Anybody see him while he was taking this walk?”
“No sign of it.”
“What does he say?”
Wu shifted in her chair. “Well, I haven’t talked to him yet, gotten his story.”
Hardy cocked his head. “You haven’t talked to him yet? It’s been, what, four days?”
“I’ve been going over the discovery, sir, talking with the parents, and negotiating with Allan Boscacci. I’ve met Andrew before. I defended him for a joyride a couple of years ago, and didn’t see any immediate need to go and introduce myself again.”
“Okay,” Hardy said. “Sorry to jump.” But the fact remained that, in his opinion, Wu had slipped again. One of the fundamentals was that you went and talked to the client.
But Wu seemed oblivious. “Anyway, the point is that Boscacci wouldn’t have arrested Andrew if his alibi held up. And it doesn’t. The eyewitness.”
“All right. But if they just hired you on Friday, who’d Andrew have with him all the times when he talked to the homicide guys since February?”
“Nobody. No lawyer anyway. His parents saw it the way he did, and really didn’t believe he was a suspect. They just let him talk and talk and talk.”
Hardy shook his head. “How deep a hole did he dig?”
“He’s pretty well hit China.”
“Well, then, it looks like you’ve got your first bona fide murder case. Congratulations, I think. If you’ve come to me for my imprimatur, you’ve got it”—as managing partner, Hardy approved all of the firm’s new business—“although I’m not sure you’ll wind up thanking me for it. Murder trials can kill you.”
“I’ve heard,” she said, “but I’m not planning to take him to trial.”
“No? How’s that going to happen?”
“I think you’ll be happy,” Amy said. “My idea is to keep him in the juvie system.”
“How old is he, did you say?”
“Seventeen.”
Hardy sat back. “Last I heard, seventeen-year-olds got filed adult around here. Mr. Jackman’s been a little rigid on the topic.” Jackman had very publicly adopted a very tough stance on juvenile crime. A seventeen-year-old who’d killed two people did not elicit much sympathy from the new prosecutors in the DA’s office. “You’re telling me Boscacci has already filed him juvie?”
“Yes, sir.” She paused. “After I told him Andrew would admit.”
But Hardy’s expression grew perplexed. “He’s going to admit? How do you know he’s going to do that? You said you hadn’t talked to him yet.”
“I talked to his stepfather.”
“Okay, all well and good, but the one who pays the bills isn’t necessarily the client.” Hardy scratched behind his ear, interrupted Wu as she started to reply. “No, wait,” he said. “And what if in fact he didn’t actually do it?”
Wu
“Forty.”
“Forty,” Hardy said. “And Laura?”
“Sixteen.”
“What a lovely world. And they picked up your client—Andrew?—when?”
“Last Friday.”
Hardy nodded. “So nobody’s rushing to judgment. Homicide must have worked the case pretty well.”
“Looks like.” Wu hesitated. “Also, and you might find this interesting, Andrew Bartlett’s stepfather is Hal North.”
“Is he now?” Hardy, no stranger to the power players in the city, nodded with approval. “So where are you now?”
“Well, I’ve talked to Boscacci. They’ve got a witness who picked Andrew out of a lineup. No question, first try. Beyond that, Andrew’s on the record with half a dozen lies, plus he stole his father’s gun—a nine-millimeter automatic, which in this case is bad luck. Oh, and they found a casing in the car. Andrew’s car.”
“Okay, and the boy’s story?”
“He didn’t do it. He didn’t even realize he was being considered a suspect until the police came and put the cuffs on him. He liked Mooney. He loved Laura.”
When she mentioned the alibi, Hardy asked immediately, without inflection, “Anybody see him while he was taking this walk?”
“No sign of it.”
“What does he say?”
Wu shifted in her chair. “Well, I haven’t talked to him yet, gotten his story.”
Hardy cocked his head. “You haven’t talked to him yet? It’s been, what, four days?”
“I’ve been going over the discovery, sir, talking with the parents, and negotiating with Allan Boscacci. I’ve met Andrew before. I defended him for a joyride a couple of years ago, and didn’t see any immediate need to go and introduce myself again.”
“Okay,” Hardy said. “Sorry to jump.” But the fact remained that, in his opinion, Wu had slipped again. One of the fundamentals was that you went and talked to the client.
But Wu seemed oblivious. “Anyway, the point is that Boscacci wouldn’t have arrested Andrew if his alibi held up. And it doesn’t. The eyewitness.”
“All right. But if they just hired you on Friday, who’d Andrew have with him all the times when he talked to the homicide guys since February?”
“Nobody. No lawyer anyway. His parents saw it the way he did, and really didn’t believe he was a suspect. They just let him talk and talk and talk.”
Hardy shook his head. “How deep a hole did he dig?”
“He’s pretty well hit China.”
“Well, then, it looks like you’ve got your first bona fide murder case. Congratulations, I think. If you’ve come to me for my imprimatur, you’ve got it”—as managing partner, Hardy approved all of the firm’s new business—“although I’m not sure you’ll wind up thanking me for it. Murder trials can kill you.”
“I’ve heard,” she said, “but I’m not planning to take him to trial.”
“No? How’s that going to happen?”
“I think you’ll be happy,” Amy said. “My idea is to keep him in the juvie system.”
“How old is he, did you say?”
“Seventeen.”
Hardy sat back. “Last I heard, seventeen-year-olds got filed adult around here. Mr. Jackman’s been a little rigid on the topic.” Jackman had very publicly adopted a very tough stance on juvenile crime. A seventeen-year-old who’d killed two people did not elicit much sympathy from the new prosecutors in the DA’s office. “You’re telling me Boscacci has already filed him juvie?”
“Yes, sir.” She paused. “After I told him Andrew would admit.”
But Hardy’s expression grew perplexed. “He’s going to admit? How do you know he’s going to do that? You said you hadn’t talked to him yet.”
“I talked to his stepfather.”
“Okay, all well and good, but the one who pays the bills isn’t necessarily the client.” Hardy scratched behind his ear, interrupted Wu as she started to reply. “No, wait,” he said. “And what if in fact he didn’t actually do it?”
Wu
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