The Second Chair by John Lescroart Page B

came forward with some enthusiasm, obviously feeling that this question put her on firmer ground. “He did, though,” she said. “Look, we know homicide took two months building the case. They played it slow and steady. He did it, sir, and specials as an adult puts him in prison for the rest of his life. He’ll admit to avoid that.”
    “But you just told me he says he’s innocent.”
    Wu shook her head. “They don’t arrest innocent people anymore.”
    “It’s happened to clients of mine.”
    “Yes, sir. All two of them, I believe, right?”
    “Actually, three.”
    “Well, the exceptions that prove the rule. Three is more than an entire century’s allotment right there.”
    Hardy wasn’t really amused, but he broke a small smile. “I hate to mention it, but they were last century’s cases. Now we’re working on the new one.”
    “When Andrew sees the evidence against him, he’s going to get religion. You watch. I promise. Really, sir. This is a sweet deal for everybody.”
    “I can’t believe Boscacci’s going along.”
    “To avoid the trial? Why not? He gets two convictions out of this, so he wins. Wouldn’t you take the deal?”
    Hardy thought if he were Boscacci he might, but depending on the evidence, he might not. Though there was always an incentive among administrators to clear docket time, a high-profile murder case often sought its own level and provided potentially positive intangibles, such as name recognition for the politically ambitious. And even if Wu’s strategy worked, it wouldn’t be without its drawbacks.
    Wu sat back, cocked her head, spoke in a measured tone. “What I’m doing here, sir, is making sure that Andrew gets out of custody in eight years instead of never.”
    Hardy, unsatisfied, glanced at his watch. “All right,” he said. Getting up out of his chair, he pulled some papers on his desk together. “I’m hoping you’re right in every respect. Meanwhile, I’ve got another client coming in, so may I be so crass as to inquire about your retainer? This is still criminal law . . .”
    “And you get your money up front.”
    “Words to live by. How much?”
    “Well,” she said. “The plea won’t take too long to get processed. I figured it was worth about five grand.”
    At the figure, Hardy stopped his paper gathering, looked up with another question on his face, worry in his eye. Even if everything went exactly according to Wu’s plan and she was uncommonly lucky—and Hardy thought neither of these was a lock—then she would certainly spend at least forty hours, and maybe as many as sixty, in the next week or so preparing Andrew, convincing him that it was in his favor to say that he was guilty of murder so that he could avoid being tried as an adult.
    Hardy had been doing a lot of math in his head lately, and immediately sensed that five thousand dollars wasn’t close to Wu’s standard rate of $150 an hour. He punched at the adding machine in front of him. It was worse than he’d thought. “You’re only planning on putting in thirty-three hours on this?”
    “I figured that was about what it was worth.” She fidgeted with her hands opening her purse.
    Hardy shook his head. “So you were going to put in the extra time without billing it, which would not only be cheating you, but the client and the firm, and . . .”
    She pulled the check from her purse, interrupted his rebuke. “So I told Mr. North I’d take twenty down. Thousand, that is.”
    She put the check face up on the desk.
    Hardy looked down at it, up at her. Nodded. “Okay, Wu,” he said, “you’re starting to get it.”
    Into the phone, Hardy said, “I would have bet your office was a veritable fortress of solitude.”
    “I would have, too, but I guess not,” Glitsky said. “I even thought of dusting for prints, except everybody who works in the Hall was here for the open house when I took office.”
    “You don’t have any idea who it was?”
    “I can’t imagine anybody