Dead Even Read online

  Also by Brad Meltzer

  The Tenth Justice

  The First Counsel

  The Millionaires

  * * *

  DEAD EVEN

  * * *

  BRAD MELTZER

  WARNER BOOKS

  An AOL Time Warner eBook

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 1998 by Forty-four Steps, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Warner Books

  1271 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  An AOL Time Warner Company

  Please visit our web site at

  www.twbookmark.com

  ISBN 0-7595-8729-9

  First eBook Edition: February 2003

  For Cori,

  who couldn’t possibly mean more to me

  because she already means everything

  And for my parents,

  who showered me with love,

  taught me how to laugh,

  and always let me dream

  acknowledgments

  I’D LIKE TO THANK THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE, WHO CONTRIBUTED their tremendous talents and energies to this book: my wife and favorite lawyer, Cori, without whom this book would not exist. When I decided to write about married attorneys, I knew I’d be drawing on personal experience. What I didn’t realize was that I’d also be driving the two of us insane. From the very start, Cori kept it all together, and if this book is anything, it’s a testament to the strength of our marriage and the love I have for my wife. (Thanks, C—you know I’d be lost without you.) Jill Kneerim, my agent, for her unfailing faith in me as a writer, her insightful advice, and, most of all, her treasured friendship; Elaine Rogers; Sharon Silva-Lamberson; Robin Chaykin; Ike Williams; and everyone else at The Palmer & Dodge Agency for their constant support and, most important, for never giving up on me.

  I’d also like to thank my sister, Bari, who always stands in my corner and, as a result, provides me with more help than she’ll ever realize; Noah Kuttler, for his tireless attention to every detail and nuance of this book (Noah, I can’t thank you enough; you really are incredible); Ethan Kline, for his discerning reaction to early drafts of the manuscript; Matt Oshinsky, Joel Rose, Chris Weiss, and Judd Winick, for their always perceptive suggestions and always valued friendship; Matthew Bogdanos, for inviting me into the world of prosecution and letting me see, up close, the vivid reality of what it really takes to fight crime—thank you for that trust; Maxine Rosenthal, for her extraordinary assistance; Dale Flam, Sandy Missakian, Barry Weisburg, Ronnie Aranoff, Alan Michaels, Bob Woodburn, and Eric Menoyo, for walking me through the details; Dr. Sam Snyder and Dr. Ronald K. Wright, for all the wonderful forensic and medical advice; Sara Emley, for the two words on the cover; Janice Doniger, for her keen understanding of what to wear and where to be seen; the helpful and extremely patient people at the Manhattan DA’s public information office; and all my family and friends, whose names, as always, inhabit these pages.

  Finally, I’d like to thank all the truly incredible people at Rob Weisbach Books and William Morrow: Bill Wright, Patricia Alvarez, Jacqueline Deval, Michael Murphy, Lisa Queen, Sharyn Rosenblum, Elizabeth Riley, Jeanette Zwart, Richard L. Aquan, Tom Nau, Colin Dickerman, David Szanto, and all the other amazingly nice folks at Weisbach/Morrow whose hard work made this book a reality. I’m honored to work with every one of them. I also owe a great deal of thanks to Larry Kirshbaum, Maureen Egen, Mel Parker, Airié Dekidjiev, and all the terrific people at Warner Books, who always make it a true pleasure. Finally, I’d like to thank my editor and publisher, Rob Weisbach. After close to a thousand pages together, I still have a hard time finding the perfect words for Rob. As an editor and publisher, there is no better—he pushed me to draw on reserves I didn’t know existed, and his influence can be felt on every page. As a friend, he is someone I turn to without hesitation. So thank you, Rob, for your trust, for your enthusiasm, and, most of all, for your faith.

  Contents

  acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  DEAD EVEN

  Chapter 1

  “WHAT IF IT’S A DISASTER?” SARA ASKED AS SHE GOT into bed.

  “It’s not going to be a disaster,” Jared said. “You’re going to be great.”

  “But what if I’m not? What if I’m just average? Maybe that’s what they were trying to tell me. Maybe that’s the lesson.”

  “There’s no lesson, and you’ve never been average,” Jared said, joining his wife under the covers. “It’s just your first day of work. All you have to do is show up and be yourself.” He shut off the lamp on his nightstand and reached for the nearby alarm clock. “What time do you want to wake up?”

  “How about six-thirty?” Sara paused. “Actually, make it six-fifteen.” She paused again. “Five forty-five. Just in case the train’s running late.”

  “Shhhh, take a deep breath,” Jared said. He propped himself up on his elbow. “It’s okay to be nervous, but there’s no reason to get nuts.”

  “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “I know,” he said, taking her hand. “I know what’s riding on this one—I remember what happened last time. I promise you, though, you’re going to be great.”

  “You think so?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Sara, from this moment on, I’m choosing to ignore you.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  Jared pulled one of the pillows from behind his head and held it over Sara’s face. “I refuse to acknowledge that question.”

  “Does that mean we’re done talking about work?” Sara asked, her laughs muffled by the pillow.

  “Yes, we’re done talking about work.” Jared straddled his wife, keeping the pillow on her face.

  “Uh-oh, someone’s getting kinky.” Sara tried to pull the pillow away, but she felt Jared press down even harder. “C’mon, that’s not funny,” she said. “It’s starting to hurt.”

  “Stop whining.”

  “What?” she asked.

  He didn’t respond.

  “I’m serious, Jared. I can’t breathe.”

  She felt him moving forward on her chest. Her left shoulder was suddenly pinned back by his knee. Then her right.

  “Jared, what’re you doing?” She grabbed his wrists and dug her nails into his arm.

  He only pressed down harder.

  “Jared, get off me! Get off me!” Her body was convulsing now, violently trying to knock him from his perch. As her nails tore at his arms and legs, her lungs lurched for air. But all he did was hold tight. She wanted to stop fighting, but she couldn’t. Choking on her own tears, she called out his name. “Jaaared!” she sobbed.

  “Jaaared…”

  Jolted awake, Sara shot up in bed. Her face was covered in sweat and the room was silent. Jared was asleep next to her. Just a dream,
she told herself, trying to stop her heart from racing. It’s okay. But as she put her head back on the pillow, she couldn’t let it go. Even more than the others, this one felt real. Her fears, his response, even his touch. All so real. It wasn’t about Jared, though, she told herself. It was about work. To prove it to herself, she pressed her body up against her husband and wrapped an arm around his chest. He felt warm under the covers. Clearly, it was about work. She took a deep breath and squinted at the clock on Jared’s nightstand. Two more hours, she realized. Only two more hours.

  “Here’s what I want,” Jared said to the redheaded man behind the counter at Mike’s Deli. “A sesame bagel with most, but not all, of the seeds scraped off, a light schmear of cream cheese, and a coffee—very light, with one spoon of sugar.”

  “That’s nice, dear,” Sara said. “While you’re at it, why don’t you just ask him to suck the nougat out of the Snickers?”

  “Don’t give him any ideas.” The man behind the counter started on Jared’s order. “In my whole life, I’ve never seen a man who gave more instructions for a stinking bagel and coffee. You’d think it was a work of art or something.”

  “Mikey, by the time you’re done with it, it will be,” Jared said with a wink.

  “Don’t suck up to me,” Mikey said. He turned to Sara. “Now what does the normal half of the family want?”

  “Whatever you want to get rid of. Just make it exciting—nothing plain.”

  “See, now that’s why you’re my favorite,” Mikey sang. “No headache, no pain-in-the-ass demands, just normal, considerate—”

  “Are you the manager?” a gray-haired woman with large glasses interrupted.

  “That I am,” Mikey said. “Can I help you?”

  “I doubt it. I just want to register a complaint.” She pulled a coupon from the pocket of her LOVE IS A PIANO TEACHER book bag and thrust it across the counter. “This coupon says that I get one dollar off a box of original flavor Cheerios. But when I checked the shelves, I saw that you’re out of this item and that the coupon expires tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re a very small store with limited space. If you want, you’re welcome to use the coupon on the other flavors of Cheerios. We have multigrain, and honey-nut, and—”

  “I don’t want any other Cheerios. I want these Cheerios!” the woman shouted, causing everyone in the small grocery store to turn and look. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. When you print up these flyers with the coupons, you hide all the items in the back room. That way we can never redeem them.”

  “Actually, ma’am, we just don’t have the space to—”

  “I don’t want to hear your excuses. What you’re doing is false advertising! And that means it’s illegal.”

  “No, it’s not,” Sara and Jared said simultaneously.

  Surprised, the woman looked over at the couple, who were still waiting for their bagels. “Yes, it is,” she insisted. “When he sends out those coupons he’s making an offer for his products.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but an advertisement isn’t an offer,” Sara said.

  “Unless it specifies an exact quantity or indicates exactly who can accept it,” Jared added.

  “Uh-oh,” a man in line behind Sara and Jared said. “I smell lawyers.”

  “Why don’t you both mind your own business?” the woman snapped.

  “Then why don’t you leave our friend alone?” Sara said.

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

  “And our friend didn’t ask to be talked down to like he was a piece of garbage,” Sara shot back. “Now, as a Cheerios lover myself, I can appreciate your frustration, but we don’t go for that kind of unpleasantness here. Instead, we’ve taken a new approach: It’s called acting civilly to each other. I can understand if you don’t want to participate, but that’s the way we play it. So if you don’t like it, why don’t you make like a coupon and…and disappear.”

  As Jared fought to contain his laughter, the woman sneered at Mikey. “You’ll never see me in this establishment again,” she seethed.

  “I’ll live,” Mikey said.

  With a sniff, the woman turned and stormed out of the store. Mikey looked over at his two favorite customers. “Make like a coupon and disappear?”

  “What can I say? I was under pressure.”

  “It did get her to leave,” Jared pointed out.

  “You’re right about that,” Mikey agreed. “Which means breakfast’s on me.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Sara and Jared were crammed in the middle of a packed-to-capacity subway car. Sara was dressed in her best navy-blue pantsuit, while Jared wore a frayed Columbia Law sweatshirt and a pair of jogging shorts. A long-distance runner since his early years in high school, Jared still had his athletic build, although a small bald spot on the back of his head made him feel far older than he looked. With his suit packed neatly in a trifolding backpack, he began every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with a half-hour run. “That’s not a bad way to start the day,” Jared said, pressed tightly against his wife. “Your first day on the job and you already have a victory.”

  “I don’t know,” Sara said as the train pulled away from the Fifty-ninth Street stop. “There’s a big difference between cranky piano teachers and actual criminals. And if past performance is any indication, this job is going to be an even bigger loser than the last one.”

  “One stupid incident at one hotshot law firm means nothing about your value in the job market.”

  “But six months of looking—c’mon, Jared.”

  “I don’t care, you’re going to be great.” Sara rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that look,” Jared added. “I know what you’re thinking and it’s not true.”

  “Oh, so now you think you can read my mind?”

  “I don’t think I can read your mind—I know I can read your mind.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay, then, lover boy, take your best shot. What’s going through my panicky little brain?”

  Jared closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “I see great unrest. Great neurosis. No, wait—I see a handsome, brilliant, casually dressed husband. My, my, my, is he a good-looking one…”

  “Jared…”

  “That’s his name—Jared! My God, we’re sharing the same vision.”

  “I’m serious. What if this job doesn’t work out? The article in the Times…”

  “Forget about the Times. All it said was that the mayor was announcing budget cuts. Even if it leads to layoffs, that doesn’t mean you’re going to be fired. If you want to be safe, though, you can call Judge Flynn and—”

  “I told you last night, I’m not calling him,” Sara interrupted. “If I’m going to stay here, I want it to be because I deserve it, not because someone called in a favor.”

  Jared didn’t argue the point further. Since they had first met, Sara never wanted special treatment—no professional favors, no help. Her independent streak ran deep: When Jared’s uncle had offered to put in a good word so she could get an interview at his law firm, Sara had refused. To Jared, her logic was irrational and counterproductive. But Jared thrived on connections; Sara despised them. “I’m sorry I even brought it up,” he finally said. “Besides, if this job doesn’t work out, you can always find another.”

  “No. No way,” she insisted. “My psyche’s taken enough of a beating.”

  “That’s exactly what I was about to say,” Jared backpedaled. “No more psyche-beating for you. They’re going to love you here, and they’re going to realize you’re a genius, and unlike Winick and Trudeau, they’re never going to fire you. Starting today, they’re going to fan you with giant feathers and baby-fresh-scent perfumes. You’re not going to have to worry about the budget cuts and the butterflies will never swarm in your stomach.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Sara said with an affectionate smile. “Do you really believe all the noise that comes out of your mouth?”
/>
  “I’m a defense attorney. That’s my job.”

  “Yeah, well you’re making the rest of us lawyers look bad.”

  “You’re not a lawyer anymore—starting today, you’re a DA.”

  “And that means I’m not a lawyer?”

  “Once you go to the district attorney’s office, you become a vampire. All you’ll care about is arresting and convicting innocent people.”

  “Says the man who helps guilty criminals go free.”

  “Says the self-righteous DA.”

  “Says the man who will never again have sex with his wife.”

  Jared laughed as the train pulled into the Fiftieth Street stop. “Says the woman who is always right and never wrong and should never again be doubted.”

  “Thank you,” Sara said.

  He kissed her then—a lingering kiss. “You’re going to miss your stop,” she said, pulling away. The doors of the train closed.