Dead Even Read online

  “Cops aren’t that stupid. They know the big guns never take small cases.”

  Sara replayed the facts in her head. “I never thought about it like that,” she said, her voice laced with excitement. “I mean, for all I know, this case is a gold mine.”

  “Sara, be careful with this. Don’t get your hopes up abou—”

  “You said it yourself,” she interrupted. “There has to be some reason this case was marked for Victor.”

  “Wait a minute. Victor? As in Victor Stockwell?”

  “Yeah. Do you know him?”

  “Just by reputation.”

  “Okay, but now you know what I’m saying—Victor’s name was on it for a reason.”

  “But that doesn’t mean the case is a definite winner,” Jared pointed out. “If it was, he would’ve asked for it back.”

  “Just because it wasn’t big enough for Victor doesn’t mean it’s not big enough for me.”

  “Now you’re reaching,” he replied. “Have you asked your assistant about it? Maybe he has some ideas.”

  “That’s the other issue,” Sara said, losing steam. “I told Guff I stole the case, but I never told him it was originally marked for Victor.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “C’mon, Sara, I can read you like a coloring book.”

  “It’s just that he put his faith in me. I don’t want to lose that trust.”

  “That’s fine, but you have to turn it around. Take this case, make the most of it, and bring home a win. As far as I can tell, that’s the only way to keep your job.”

  “No, you’re absolutely right. From here on in, I’m taking control.”

  When she was off the phone, Sara once again felt the silence of the room. But instead of feeling trapped by it, she fought against it. This is it, she told herself. Turn it around or let it beat you down. She stood and walked out to Guff’s desk. “Any luck rounding up help?”

  “Not yet,” Guff said. “How’re you holding up?”

  “I think I’m finally ready to fight.”

  “Really? What brought on the sudden change?”

  “Nothing more than a little reality. And crazy as it sounds, I’m starting to have a good feeling about this case.”

  With his fists wrapped tightly around the iron bars of his jail cell, Tony Kozlow had a difficult time keeping his voice to a whisper. “What do you mean she stole the case?”

  “Just what I said,” Victor said, standing an arm’s length away from the cell. “She stole it. The case came in, she had access to it, and she took it. My guess is she must’ve seen my name on it and assumed it was a high-profile piece. Problem is, she grabbed a bore.”

  “Don’t jerk me around,” Kozlow said. With dark hair, a thick black goatee, and a three-quarter-length black leather jacket, Tony Kozlow was what the DA’s office called a mutt. Low-class and easily riled, he was visibly annoyed by Victor’s tone. “Does Mr. Rafferty know about this?”

  Victor stiffened. “Not yet. I haven’t been able to reach him. In fact, that’s the only reason I’m here—I thought he might be visiting you.”

  “Him visit me?” Kozlow squinted at Victor. “Why don’t you take some advice and try him again.”

  Calmly approaching the cell, Victor slid his right arm through the bars and grabbed the back of Kozlow’s neck. “Let me tell you something,” Victor said, holding Kozlow’s face against the iron bars of the cell. “Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t like it.”

  Enraged, Kozlow shoved his hands through the iron bars, grabbed Victor by the ears, and rammed his face against the bars. “How’s this for a threat?” Kozlow shouted. “Touch me again and I’ll rip your head off!” Within seconds, a nearby guard ran to the cell and pulled Victor free. With his nightstick, he jabbed Kozlow in the stomach, sending him to his knees.

  “Are you okay?” the guard asked Victor.

  Without answering, Victor turned away from Kozlow’s cell and left the holding area.

  “What the hell kind of deal is that?” Joel Rose screamed.

  “That’s the best we could do,” Jared said with his eyes closed, cradling the phone receiver on his shoulder. From the moment he made the call, Jared knew he was going to have to brace himself for the worst. Lubetsky didn’t like the final amount of the settlement, but Joel Rose, president and CEO of Rose Microsystems, was the one who was going to have to pay it—which meant he liked the amount even less. Trying his best to sound happy with the result, Jared said, “And considering the alternative, that’s not too bad a number.”

  “Really?” Rose asked. “Say that number again for me, Jared.”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “Now listen to me, Jared. That number has eight syllables. And since more syllables usually means more money, eight syllables means a great deal of money. So once again, does that sound like a small number to you?”

  “Mr. Rose, I know you didn’t want to pay that much, but it really is a fair deal—trust me, it could’ve come out much worse.”

  “Trust you?” Rose’s voice boomed with fury. “This isn’t the damn Boy Scouts, it’s a—you know what? Put me on with Lubetsky. I’m sick of dealing with imbeciles.”

  “Are you sure he’ll help us?” Sara asked as she sat down at her desk.

  “When Conrad says he’s going to do something, he does it,” Guff replied.

  “What’s his story?”

  “Conrad Moore is an unbelievable prosecutor—one of the most respected in the office. More important, he’s the person I originally worked for when I started here. I asked him if he would give you some advice with the situation, and he said he’d be happy to.”

  “That’s great,” she said. “Thank you, Guff.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until you meet him. He’s a bit intense.”

  “What do you mean, intense?”

  “For the past four years running, Conrad has had the largest trial caseload in the entire DA’s office. He goes to trial more than anyone.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s pretty simple—he never accepts a plea bargain. If you committed a crime, he’s going to send you to jail. Period. No negotiating, no pleading to a lower count, no favors. And since he gets great cases, he can afford to do it.”

  “If he’s so busy, where’s he finding time to help me?”

  “All I know is he just finished mentoring someone else, so when he said yes, I jumped at the opportunity.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll take it. When do we get started?”

  Guff looked down at his watch. “He said he’d call right about—”

  Sara’s phone started ringing.

  “I’d say right about now,” Guff said, folding his arms across his chest with a grin.

  “This is Sara,” she said as she picked up the receiver.

  “That’s not how you answer the phone,” a voice said. “What’s your job now?”

  “Who’s this?” Sara asked.

  “This is Conrad Moore. Guff said you needed some help. Now what’s your job here?”

  “I’m a DA,” Sara stammered.

  “You’re not a DA,” Conrad said, his tone stern. “On TV, everyone’s a DA. In the movies, everyone’s a DA. In real life, though, there’s only one DA: Arthur Monaghan. Our boss. And in real life, you’re an assistant district attorney. An ADA. So when you answer the phone, you tell whoever’s calling who they’re dealing with. Understand?”

  Sara heard the phone click as Conrad hung up. Five seconds later, her phone rang again. Hesitantly, she picked it up. “Assistant district attorney’s office. This is Sara,” she answered.

  “No!” Conrad shouted. “This is their first impression of you. You want them to think they’ve reached the receptionist? What’s your last name, Sara?”

  “Tate.”

  “Then that’s all you give them. In this office, we deal with criminals. And unlike the law firm you used to work at, we don’t want more clients—we want l
ess. So we don’t need to be nice. We want to be mean. We want people to be scared when they commit a crime. So don’t get buddy-buddy with them. From now on, you’re ADA Tate. That’s all.” Again, Conrad hung up.

  Five seconds later, Sara’s phone rang. Picking it up, she screamed, “ADA Tate! Now who the fuck is this?”

  “That’s good,” Conrad said. “That’s the intimidation we’re looking for.”

  “I’m glad. Now am I ever going to meet you face-to-face, or are we going to talk on the phone all day?”

  “Come over right now,” Conrad said, his voice warming up. “I’m at the end of the hall on your right. Room 755.”

  Hanging up the phone, Sara turned to Guff and took a deep breath. “We’re in. Want to come?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting all day for this,” Guff said. “So what’d you think?”

  “He’s certainly aggressive,” Sara said as she stepped into the hallway. “I just hope he can get us out of this mess.”

  Victor walked briskly up Centre Street, anxious to get back to the office. The afternoon’s events had taken up more time than he would’ve hoped, and he still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Rafferty. But as he was crossing the street in front of the old Federal Courthouse, his cellular phone rang. Unlisted with the DA’s office, the number was Victor’s private line and was to be used only in emergencies. He flipped open the phone and answered, “Who’s this?”

  “Who’s this?” Kozlow asked, mimicking Victor’s deep voice. “How you doing, Vic? Long time, no slam your face in the bars.”

  Victor stopped a step short of the curb. “How are you calling me?”

  “Everyone gets a phone call, asshole. Even I know that. And if Mr. Rafferty makes a quick donation, I get unlimited access—know what I’m saying?”

  “Why’d he give you this number?”

  “He’s not happy with you, Vic. Things aren’t going as planned.”

  Victor looked around at the pedestrians near the courthouse. No one was close enough to hear. “So why doesn’t he call me?”

  “He doesn’t care about speaking to you. He just wants to know what we should do.”

  “Not ‘we,’” Victor said, barely hiding his anger. “I’m done. You guys are on your own.”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  “Actually, it is. I came in as a favor to our mutual friend, and now I’m stepping out.”

  “But you can still take the case.”

  “I told you, I’m done. My things-to-do list is full enough—I don’t need to add jeopardizing my career to it. Understand what I’m saying, you little psychopath?”

  There was a cold silence on the other end of the line. “Just tell me one last thing,” Kozlow muttered. “What’s our best option now?”

  “That’s easy,” Victor said. “He has to make sure you’re found innocent—if you’re found guilty, your boss loses. So if I were him, I’d find out all I could about the new ADA who has the case. She’s the one you have to beat.”

  “Her name?”

  “Sara,” Victor said. “Sara Tate.”

  Chapter 4

  STANDING OUTSIDE OF CONRAD’S OFFICE, SARA READ the two quotations that decorated his closed door: “Crimine ab uno disce omnes—From a single crime know the nation”—Virgil; and “Fame is something which must be won; honor is something which must not be lost”—Arthur Schopenhauer.

  Sara looked at Guff and raised her eyebrows. “What did you call him? Intense?”

  Guff grinned and knocked on the frosted glass. “Come in,” a voice growled from behind the door. They entered.

  Conrad was standing at his desk, sorting through papers. He was shorter than Sara had imagined, a man of average height, with a compact but powerful build. With jet-black hair and penetrating brown eyes, he looked as intimidating as he sounded. But a warm, gracious smile offset the visual threat.

  “Conrad, this is Sara Tate.”

  Sara reached out to shake his hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “Please, both of you, have a seat,” Conrad said, sinking into his own chair.

  “Sara, this is every criminal’s recurring nightmare.”

  “So I hear,” Sara said. “Guff tells me you have quite the workload.”

  “I don’t complain about it, and I don’t apologize for it,” Conrad said, leaning back. “When it comes to the criminal justice system, America may be in love with high-priced defense attorneys, but as far as I’m concerned, only one side isn’t going to hell.”

  “And that’s us?” Sara offered.

  “Of course it’s us. Every time we win a case, we’re taking a criminal off the street. It sounds corny, but that means we’re personally making things safer for you and for the rest of the people in this city. That’s the only reason to do it.” Folding his hands behind his head, Conrad added, “So tell me, Sara, why’d you leave law firm life? You must’ve given up a six-figure salary to come here.”

  “Who cares about my salary? I thought you were going to help me work on my case.”

  “I will,” Conrad said. “After you answer the question. Now why’d you leave law firm life?”

  “Well, let me put it this way: money—great; work—terrible. In my six years there, I participated in only two trials. The rest of my time was spent in the library, doing discovery and drafting motions.”

  “So you just got sick of it and decided to come on over to the good guys?”

  “Not exactly. I wasn’t thrilled with firm life, but I was going to be up for partner in the next year or two. And since that meant my investment in misery was about to pay off, I figured I’d stick around. Anyway, to make an immensely pathetic and long story short, I went for my biannual review, and they told me that I wasn’t on the partner track. According to them, I didn’t have what it took to make it in their firm.”

  “But you weren’t fired for that.”

  “No. I was fired when…” Sara paused. “How did you know I was fired?”

  “This is my ninth year in this office,” Conrad said pointedly. “I have friends at every firm in this city—including yours.”

  “You checked up on me?”

  “Look, Guff asked me to help you out. For some reason he likes you. But if I’m going to teach someone the ropes, you better believe I want to know what they’re made of first.”

  “Then why’d you ask me a question you knew the answer to?”

  “To see if you’d lie,” Conrad said flatly. “But I still want to know why you got fired.”

  “If you know so many people, how come you don’t know the answer?” Sara asked.

  Conrad smiled. “They said you liked to fight.”

  “Oh, she likes to fight,” Guff said.

  “And to answer your question,” Conrad added, “maybe I want to hear your side of the story.”

  “Then how about we save that for another day?” Sara asked. “I’ve already met my embarrassment quota.”

  “Fair enough,” Conrad said. “Now let’s talk about this problem you’re having. You’re wondering what to do with the case.”

  “I know what to do with it—I have to prosecute it. I just don’t know if Victor’s going to let me.”

  “If Victor and Evelyn both know you have it, and they still haven’t asked for it back, the case is yours. Like it or not, you’re stuck with it.”

  “Do you think Victor’s going to take it out on me?”

  “He’ll be pissed. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. All the supervisors are territorial.”

  “If you say so,” Sara said, still wondering why the case had been marked for Victor.

  “What about the fact that the case is a loser?” Guff asked. “Do you think it’s too small to save her job?”

  “It may be a loser, but it’s the only thing I’ve got,” Sara said.

  “That’s exactly right,” Conrad agreed. “And if you plan to impress this office, something is always better than nothing.” He got up from his seat and walked tow
ard the door. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  “It’s time to teach you how to fight crime,” Guff said.

  “Do I need to bring my cape and utility belt?” Sara asked Conrad.

  “Excuse me?” Conrad asked.

  “Forget it,” Sara replied. As she followed Conrad to the door, she added, “Where are we going?”

  “Back to ECAB,” Conrad said. Looking down at Sara’s hand, he continued, “By the way, let me give you another piece of advice: Lose the wedding ring.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me: Lose the ring. Now that you’re a prosecutor, you’re going to become enemies with some bad people. The less those people know about you, the better. And believe me, any piece of information you give the other side—no matter how small it is—they’ll find some way to use it against you.”

  Walking back to his office after grabbing a candy bar in the firm’s cafeteria, Jared couldn’t wait for the day to end. From Hartley to Lubetsky to Rose, his entire afternoon had been a blur of professional hostility. As he wove his way through the serpentine cherry-paneled hallway, Jared did his best to forget his recent liability and instead thought about his most treasured asset: Sara, the one person who could always help him put things in perspective. He thought about what she would’ve said to Rose and laughed to himself. She’d never take that kind of abuse. When Rose was done with the attack, she’d rip him apart. He’d regret ever opening his mouth. Indeed, that’s what Jared loved about her. She did what he couldn’t. If Jared satisfied her need for predictability and organization, she satisfied his need for whimsy and spontaneity. Slowly, surely, Jared was able to relax again. That is, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “May I speak with you privately for a moment, please?” Thomas Wayne said, motioning to his office. Thomas Wayne was a founding partner of Wayne & Portnoy, and it was a rarity for anyone under the level of partner to have a private word with him. At six foot two, Wayne towered over most of his employees, which had led to the long-running rumor that the firm never hired anyone who was taller than Mr. Wayne himself. Naturally, the rumor was untrue, but Wayne enjoyed the mystique of it and therefore never quashed it. In Wayne’s eyes, rumors like that were what legends were made of—and if he’d planned to be anything, Thomas Wayne had always planned to be a legend.