Killer Ambition - [81]

I turned to go, but Melia grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry, Rachel! I didn’t mean to upset you, I just thought you should know.”

I patted her hand. “Don’t sweat it, Melia. I did need to know. At least now I’m ready for…whatever.” But my readiness wasn’t really the issue.

If I kept getting slammed this way in the press, I’d never find a decent jury. And foisting the case onto someone else wasn’t an option, not after I’d pushed to get it filed. If I abandoned it now, it’d look like I didn’t believe in the case, and that would just prove the Hollywood toadies right: that I’d only filed the case because I wanted to be famous, and when I saw my approval ratings hit the skids, I’d jumped ship. In short, that I was a sleazy coward. No, I believed in the case, and if it sank under the weight of public opinion, then I’d go down with it.

But now that I was playing out the ugly possibilities, I had to take it all the way. If I lost the case after this drubbing…then what? I’d be exiled to live out my days in the hinterlands, relegated to drunk-driving and shoplifting cases. My career as a prosecutor moribund. And if I left the office, who’d hire me? I couldn’t even hang out my own shingle because no one would retain a former prosecutor who’d filed what some thought was a trumped-up case to gain fame and fortune-a case proven to be a sham when she lost it on national television.

It’s not that I wanted to go into private practice-I didn’t. I’d only ever wanted to be a prosecutor. But being a lawyer was all I knew how to do. I had no other way to make a living.

Now that I’d played out the possible repercussions, I was forced to face facts: I was staring down the barrels of a shotgun that read career-and life-destroyer.

49

I put my head down and tried to bury myself in case preparation. Work is always my refuge when I need an escape from misery. And since this time the source of misery was the case, I told myself it was doubly helpful. I could distract myself from the prospect of doom while devoting every ounce of energy to making the case as solid as possible. Win-win. Well, it was something anyway.

But it didn’t work. Every five seconds my phone rang with calls from the press: Did I see the public reactions outside the courthouse? Did I realize what I was up against when I’d filed the case? Did I regret my decision to file it? I wanted to let them all go to voice mail-then erase them. But I was already losing the battle for the hearts and minds of the public, judging by that last newscast, so I needed every bit of goodwill I could muster. I answered every last stupid question and hoped I was building some kind of rapport that would get me favorable coverage.

I bounced from call to call all afternoon and completely forgot about Declan until it was almost five o’clock. It was only the sound of footsteps stampeding for the door that brought me back to earth long enough to realize I’d neglected to give him an assignment. I’d never had a second chair before, so I wasn’t used to delegating.

I had to admit that the more I saw of him, the more I liked him. I was starting to think that Vanderhorn might seriously have miscalculated in thinking Declan would act as his spy. But what I didn’t yet know was whether he was a decent lawyer. I pondered what I could let him do that wouldn’t jeopardize anything. I had an idea and picked up the phone. Only in that moment did it occur to me that he might’ve left. He certainly would have been well within his rights to decide he wasn’t needed. He hadn’t heard from me all day. But he picked up on the first ring. Score another one for the kid, I thought. Very smart to hang out and show his dedication to duty.

“Hey, Rachel. I was hoping you’d call. Got something for me?”

“Yeah. Come on down.”

Twenty seconds later he walked into my office, buttoning his jacket.

“Declan, lesson one: no formal attire requested here. Take off your jacket, roll up your sleeves. Get comfortable.”

“How do you feel about my shoes?”

“Don’t push it.”

He smiled and sat down.

“Here’s lesson number two: you don’t have to wait for me to call. If you’re looking for work, just come tell me. Okay?”

Declan saluted.

“Here’s what I’ve got for you: I wrote the search warrant pretty broadly and I think it should cover Ian’s laptop-”

“You find anything on it?”

“No. And we probably won’t, but I gave it to Cliff Meisner to check for anything that might’ve been encrypted.”

“So you want me to get in touch with Cliff and find out if he’s got anything so far?”

“Yes, and I’d like you to do some research. Make sure we’re on firm ground with the seizure of the laptop and that there aren’t any limitations to what we can use if we do find anything.”

“Should be pretty easy. You worried about privilege?”

“No.” I told him about having gotten a Special Master appointed to examine the files before we looked at it.

“I never would’ve thought of that.”

“You will now.”

That was the whole point of having a young up-and-comer act as second chair. The younger prosecutor got to learn how to play in the big leagues from someone who knew the ropes, instead of having to learn by getting knocked around-and losing. I still think of my mentor, Harvey Gish, with tremendous affection, and admiration. You couldn’t put a price on what I learned from him. He taught me to “never assume the other side knows what it’s doing” and “always be sure you know more about the case than anyone else.” He was referring to one of the most common mistakes prosecutors-or, really, any lawyers-make: automatically opposing what the other side wants. “Just because the defense wants it doesn’t mean you should object. Always think for yourself. Who does this help more?” And he was so right. You’d be surprised how many times the defense asks to put in evidence that’s much better for me than it is for them. Lessons like that showed me the world of difference between the way the run-of-the-mill cases are handled and the kind of lawyering required in the “big case.” It was the practice of law on a whole different level, one most lawyers never saw.