Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(53)

Harvey frowned, made a note. “Aren't snipers generally sent out in pairs? With a spotter, something like that?”

“We didn't have enough manpower yet.”

More frowning, more notes. “Well, we can still go after two things. One, we'll boost your credibility. Bring in the training you've done, have your lieutenant testify as to your expert skills. Establish that you are a well-trained, highly experienced police sniper, qualified to make tough judgment calls.”

Bobby nodded. He'd expected that much. Every training exercise performed by the STOP team was heavily documented for just this sort of thing—so someday, if necessary, their lieutenant could prove they were qualified to act as they'd acted. If it's not documented, it didn't happen, the rule of thumb went. Lieutenant Bruni made sure every last thing they did had the proper paper trail.

“Of course,” Harvey was saying now, “James Gagnon has politics on his side.”

“Being a judge?”

“Being a superior court judge,” Harvey said, and grimaced. “As the civil side of the court, a clerk-magistrate doesn't spend a lot of time contemplating what may or may not entail criminal charges. That's what the superior court does. So, think of it from the clerk-magistrate's perspective—here's a judge who's an expert on criminal law testifying that he believes a felony took place. That's going to carry a lot of weight for the clerk-magistrate. If the Honorable James F. Gagnon says it was murder—well then, it must be murder!”

“Wonderful,” Bobby muttered.

“But we still have some tricks up our sleeves,” Harvey said brightly. “We can hope for a decent ruling from the DA's office—that they've investigated the incident and found the shooting to be justified. That would be huge. Of course,” he murmured now, “that's probably why Gagnon filed the motion so fast. It'll take weeks for the DA's office to render an opinion, so Judge Gagnon will try to cram through this motion in a matter of days. Then we're back to his word against your word, with no tie-breaker from the DA.”

“Can he move things that fast?”

“If he has the bucks to pay all the attorneys who'll be working overtime, sure, he can do as he pleases. Of course, I'll do what I can to delay. Then again . . .” Harvey looked around his crammed office and Bobby followed his gaze. One-man show versus hordes of top-billing legal eagles. Attic space versus an entire wood-paneled law firm. They both got the picture.

“So he tries to move fast, we try to move slow,” Bobby said quietly. “He tries to exert his expertise as a criminal court judge. We hope for a countering opinion from the DA. Then what?”

“Then it gets personal.”

Bobby stared at the lawyer. Harvey shrugged. “Basically, it's he said/she said. You're saying you saw a credible threat. The other side is saying you're wrong. To do that, they gotta go after you. They're gonna bring in your family. Were you a violent child, did you always love guns? They're going to dig into your lifestyle—young, single officer. Do you frequent bars, sleep around, get into brawls? Too bad you're not married with kids; it always looks better if you're married with kids. What about a dog? Do you happen to own a cute dog? A black Lab or golden retriever would be perfect.”

“No cute dogs.” Bobby considered things. “I'm a landlord. My tenant has cats.”

“Is your tenant young and beautiful?” Harvey asked suspiciously.

“Elderly woman on a fixed income.”

Harvey brightened noticeably. “Excellent. You gotta love a man who helps the elderly. Which, of course, brings us to ex-girlfriends.”

Bobby rolled his eyes at that segue. “There's a few,” he admitted.

“Which ones hate you?”

“None of them.”

“Sure about that?”

He thought of Susan. He honestly didn't know how she was feeling. “No,” he found himself saying. “I'm not sure.”

“They'll talk to your neighbors. They'll look deep into your past. They'll look for incidents of bias—that you don't like blacks or Hispanics or people who drive BMWs.”

“I don't have biases,” Bobby said, then stopped, frowned, and got a bad feeling. “The DUI arrest.”

“The DUI arrest?”

“Earlier that day. Guy was driving a Hummer while intoxicated. Did a bit of damage, then got bent out of shape when we actually tried to put him in jail. He had an attitude. We, uh, we exchanged some words.”

“Words?”

“I called him a rich prick,” Bobby said matter-of-factly.

Harvey winced. “Oh yeah, that's gonna hurt. Anything else I should know?”

Bobby looked at the lawyer a long time. He debated what to say, how much to say. In the end, he settled on, “I don't want my father to take the stand.”

Harvey regarded him curiously. “We don't have to call him as a character witness if you don't want us to.”

“What if they call him?”

“He's your father. Assuming he's going to testify in your favor, they won't call him.”

“But if they do?” Bobby insisted.

Harvey was catching on now. “What don't I know?”