The 7th Canon (12 page)

Kim cupped his face in her hands and gently turned it, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Your father can’t hurt you anymore, Peter. He’s gone.”

“No,” he said. “He’s not gone, just buried.”

Chapter 10

December 24, 1987

Dimmed lights cast a pallid glow down the sterile hall. Nurses sitting behind counters adorned with Christmas lights reviewed charts, starting their morning shifts. One ate cereal from a plastic bowl. Christmas Eve, but not here. Here, it was just another morning, a place that did not know weekends or stop for holidays. Donley walked down the sparkling linoleum, past gurneys, linen bags, and carts with teetering stacks of empty dinner trays. He stepped into Lou’s private room in the cardiac-care ward. Most of the tubing that had pierced Lou’s body in the intensive-care unit had been removed, along with the tube down his throat. The room had much less the feel of impending death.

The same doctor who had confronted Donley in the intensive-care ward walked through the door and startled at the sight of him. “This is getting to be a bad habit,” she said. At 5:00 a.m., visiting hours didn’t begin for another three hours.

“I just needed a few minutes. I won’t disturb him.”

They moved to the doorway.

“They took the tube out of his throat,” he said.

“He’s breathing on his own. He’s made remarkable progress,” the doctor said, but cautioned that she could not quantify the damage or determine whether any of Lou’s paralysis would be permanent until he was strong enough to undergo a series of tests, probably within a few days. They had, however, established that the stroke had not impaired Lou’s vocal chords.

“When we removed the tube from his throat, he said, ‘Goddamn thing was choking me to death.’”

Donley laughed. “That sounds like Lou.”

In a very short time, Lou had charmed them all. “He’s becoming a favorite here among the nurses. I get the impression your uncle is excitable?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I think he pretty much willed himself through this one. Then again, it’s likely he caused it by his diet and the work hours his wife says he keeps.”

Donley nodded. “It comes with the job.”

The doctor lowered the clipboard, looking at Lou. “Probably not anymore, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’ll have to consider retirement.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

She fixed her gaze on Donley. “Even if he could go back to work, I wouldn’t recommend it,” she said, looking grim. “This might have been a blessing. If he changes his eating habits and lifestyle, your uncle could live a long time.”

The reality of the doctor’s statement that Lou needed to retire hit Donley like a slap across the face. “Don’t tell him,” he said. “He loves his work. He really does.”

“He’ll have to learn to love something else.” The doctor started from the room. “Just a few minutes.”

Donley returned to Lou’s bedside and put a hand on his uncle’s shoulder. Lou opened his eyes. “You’re awake?” Donley said. Half of Lou’s face smiled. The other half twitched, the muscles struggling. “How do you feel?”

“I hurt like hell from all the needles they’ve been sticking in me.” Lou sounded as if he had just returned from the dentist’s office and the Novocain had not yet worn off.

Donley leaned forward to make it easier for Lou to see him.

“Don’t you start hovering over me like your aunt; this isn’t a goddamn funeral. I’m not dead yet.”

Donley smiled. “I doubt there would be this many people at your funeral. I’m just hanging around for my inheritance.”

“You’ll be bitterly disappointed.” He grimaced.

Donley looked up at the pulsing monitors, though he had no idea what any meant. “Are you all right?”

“Relax. I just have a pain in my side from lying here so damn long. How are things at the office?” Like most lawyers, Lou needed to know what was happening at work.

“Everything is fine. Ruth-Bell took charge like Alexander Haig.”

“
Took
charge? She’s run that office since the day I hired her, or hadn’t you noticed?” He turned his head on the pillow. “You look worse than I feel.”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“The priest?”

“You know about that?”

“You ought to know me better. I’ve read the newspaper every morning for the past fifty years. I wasn’t about to let a little heart attack keep me from my morning routine. I had your aunt read it to me.”

“You should have skipped the article.”

“I saw the photograph. When you see a priest in the paper, it’s usually a bad sign. They don’t write about the good things.”

“That’s what the archbishop said.”

“He’s always stolen my best lines. He came by to see me. He said you convinced him to let you represent Father Martin.”

“Just until you get better,” Donley said. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a copy of the morning edition, holding it up for Lou to see. “Here’s today’s headline.”

Priest of Polk Street

Arraignment Today

District Attorney Promises to Act Swiftly

“Today?”

“Bright and early before Maximum Milt.”

His uncle let out a sigh. “Ramsey is such a jackass.”

“I met him yesterday.”

“What’d he want?”

“I’m not certain. I think he wants to make a deal, but everyone says I’m crazy.”

“What kind of deal?”

“A plea if Father Martin confesses. At least that’s what he hinted at.”

“Life without parole?”

“We didn’t get that far. The minute I brought it up, he backed off like I was out of my mind.”

Lou furrowed his brow.

“The thing is, I can’t figure out why he’d even hint at it. According to Ramsey, they have all the evidence they need to convict the priest. About the only thing I can figure is that he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty before his final campaign push . . . actually, that was Ruth-Bell’s theory. I just adopted it. Ramsey supported Father Martin and the shelter.”

Lou didn’t look or sound convinced. “Do they have aggravated circumstances?”

Donley put down the paper. “They say the kid was beaten and tortured before he was killed.”

Lou momentarily closed his eyes and shook his head. “You don’t have to do this, Peter. This is not something you have to do for me. Just find him another lawyer. Don says he had Larry Carr on board. Let him handle it.”

“You know I can’t do that, Lou.”

“Have you called Max Seager yet?”

The question caught Donley off guard. “How do you know about that?”

“Never mind how I know. I know. Call him. He can pay you a hell of a lot more money and offer you things I can’t. You don’t owe me a thing. Your responsibility is to your wife and son.”

“We don’t need to have this discussion now.”

Lou said, “Listen to me. When you were a boy, you were always sad. Your mother was always sad. I suspected something, but she was too proud to say anything. It just wasn’t our way back then. You married who you married and you stayed married, in good times and in bad, for better or for worse. And I was always too goddamn busy . . . there was always a case, or a client, or a friend who needed me.” Lou shut his eyes, but a tear leaked out and rolled down his face. He quickly wiped it away. “You were my family. You were my nephew. I should have done something.”

“Lou, you don’t have to—”

He put up a hand. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I suspect your aunt is going to be doing enough of that from now on.” He swallowed with some difficulty. Donley found a cup on the tray by the bed and guided the straw to Lou’s lips. He sipped the water before continuing. “I was wrong, Peter. I should have stepped in and stopped it. I’m sorry. I wanted you to know that.”

Donley tried to make a joke. “Is this a deathbed confession? Because I spoke to your doctor, and she says you’re not dying.”

“You can bet your ass I’m not dying. Your aunt would kill me if I died.” He took a deep breath, again with a grimace. “All I’m saying is, if you don’t want to take this case, you just tell Judge Trimble that you’re in the process of securing defense counsel for Father Martin. If he gives you any crap, tell him I’ll climb out of this bed and personally kick his ass.”

Donley smiled. “Will you bail me out of jail?”

Lou touched Donley’s hand. He couldn’t remember Lou ever touching him. “You don’t need me to bail you out of anything. In case you missed it, that was the point of that beautiful speech I just gave. You’re an excellent lawyer, Peter, better than I ever was at your age. You have perfect instincts, and you’re quick on your feet. More importantly, you have a good heart.” Lou took another deep breath and squeezed his hand. “I went out on my own about your age because I wanted control over the clients I chose to represent and what I charged them, even if it meant charging them nothing. I made less money, but I was a hell of a lot more satisfied at the end of the day. I was scared at first. You take a lot of bumps and bruises. Next thing you know, it’s been forty years, and doctors are telling you that you can’t do it anymore.”

“You heard that?”

Lou nodded. “But that was my life. It doesn’t have to be yours. Talk to Seager. If he offers you a job, take it and don’t look back.”

“We’ll discuss that later. I have an arraignment this morning.”

“Did you talk to the priest?”

“I tried, but he just sat there in his cell with his eyes closed.”

Lou seemed to give that some thought. “Let me tell you one more thing. When they brought me in here, I was strapped to a gurney, lights blurring past. I couldn’t move. For the first time in my life, I had absolutely no control over the situation. I suspected it was bad. The thought crossed my mind that I was dying, that I might never see my wife again. People were asking me questions, sticking me with needles. I had piss in my underwear and tubes coming from places I didn’t even know existed. I wanted to grab somebody by the hand and tell them my name, tell them that I had a wife. I wanted to see a familiar face. Then I felt someone grab my hand, and I heard your voice, and I knew you would take care of things.”

Donley felt a moment of pride. His father had never praised him, not even for his football exploits. They seemed only to make him angrier, probably because they made him realize the depth of his own failures. “You think the priest is scared.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

Donley nodded. “I’ll handle things, Lou. You just get better.”

“You’ve climbed higher mountains than I ever had to climb, but you have one more mountain to climb, and you know it. The past is always the highest peak, and the hardest to scale. But when you finally pull yourself to the top and peer over the edge, there’s nothing before you but the rest of your life.”

The nurse walked in the door and nodded to Donley.

It was time to go.

Donley parked his Saab on Bryant Street, a block from the Hall of Justice. At precisely nine in the morning, or in little less than thirty minutes, deputies would escort Father Martin from his cell in solitary confinement to a holding tank, where a tape recording would advise him of his right to a jury trial, the right to confront and cross-examine witnesses, the right to remain silent, and other constitutional guarantees. Then they would lead him into the courtroom of the Honorable Milton Trimble.

“Maximum Milt” had earned his nickname as a deputy district attorney who always sought the maximum penalty for convicted offenders. Based on what Donley had been able to learn, Trimble’s years on the bench had not softened him.

Donley turned off the car engine and tried to rub the fatigue from his face. The four Advil he’d chased with a glass of water had helped to alleviate the throbbing headache but had done nothing to remove the cobwebs. He picked up the morning newspaper from the passenger seat and reconsidered the article he had not shown Lou. Andrew Bennet’s relatives in the Midwest, the same relatives who hadn’t spoken with him in years, were said to be sorting through the résumés of plaintiffs’ lawyers, some of whom had flown across country to pitch their services and try to convince the family that death could be an economically prosperous event.

Nauseated by the thought, Donley put down the paper and reached for the door handle just as someone knocked on the passenger-side window, startling him. Mike Harris stood in his police uniform holding two cups of coffee, his breath small, white wisps.

Donley inserted the key and lowered the window. “What are you doing here?”

“Freezing my ass off. Open the door.”

Donley disengaged the locks, and Harris pulled open the passenger door and handed Donley a cup.

“Thanks.”

“That’s not for you.” He slid his long legs into the passenger seat and took back the cup, setting it in the cup holder that popped from the dash. “That’s for Rochelle. I’m going to be late getting home, and this is my peace offering.”

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

“You called me, remember?”

“Yeah, like yesterday.”

“Sorry, but I had the shift from hell. I called your house after I got off. Kim said you had the hearing at nine. I figured you’d be too cheap to pay to park in one of the lots and looked for the car.” Harris frowned. “You look like shit.”