optimist.
I remind him that Crone has already turned down even the hint of such a deal.
"That was before he saw some of the evidence play out," says Harry.
"He didn't seem particularly rattled by Hodges and her revelations."
"They're just getting warmed up," says Harry.
"I can smell it. I've got a bad feeling on this one."
"Like what?"
"Like there's a lot we haven't been told by our own client."
Tannery had dangled a deal before the trial opened, though it was never formally offered. He hinted at a single count of voluntary manslaughter on condition that Crone could provide credible evidence that the murder was committed in sudden rage or heat of passion. He said he would have to sell it to his boss. At the time, he was not able to do that. Crone exploded when I ran even the hint of an offer by him. Harry tried a hard sell. It ended up with Crone questioning Harry's manhood and his willingness to go to trial. Since then, relations have not been smooth between the two of them.
"If they actually make the offer," says Harry, "I hope this time you'll lay heavy hands on him. Last time, as I recall, you did a lot of listening while I got my butt kicked around the cell."
"I told him the risks. That he could do life if convicted. What more can I say?"
"You might remind him they don't do a lot of genetics research at the infirmary up in Folsom. Not on any life forms he'd recognize, anyway. The man may be a Phi Beta Kappa, but he's not too bright," says Harry.
"With voluntary man, he could be out in six years, maybe less."
"I don't think he'll budge."
"Why not?"
"Maybe he didn't do it."
"Then there'll be one more innocent lifer in the joint," says Harry.
"Whether you think he did it or not, we'd be remiss not to tell him the facts. His chances in front of that jury are not good. The demographics are all wrong. We tried for college-educated and missed." Harry is right. We have three secretaries and a receptionist, a lineman for the electric company who probably wants to know why the state's not using "Old Sparky" to do our client. The jury foreman never finished high school and probably thinks a geneticist is somebody who performs genocide. These are people who are likely to be more confused than dazzled by Crone's credentials.
"I've looked at their faces, studied their eyes while you were cross-examining witnesses," says Harry.
"Screw the evidence. They're ready to convict Crone based on first-degree arrogance."
We head for the door, Harry right behind me.
"I've got a bad feeling about this one." He says it again like he's scratching an itch he can't quite reach, not exactly sure why, but to Harry something is out of place.
It takes us twenty minutes to bounce over the bridge in my Jeep. With the window panels pulled open, the wind keeps me from hearing Harry's homilies all the way to Tannery's office near the courthouse. We park in one of the lots behind the building and enter through the courthouse. We take the escalator and cross over to the D.A."s office on the fourth-story bridge. Tannery's office is upstairs, executive heaven where the floors are carpeted, space is abundant and the desks and chairs are mahogany. Evan Tannery is on his way to becoming chief deputy, in charge of all felonies. He has been dubbed successor-in-waiting and groomed by Dan Edelstein, the outgoing chief who is scheduled to retire in September. For this reason, the Crone case is taking on added visibility in terms of Tannery's career, at least within the inner sanctum of the office. Everybody is watching to see if he drops the ball. Harry thinks this is why Evan may be anxious to deal on the case. Why take chances when you can get a guarantee?
We wait in the outer office, a vast reception area with two flat desks the size of aircraft carriers in opposite corners. A secretary behind each guards her boss's office door like a Roman sentry. Behind one of these, in the large corner office, sits the big kahuna, Jim Tate. Tate has been D.A.
I remind him that Crone has already turned down even the hint of such a deal.
"That was before he saw some of the evidence play out," says Harry.
"He didn't seem particularly rattled by Hodges and her revelations."
"They're just getting warmed up," says Harry.
"I can smell it. I've got a bad feeling on this one."
"Like what?"
"Like there's a lot we haven't been told by our own client."
Tannery had dangled a deal before the trial opened, though it was never formally offered. He hinted at a single count of voluntary manslaughter on condition that Crone could provide credible evidence that the murder was committed in sudden rage or heat of passion. He said he would have to sell it to his boss. At the time, he was not able to do that. Crone exploded when I ran even the hint of an offer by him. Harry tried a hard sell. It ended up with Crone questioning Harry's manhood and his willingness to go to trial. Since then, relations have not been smooth between the two of them.
"If they actually make the offer," says Harry, "I hope this time you'll lay heavy hands on him. Last time, as I recall, you did a lot of listening while I got my butt kicked around the cell."
"I told him the risks. That he could do life if convicted. What more can I say?"
"You might remind him they don't do a lot of genetics research at the infirmary up in Folsom. Not on any life forms he'd recognize, anyway. The man may be a Phi Beta Kappa, but he's not too bright," says Harry.
"With voluntary man, he could be out in six years, maybe less."
"I don't think he'll budge."
"Why not?"
"Maybe he didn't do it."
"Then there'll be one more innocent lifer in the joint," says Harry.
"Whether you think he did it or not, we'd be remiss not to tell him the facts. His chances in front of that jury are not good. The demographics are all wrong. We tried for college-educated and missed." Harry is right. We have three secretaries and a receptionist, a lineman for the electric company who probably wants to know why the state's not using "Old Sparky" to do our client. The jury foreman never finished high school and probably thinks a geneticist is somebody who performs genocide. These are people who are likely to be more confused than dazzled by Crone's credentials.
"I've looked at their faces, studied their eyes while you were cross-examining witnesses," says Harry.
"Screw the evidence. They're ready to convict Crone based on first-degree arrogance."
We head for the door, Harry right behind me.
"I've got a bad feeling about this one." He says it again like he's scratching an itch he can't quite reach, not exactly sure why, but to Harry something is out of place.
It takes us twenty minutes to bounce over the bridge in my Jeep. With the window panels pulled open, the wind keeps me from hearing Harry's homilies all the way to Tannery's office near the courthouse. We park in one of the lots behind the building and enter through the courthouse. We take the escalator and cross over to the D.A."s office on the fourth-story bridge. Tannery's office is upstairs, executive heaven where the floors are carpeted, space is abundant and the desks and chairs are mahogany. Evan Tannery is on his way to becoming chief deputy, in charge of all felonies. He has been dubbed successor-in-waiting and groomed by Dan Edelstein, the outgoing chief who is scheduled to retire in September. For this reason, the Crone case is taking on added visibility in terms of Tannery's career, at least within the inner sanctum of the office. Everybody is watching to see if he drops the ball. Harry thinks this is why Evan may be anxious to deal on the case. Why take chances when you can get a guarantee?
We wait in the outer office, a vast reception area with two flat desks the size of aircraft carriers in opposite corners. A secretary behind each guards her boss's office door like a Roman sentry. Behind one of these, in the large corner office, sits the big kahuna, Jim Tate. Tate has been D.A.
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