Read Online Hardy 05 - Mercy Rule, The by John Lescroart - Free Book Online
Authors: John Lescroart
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the white-jacketed waiter and the young man poured. The boy could have been him, forty-five years before, earnest and efficient, making sure the patrons were happy. He moved on to the next table and the judge sighed again.
‘You don’t look very cheerful. Is something wrong?’
Giotti hadn’t even noticed his wife’s approach. Pat Giotti was still a fine-looking woman, with an unlined, ageless face, high cheekbones, a graceful figure. He raised his face and she kissed him, then seated herself across the table, immediately reaching over and taking his hand, squeezing it. ‘Sorry I’m late. Are you all right?’
His face animated itself. ‘Just feeling old for a minute.’
‘You’re not old.’
‘For a minute, I said.’ He squeezed her hand. They had made love the night before and he was telling her he remembered very well. She was right, he wasn’t old.
‘Are you thinking about Sal?’
He shook his head. ‘Actually, no. The waiter just reminded me of when I used to work here.’ The judge looked down at the boats for a second. ‘Maybe a little.’
She eyed him carefully, seemed satisfied, then reached for a roll and broke it. ‘I’m sure it was for the best,’ she said. ‘Sal, I mean.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ he agreed. ‘It’s just…’ His voice trailed off. ‘I look down there at the moorings, I can almost see the Signing Bonus , see Sal waving up at me. It’s hard to imagine him gone.’
‘He’d lived his life, hon.’
‘He was my age. I think that’s part of it.’
‘He was sick, remember? He was dying anyway. It just would have gotten worse. His suffering’s over now.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘It isn’t all bad. It’s much better this way.’
‘I know you’re right.’ He looked out the window. ‘This was probably just the wrong table for today, being able to see down there. It brings back those memories.’
‘But this is our table, Mario. They hold it for you, the judge’s table.’
He squeezed her hand again. ‘I’m just saying he was my friend. I miss him, that’s all.’
‘The idea of him, love, the idea. He wasn’t the same friend at the end, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’
She met his eyes again, squeezed his hand.
‘You must know that,’ she said.
‘I do know it, Pat. It’s better all around. It’s just not easy.’
The waiter came by and took their orders. Pat ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio to go with her scallops. The judge was having a crab Louis and his iced tea — of course, no wine. He was going back to court in the afternoon.
They sat in silence for a while, until her wine arrived. She took a taste, then put her glass down. ‘Did you read this morning’s paper? They’re saying maybe it wasn’t a suicide.’
‘Maybe? It wasn’t,’ the judge said flatly.
The wine seemed to stick in Pat Giotti’s throat. She took another sip to clear it. ‘Why do you say that?’
The judge shrugged. ‘It’s got all the earmarks of an assisted suicide. Look at the morphine vials, the labels removed. Some medical person was there, helped him along. I had Annie’ — his secretary — ‘stop by at the Hall of Justice and pick up a copy of the autopsy this morning.’
‘And?’
The judge thoughtfully tore a piece of his sourdough, then seemed to forget about it. ‘The morphine dose wasn’t that large. Acting alone, Sal would have probably done lots more to be sure. He had three more vials at his place he could have used. But whoever helped him put it right in the vein.’
‘Which would not have been enough in the muscle?’
Giotti nodded. ‘So it was a medical professional. At any rate, somebody who’d know that.’ In spite of the topic the judge had to smile in admiration. ‘You don’t forget anything, do you? What was that, Ellison ?’
His wife looked pleased at the compliment. Giotti was referring to a medical malpractice case he’d heard on appeal a few years back, U.S. v. Ellison Pharmaceuticals , where
‘You don’t look very cheerful. Is something wrong?’
Giotti hadn’t even noticed his wife’s approach. Pat Giotti was still a fine-looking woman, with an unlined, ageless face, high cheekbones, a graceful figure. He raised his face and she kissed him, then seated herself across the table, immediately reaching over and taking his hand, squeezing it. ‘Sorry I’m late. Are you all right?’
His face animated itself. ‘Just feeling old for a minute.’
‘You’re not old.’
‘For a minute, I said.’ He squeezed her hand. They had made love the night before and he was telling her he remembered very well. She was right, he wasn’t old.
‘Are you thinking about Sal?’
He shook his head. ‘Actually, no. The waiter just reminded me of when I used to work here.’ The judge looked down at the boats for a second. ‘Maybe a little.’
She eyed him carefully, seemed satisfied, then reached for a roll and broke it. ‘I’m sure it was for the best,’ she said. ‘Sal, I mean.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ he agreed. ‘It’s just…’ His voice trailed off. ‘I look down there at the moorings, I can almost see the Signing Bonus , see Sal waving up at me. It’s hard to imagine him gone.’
‘He’d lived his life, hon.’
‘He was my age. I think that’s part of it.’
‘He was sick, remember? He was dying anyway. It just would have gotten worse. His suffering’s over now.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘It isn’t all bad. It’s much better this way.’
‘I know you’re right.’ He looked out the window. ‘This was probably just the wrong table for today, being able to see down there. It brings back those memories.’
‘But this is our table, Mario. They hold it for you, the judge’s table.’
He squeezed her hand again. ‘I’m just saying he was my friend. I miss him, that’s all.’
‘The idea of him, love, the idea. He wasn’t the same friend at the end, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’
She met his eyes again, squeezed his hand.
‘You must know that,’ she said.
‘I do know it, Pat. It’s better all around. It’s just not easy.’
The waiter came by and took their orders. Pat ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio to go with her scallops. The judge was having a crab Louis and his iced tea — of course, no wine. He was going back to court in the afternoon.
They sat in silence for a while, until her wine arrived. She took a taste, then put her glass down. ‘Did you read this morning’s paper? They’re saying maybe it wasn’t a suicide.’
‘Maybe? It wasn’t,’ the judge said flatly.
The wine seemed to stick in Pat Giotti’s throat. She took another sip to clear it. ‘Why do you say that?’
The judge shrugged. ‘It’s got all the earmarks of an assisted suicide. Look at the morphine vials, the labels removed. Some medical person was there, helped him along. I had Annie’ — his secretary — ‘stop by at the Hall of Justice and pick up a copy of the autopsy this morning.’
‘And?’
The judge thoughtfully tore a piece of his sourdough, then seemed to forget about it. ‘The morphine dose wasn’t that large. Acting alone, Sal would have probably done lots more to be sure. He had three more vials at his place he could have used. But whoever helped him put it right in the vein.’
‘Which would not have been enough in the muscle?’
Giotti nodded. ‘So it was a medical professional. At any rate, somebody who’d know that.’ In spite of the topic the judge had to smile in admiration. ‘You don’t forget anything, do you? What was that, Ellison ?’
His wife looked pleased at the compliment. Giotti was referring to a medical malpractice case he’d heard on appeal a few years back, U.S. v. Ellison Pharmaceuticals , where
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