Dane gave her a brief smile, a chilly play of the lips. "To save Maine from the embarrassment of a senator who's betrayed the Second Amendment. As for organization, we'd fill the gaps nicely."
And so they would. Was George Bolt's law practice flagging so badly, Cassie wondered, that he needed the renewed attention? And then she wondered, with a piercing onset of real fear, why she—or her mentor Warren Colby—hadn't seen or heard this coming. "George can't beat me," she repeated. "And if he does, he'll lose to Abel Randolph in the general. Precipitating a primary fight against me is all it will take to persuade Randolph to make the race. Either way, you'll enhance your chances of trading me for Abel."
"That's right," Dane answered calmly. "And your colleagues will remember that when you're gone. So will you—even if you manage to scrape by." Dane paused, finishing with an air of regret. "This isn't personal, Cassie, and we don't want to do it. But you need to know before it happens, in the hope that it never will."
For a long time Cassie gazed at him. "I hope so, too," she said simply.
TWO
"Before your sister left John Bowden," Nolan asked Mary Costello, "did you do anything to help her?"
Near the head of the conference table, Harrison Fancher fixed Mary with the vulpine gaze of a bird of prey, while an innocuous male reporter awaited her answer. But ten minutes into the deposition, Sarah's world had narrowed to the tense, three-sided relationship between Nolan, her somewhat fragile client, and herself. Sitting beside Mary in Nolan's conference room, Sarah saw hostility and self-doubt flicker in her eyes, resolving themselves in a stiff, stubborn posture—rigid back, compressed lips, gaze fixed on the table. "Until Lara saw Joan's bruises," Mary answered in a defensive tone, "we didn't know anything was wrong."
Nolan raised his eyebrows. "You'd never seen any injuries?"
"No." Mary looked away. "She'd stopped doing much with us. But we just thought she must be busy with her family."
"You 'thought,' " Nolan echoed with muted incredulity. "Did you ever ask her?"
"No."
Tense, Sarah prepared to intervene. Nolan's first line of attack was becoming clear: Joan's family of origin had failed to protect her and now, by suing Lexington and the SSA, Mary was seeking to deflect her guilt while profiting from her own indifference. "So," Nolan pressed, "John Bowden was keeping your sister and Marie virtual prisoners, and it never occurred to you to inquire as to whether they were okay?"
"Objection," Sarah cut in. "That's not a question—it's harassment."
Fortified by Sarah's defense, Mary raised her eyes, fixing Nolan with a gaze of rebuke. As though noting this, Nolan chose a milder tone. "In your heart, Ms. Costello, didn't you know that something terrible was happening in your sister's home?"
This seemed to strike a chord of self-doubt, causing Mary to hesitate before insisting in a thinner voice, "You don't know how charming John could be. We just didn't know."
" 'We'? Did you ever discuss with your mother whether Joan's husband might be mistreating her—or, at the least, isolating your niece and sister from their own blood relatives?"
Once more, Mary looked away, confirming, by her silence, what Sarah believed to be the truth: that neither Mary nor Inez could bring themselves to verbalize their fears. At length, Mary said, "We both thought it was sad that we barely saw them. But we didn't know the reason until Lara told us. After that, we knew that Lara and Kerry were talking to her, and that Kerry could give Joan good advice."
"But you were in San Francisco." Nolan's tone was mild yet argumentative. "Did you or your mother offer Joan and Marie a home—some shelter from the abuse you belatedly discovered?"
In vain, Sarah searched for an objection. But Nolan's legal point, however offensive, was clear enough: that Mary's neglect had helped enable Bowden to slaughter three members of her family. Briefly, Mary closed her eyes. "Not in those words. But Joanie knew she could always come to us. She was depending on Lara and Kerry."
The last phrase, Sarah thought, held the faintest tinge of an emotion somewhere between resentment and regret. From his newly keen expression, John Nolan had heard it, too. "You've referred to the President and First Lady several times now. Prior to the interview where they exposed John Bowden as an abuser, did you know they were going to do that?"
"Yes."
"Did you approve?"
Mary paused, as though to parse the question. "Lara told us what would be happening, and that the Chronicle already had the story. It seemed like everyone was stuck."
"Didn't you ask yourself whether shaming Bowden on national TV might inflame him?"
"I worried about it." Now Mary sounded tired, as though envisioning the tragedy which followed. "But Kerry and Lara knew that world. I didn't. So I decided to trust them."
Nolan propped his chin in the palm of his hand. Softly, he asked, "How do you feel about that now?"
This, Sarah knew, was the second prong of Nolan's strategy: to divide Mary and Lara by exploiting the younger sister's shame and envy. But he risked being too obvious, turning Mary's resentment back against him. Sarah decided to help this process along. "Bad taste, Mr. Nolan, truly knows no bounds. The witness lost most of her family. She watched Marie slowly dying from the hideous internal damage your client designed the Eagle's Claw to inflict. Why not just ask her if the President and First Lady caused her six-year-old niece's vena cava to shred."
Nolan's eyes glinted with the resentment of an advocate thwarted in his mission—exacerbated, Sarah was certain, by the fact that his opponent was young, a woman, and a former underling now wholly lacking in deference. She herself, Sarah concluded, was Nolan's Achilles' heel. "Your comments," he shot back, "are improper and grossly unprofessional. If you persist, I'll be forced to bring them to the attention of Judge Bond."
Over drinks at one of your boys' clubs? Sarah was tempted to ask. In her most indifferent tone, she answered, "Your outrage is duly noted. Please move on."
Momentum broken, Nolan paused before turning to Mary. "Did your sister Lara mention that the Kilcannons' exposure of John Bowden was intended to spare the President political embarrassment?"
" 'Mention,' " Sarah repeated. "I certainly object to that. It implies that slander contained in your question is a matter of established fact."
"A slander on whom?" Nolan shot back. "The Kilcannons? I thought you were here to represent Mary Costello."
Sarah flushed: Nolan's thrust was calculated to exploit Mary's fear of being controlled by Lara, which complicated Sarah's own relationship to Lara's surviving sister. "I'm here," Sarah answered with tenuous calm, "to point out when your questions lack foundation in fact."
Nolan smiled faintly. "As to what? The President's motives for the interview? Or your own allegiances?" Turning to Mary, he asked, "Did your sister discuss with you whether exposing your sister's abusive marriage served some interest of the President?"
Pensive, Mary gazed at the table. "What I remember is that the Chronicle would be printing that already, because he was the President, and because Kerry was involved with Joan's case. This was more about the best way to deal with that."
"But how did exposing Bowden serve Joan's interests?"
Mary hesitated. "Just by getting it over with, I guess."
Nolan paused, as though seeking a way to probe the answer. Then, abruptly, he switched topics. "You attended the University of San Francisco, a private school. Who paid your tuition and expenses?"
Though she could not acknowledge the lethal psychology of such a question, Sarah knew at once that she must object. With an air of faux mystification, she asked, "What is the possible relevance of that?"
This time, Nolan appeared unruffled. "Humor me, Ms. Dash. Or are you directing your client not to answer?"
To do so, Sarah knew, would risk reopening Mary's deposition at a later time, giving Nolan a second chance to do what he dared not do before a jury—interrogate Mary without regard to the niceties due the survivor of a tragedy. Cornered, Sarah answered
, "I'll indulge you, counsel—to a point. But a deposition is not a license to rummage through Ms. Costello's life at random."
With a fleeting smile of satisfaction, Nolan faced Mary. "I paid part of it," she answered in a prideful voice.
"Who paid the rest?"
Mary frowned, glancing at Sarah. "My sister," she said at length. "Lara."
"And did she help you after college?"
Slowly, Mary nodded. "To buy furniture for my apartment. And pay my deposit and first month's rent."
"Did she send you money on other occasions?"
Once more, Mary folded her arms. "She paid for all our plane tickets to the wedding."
Nolan was silent, allowing the irony implicit in the answer to linger. "And you're grateful to the First Lady for her help?"
"Yes," Mary answered tersely. "Of course."
"Would you say that Lara Kilcannon is wealthy?"
"What," Sarah snapped, "does the First Lady's net worth have to do with anything?"
This time Nolan ignored her, daring Sarah to keep her client from responding. "You may answer," he told Mary.
"Yes." Mary replied flatly. "Lara's done well."
"And are you included in her will?"
Mary looked surprised. "I believe so, yes."
"And you're grateful for that, I assume."
At this, Mary sat upright. "I was included in my mother's will, Mr. Nolan. It's never occurred to me to be grateful that she's dead."
The retort so disconcerted Nolan that, for a moment, he was silent. "All I meant," he said at length, "is that your sister continues to look out for you financially. Is that why Mrs. Kilcannon is not a plaintiff in this lawsuit?"
Tense, Sarah leaned forward. "I instruct the witness not to answer."
Nolan spun on her. "On what grounds, counsel?"
"As you point out, Mrs. Kilcannon is a potential plaintiff in this
action—or her own action against your client. That creates a joint litigation privilege between the surviving sisters as to all communications regarding this suit. With or without a lawyer."
This, Sarah knew, was the weakest of her privilege claims—which Nolan surely knew, as well. With an air of disbelief, he asked Mary, "Are you following your counsel's instruction?"
Briefly, Mary glanced at Sarah. "Yes."
"But you do acknowledge that, as of now, you alone will benefit from any recovery or settlement."
"Yes."
"Except for your lawyers," Nolan amended in an acid tone. "Speaking of which, how did you come to select Mr. Lenihan?"
Once more, Sarah considered objecting. But she had made too big a point of probing Martin Bresler's 'selection' of Evan Pritchard as his lawyer to stage-manage his retraction—as, she realized now, Nolan must have appreciated at the time. Quietly, Mary answered, "Mr. Lenihan offered his services."
"What a surprise. And how did you locate Ms. Dash?"
Mary folded her arms. Tersely, she responded, "My sister."
"Did your sister also offer not to share in the recovery if you accepted Ms. Dash as cocounsel?"
To her chagrin, Sarah saw that she was trapped—to permit an answer, however exculpatory, might permit Nolan to claim that she had waived Mary's claim of privilege. "Same instruction," she snapped. "You can ask my client if she and the First Lady conspired to join a terrorist cell, and my instruction would be the same."
"Really. Let me test that." Turning to Mary, Nolan asked, "Did Mrs. Kilcannon tell you that Ms. Dash would help carry out her and the President's directives as to how to conduct this lawsuit?"
Mary shifted in her chair—caught, Sarah thought, between her resentment of Lara; the question which inflamed it; and Sarah's directions to maintain silence. "Same instruction," Sarah said firmly.
"Or," Nolan persisted, "does Lara 'instruct' you directly?"
"Same instruction . . ."
"Lara," Mary burst out, "doesn't tell me what to do."
"Then you won't mind," Nolan responded smoothly, "ignoring your counsel's instruction, and telling me what she does say. Or would you prefer that I go before Judge Bond?"
With this, Sarah saw that the core of Nolan's strategy of division was more psychological than legal—to estrange Mary from Lara, and from Sarah herself, until she fired her lawyers or dropped the suit. But she could not know how clearly Nolan grasped the full potential of this strategy, all the intricacies—the jealousies, old wounds, and fresh resentments—hidden by the successes of Inez Costello's now-blighted family. "Same instruction," Sarah repeated.
Nolan's keen gaze remained focused on Mary. "Are you following your counsel's orders, Ms. Costello?"
Taut, Sarah could only watch. Answering, her client spoke without inflection, looking at no one. "Yes."
For a moment Nolan studied her, and then shrugged his dismissal. "Then I suppose I'll have to ask your sister."
THREE
Entering the Republican cloakroom after morning business, Frank Fasano had hoped to test his colleagues' reaction to Senator Hampton's uncharacteristically lacerating critique. Instead, he found Chad Palmer and Leo Weller absorbed in watching Kerry Kilcannon on CNN. Joining them, he perceived at once that Hampton's speech was part of a broader attack orchestrated by Kilcannon himself.
The President had ventured into opposition territory, choosing to address a Chamber of Commerce convention in Atlantic City, part of a one-day media blitz devoted wholly to guns. Faced with a potentially hostile reception, Kilcannon seemed more cheerful—in a sardonic way— than Fasano had seen him since the murders. Palmer, too, seemed amused, watching Kilcannon with the detached appreciation of one warrior for another—enhanced, the Majority Leader suspected, by Palmer's distaste for his own alliance with Fasano.
"For Kerry," Palmer observed, "a little antagonism is the spice of life." Watching the screen, Leo Weller chuckled.
Frivolous lawsuits, Kilcannon was telling his listeners, ought not be encouraged. But some of the antilawyer rhetoric used to promote tort reform is based on calculated disinformation. To be blunt, it's more attractive to attack "greedy trial lawyers" than a ten-year-old quadriplegic facing life in a wheelchair because of a defective tire . . .
"To be blunt," Fasano repeated with a smile. But he was gaining a fresh appreciation of how deadly such directness could be.
I understand the temptation, Kilcannon went on. A lot of people hate every lawyer except the one they need. It's rather like politicians. In fact, as a class, we're both so widely despised that it's easy for our detractors to claim that lawyers buy politicians on the open market. Kilcannon smiled, skipping a beat. In fact, one of your previous speakers implied that about me, just yesterday.
The speaker, Fasano knew, had been Paul Harshman. Kilcannon continued in the same ironic tone. Seven times, in fact, he employed the words "Kilcannon" and "trial lawyers" in the same unflattering sentence. Never once did he utter the word "victim." But that's what you get from a defective tire; or an exploding gas tank; or a plane which blows up in midair.
Lawyers don't create victims. But all too often, victims need lawyers. Because without legal representation, ordinary people are all too often powerless to gain recourse from the institutions whose carelessness or callousness has blighted their lives forever . . .
"Cheap populism," Leo Weller snorted. "You'd think we're a nation of victims."
Fasano glanced at him. "Best not to say that in public, Leo. At least until the 'ordinary people' of Montana have voted you a second term."
And so, Kilcannon suggested to his captive audience, let's address some other questions Senator Harshman failed to ask.
Time and again, he complained that the cost of "needless litigation" is passed on to the consumer.
But is litigation "needless" when it secures the constant care our ten-year-old quadriplegic will require for the rest of his very difficult life?
Didn't "needless litigation" compel the auto industry to improve the safety of its cars?
And why are plain
tiffs' lawyers more blameworthy than the defense lawyers for the tobacco and asbestos industries—some from the most prosperous firms in America—who earn five hundred dollars an hour bludgeoning plaintiffs who are dying of cancer or emphysema?
Palmer laughed softly. "Where's Paul?" he asked. "I'm dying to hear his answer."
Senator Harshman, Kilcannon continued, emphasized time and again that you represent the men and women of Main Street. Many of you own small businesses. But who does he suppose supports your companies and stores? For the most part, ordinary people. After all is said and done, we all should be together in this.
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