He leans back defensively and reacts with a combination of surprise and indignation. "What are you talking about?”
My head feels as if it’s about to implode. “You lied to us,” I repeat more emphatically.
“About what?”
“Everything.”
We’re gathered in the consultation room at the Hall at eight fifteen on Wednesday night. We had Terrence call Bobby’s mother to tell her to meet us here, but we didn’t say why. She’s seated next to Bobby. She’s wearing no makeup. Her arms are folded. Her expression is grim.
“What’s going on?” Bobby asks.
Rosie’s voice fills with unfiltered raw emotion. “It’s been nothing but lies from the start,” she says. “All lies. One after another.”
Julie’s protective instincts kick in. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Rosie fires right back. “Don’t you dare try to protect him. You’ll just be enabling him even more.” She turns to Bobby. “You were there on Friday night.” It isn’t a question—it’s a statement of fact.
“Where?” he asks. His attempt at feigned innocence has suddenly turned utterly unconvincing.
“Your father’s house.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were.” Rosie’s empties both barrels. “Don’t play dumb with us, Bobby. We spent the past hour getting our asses kicked by Inspector Johnson. It’s over. They know you were there. They have proof. You’re going to make it even worse if you keep lying.”
The color leaves his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” Rosie snaps. My father used to say the most effective way to yell at somebody is not to raise your voice. Rosie invokes a venomous whisper. "They found a condom under your bed. The DNA tests matched you and Grace. They’ve got you, Bobby. Dead to rights. You were there. You had sex with my daughter. You lied about it from the start. You’ve turned a difficult situation into a full-blown disaster—not just for yourself, but for Grace.”
Julie leaps to his defense. “You have no right to talk to him that way.”
I jab a finger at her. “Yes, we do.”
“The hell you do.”
“The hell we don’t. We’ve been working our asses off around the clock to help your son. He lied to us. He lied to you. He lied to the cops. He’s done irreparable damage to his own defense. He has no credibility. He’s already guilty of perjury and statutory rape. Now Grace may be guilty of perjury, too.”
“It isn’t Bobby’s fault your daughter chose to lie under oath.”
“She did it in a misguided attempt to protect your lying son. Now she may be arrested as an accomplice to murder.”
“That’s her problem.”
“That’s our problem,” I say.
Julie’s blue eyes are on fire. “It takes two to tango. You should have expected this after your exemplary parenting. You can’t be surprised that you have a promiscuous daughter.”
“And you can’t be surprised that you have a promiscuous son.”
“Now you’re judging me, too?”
“Damn right. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. On Friday night, you were busy boinking your boy toy while your son was having sex with his underage girlfriend—who happens to be my daughter.”
“My personal life is none of your business.”
“It is now.”
Bobby turns to his mother. “What the hell is he talking about, Mother?”
She takes a deep breath. “I’ve been seeing someone, Bobby.”
“You, too?”
Julie swallows hard. “I was going to tell you, Bobby.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A couple of months.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Newsom.”
Bobby’s eyes light up. “He’s one of your students.”
“It happens, Bobby.”
“And now you’re judging me?”
“I meant to tell you.”
He’s too angry to reply.
I turn my anger back to Julie. “Your boyfriend threatened your husband,” I say. “For some reason, you keep trying to protect him.”
Julie’s last pretense of civility disappears as she takes the offensive. “That’s bullshit, Mike. Derek has nothing to do with this. Your daughter wasn’t an innocent victim. And you were on the other side of the Bay when she was seducing my son.”
“You and your husband set a terrific example. He was sleeping with underage hookers. You’re sleeping with one of your students.”
“You two aren’t model parents, either.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Before you start casting stones, you ought to look in the mirror.”
Rosie holds up a dismissive hand and invokes a tone I haven’t heard since the darkest days of our divorce. “We aren’t going to take any more shit from you and your son,” she hisses. “We’re done, Julie. We quit. You can find another lawyer.”
“You’re fired,” Julie says.
“Fine. Either way, we’re out of here.”
“Great.”
“On our way to the car, we’re going to ask Inspector Johnson to file charges against Bobby for statutory rape.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, we will.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“The hell I am.”
“You’d have to admit your daughter was at Jack’s house on Friday night.”
“They already have proof. We’re going to come clean and cut the best deal we can—even if it means your son is going to jail for the rest of his life.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Yes, we can. You’re a better doctor than a lawyer, Julie. Everybody knows the first one to sing gets the best deal.”
“You have a conflict of interest.”
“Not anymore. You just fired us, remember?”
“You still have a fiduciary duty to Bobby.”
“It’s trumped by our paternal duty to Grace.”
Julie’s mouth is open as she glares at Rosie. She realizes this isn’t a negotiation and Rosie isn’t going to budge. There is desperation in her voice when she says, “I’ll go to the papers. I’ll ruin your reputation.”
“We can play that game, too,” Rosie says. “You’re out of your league. Nobody gives a shit about two small-time defense lawyers who practice law around the corner from the bus terminal. The press will have a field day when they find out a hotshot surgeon at UCSF has been sleeping with her intern. The Board of Trustees at UCSF will have something to say about it, too.”
“I’ll file a complaint with the State Bar.”
“Be my guest. Bobby will be sleeping in orange pajamas for twenty years before they get around to investigating your claim.”
“I’ll hire a lawyer. I’ll get you disbarred.”
“Let me make it easy for you,” I say. I pull out my wallet and toss my State Bar card down on the metal table. “Here’s my ticket. Knock yourself out. Hire an army of lawyers to go after me. I don’t give a damn about you, your lying son, the State Bar, or the entire legal profession. I’m going to do what’s best for my daughter.”
“You can’t just walk.”
“Yes, we can.”
“You’ll never get Grace to testify against Bobby.”
“Yes, she will.” I turn to Bobby, who has been observing this exchange in terrifed silence. “You’re in a world of trouble, son. Now that I’m no longer your lawyer, let me give you some free advice. Hire the best defense lawyer you can find and cut the best deal you can get.”
The former high school baseball player and honor student looks as if he’s going to cry.
Rosie and I stand and head toward the door. I’m about to call for the guard when I hear the sound of unvarnished panic from behind me.
“Please don’t leave,” Bobby wails. His voice is choked with raw fear. �
�I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”
Rosie and I turn around slowly. “It’s too late for apologies,” Rosie says to him.
“I’m so sorry for everything.”
“The damage is done, Bobby. It’s over.”
Fear and desperation overwhelm him and he bursts into tears. “You can’t go,” he howls.
“Yes, we can.”
He collapses forward onto the metal table. “Please don’t go,” he begs. “Please. I didn’t kill my father. You’re my only chance.”
“Not anymore,” I say. “We aren’t going to represent you. We just can’t.”
“I promise to tell you everything—the whole truth—I swear to God.”
Julie moves over and puts her arm around her son’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything to them, Bobby.”
“Yes, I do.”
“They aren’t your lawyers anymore. They’ll use it against you.”
“I don’t care. I want to tell the truth, Mother. I need to tell the truth—which is more than you’ve done.”
“Don’t say another word, Bobby. You’re only making it worse.”
“It’s my choice, Mother. I’m trying to make it right.” He turns to me and says, "Will you help me if I tell you everything? I’ll tell you the truth. I swear to God.”
Rosie and I look at each other. We’re treading in murky ethical waters. In a perfect world, we would tell him to hire another lawyer and not say another word. Then again, the real world is highly imperfect— especially when you daughter may be charged with murder in fourteen hours. He may tell us something that could help Grace—or incriminate himself—or both. Either way, it can’t hurt to listen. “Do you promise to tell the truth?” I ask.
“I swear to God.”
“We’re listening.”
55/ I SWEAR TO GOD
Wednesday, June 22, 8:28 p.m.
“The movie started at nine,” Bobby says, desperately trying to find a modicum of composure. “It ended at eleven.”
“So you never went to Amoeba, did you?” Rosie says. Her tone is modulated for now. She’ll revert to her lawyer voice if necessary.
“No,” Bobby says. He darts a glance at his mother, who is sitting next to him in frozen silence. “We decided to go to my father’s house.”
“Because you knew he wouldn’t be home?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew Sean was staying at a friend’s house?”
He nods.
Rosie takes a deep breath. “What time did you get there?”
“A quarter after eleven.”
“Was anybody home?”
“No.” He swallows hard and adds, “I’m really sorry.”
“Sorry you had sex with my daughter or sorry you got caught?”
“Sorry about everything.”
“Was it your first time with Grace?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Bobby?”
His voice is barely audible. “No.”
“How many other times?” Rosie asks.
“Twice.”
“Where?”
“My father’s house—when he was with Christy.”
Or when he was at the Sunshine.
Rosie’s tone fills with sarcasm. “Whose brilliant idea was this?”
“Both of us, I guess.”
“Grace was a willing participant?”
“Yes.”
Rosie leans forward. “Did you use a condom every time?”
“Yes.”
“You’d better be telling the truth.”
“I am.”
“Have you slept with any other girls?”
Julie interjects. “You don’t have to answer that, Bobby.”
Rosie hasn’t taken her eyes off Bobby. “Yes, you do,” she says.
“Two others,” he says. “Before I met Grace.”
“Does Grace know about this?”
“No.”
“She will now. Did you use a condom every time?”
“Yes.”
“Are you lying to me, Bobby?”
“No.”
“Is there any chance you’ve been infected with AIDS or an STD?”
“No. Grace and I got tested just to be sure. You can do it confidentially.”
The world has changed since I was sixteen.
“I’m glad you were so responsible about sleeping with my underage daughter,” Rosie says.
Bobby looks straight down. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m really, really sorry.”
Rosie nods to me. It’s my turn. I try not to let my imagination run wild as I think about my baby daughter and her boyfriend having sex in his room in the middle of the night. My parental instincts make me want to leap across the table and pound the crap out of him. However, this isn’t a good time for me to play the role of the irate father of a teenage daughter. If I can hold it together, Bobby might impart some useful information.
“What time did your father get home?” I ask.
“Midnight.”
“Where were you?”
“In my bedroom in the basement.”
“Having sex with my daughter?”
“I’m sorry, Mike.”
“So am I. What happened next?”
“We heard the garage door open. Grace and I jumped out of bed and put on our clothes. It was hard because it was dark.”
I’m sure. “Did your father see you?”
“No.”
“How did you get out of the house without him seeing you?”
“We left through the back door.”
“Is it possible somebody else was in the house?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Did you hear anybody?”
“Other than my father, no.” He adds, “It’s hard to hear from downstairs.”
We need to prove somebody else was there. “Did you go straight to the car?”
“Yes.” He says they ran through the yard and out the gate that opens onto Grattan.
“What time was that?”
“A couple of minutes after twelve.”
“Did you see anybody?”
“No.”
“Did you see a gray Crown Vic parked by the fire hydrant?”
“Yes.”
“Did you leave right away?”
“Not exactly,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“When we got to the car, I realized I left my keys in my room. I went back to get them.”
“Did Grace go with you?”
“Yes, but she waited in the yard while I was inside the house.”
“So you were alone inside the house with your father?”
“Yes.”
This information may be enough to throw Bobby under a bus. I start firing questions more rapidly. “Did you see your father when you were inside?”
“No.”
“Did you see anybody else?”
“No.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“No.”
“How long were you inside?”
“Just a couple of minutes. I had trouble finding my keys.”
“Did you change your clothes?”
“No. I didn’t put my clothes into the washer until after I found my dad.” He reads my skeptical expression and adds, “I swear to God, Mike.”
“Then what?”
“I went out through the back door again. Grace was still in the yard. We went to the car and I drove her straight home. That was it.”
“What time was that?”
“Around ten after twelve.”
“Did you see anybody outside?”
“No.”
“Was the gray Crown Vic still parked by the fire hydrant?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember for sure.”
“Were you and Grace together the entire time after you came back outside?”
“Yes.” There’s another pause. “Except for just a minute.”
Huh?”How’s that?”
“Grace dropped her cell phone in the bushes as we were going out the gate. I ran over to the car by myself. I didn’t realize she had stopped until I got to the car. I went back to help her find it.”
Which means Treadwell could have seen Bobby jogging west on Grattan by himself. "Are you leaving anything out?” I ask.
“No.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes. I’m really sorry, Mike.”
“So am I. We’re going to talk to Grace to make sure her story matches up with yours.”
“It will, Mike. I swear to God.”
“If you’ve lied to us about anything—even the smallest detail—I’m going to make sure you never see the light of day.”
# # #
“We’re idiots,” Rosie says.
“Yes, we are,” I reply.
Her hands have a vise-like grip on the steering wheel as we drive north on Van Ness at nine fifteen on Wednesday night. Our mood matches the heavy summer fog.
“We should have seen it,” she says.
“I know.”
“How could we have been so stupid?”
“We believed our daughter.”
Her jaw clenches. “After all these years, are we really so naïve?”
“We aren’t the only parents who gave their kid the benefit of the doubt.”
“That doesn’t make it right. It certainly doesn’t make us good parents. We’ve been lawyers for twenty years, Mike. We’ve represented murderers, rapists, drug dealers, and armed robbers. I think I’m pretty good at figuring out when somebody’s lying. Now, I can’t even tell with my own daughter.”
“Evidently, neither can I.” I reach over and touch her hand. “We can’t afford to get angry about it tonight.”
“Damn right we can, Mike. I’m angry at Grace. I’m angry at Bobby. I’m angry at you. I’m ready to kill Julie. Most of all, I’m furious at myself.”
“We’ll have plenty of time to beat ourselves up after this case is over, Rosie.”
“How can you be so calm?”
“Believe me, I’m not.” My stomach feels like a vat of hot acid. “We have no choice. We have to keep our heads on straight.”
“Why?”
“Because we have to talk to Grace. And we have less than thirteen hours to figure out a way to keep her out of jail.”
MD07 - Perfect Alibi Page 24
