“It strikes me that the major problem here, apart from the security camera footage placing David as the last person inside the apartment, is the gun in David’s car,” said Sinton.
“I agree,” I said.
“So what are we hoping to achieve tomorrow? With this evidence, the preliminary hearing is dead in the water. I say we waive the hearing and get ready for trial.”
“No.”
It took a second for Sinton to register that I’d contradicted him. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and snorted.
“There’s nothing to be gained tomorrow, Flynn, we can’t say there’s not enough evidence to hold David, when in fact, there’s easily enough evidence to convict him.”
“David wants the charges thrown out tomorrow,” I said.
“I’m sure he does, but you and I know that’s not going to happen.”
David lifted his head momentarily, clocked me. I nodded.
“I’ve already told David that it’s a long shot, but these are his instructions. We fight this the whole way.”
Sinton laughed, shook his head. “Come on. Even if by some miracle you win the prelim, the DA can go straight to the grand jury anyway. We’re wasting time with this when we could be preparing for trial.”
“I want to win tomorrow,” said David.
That cut out the argument. Waving his hands, Sinton nodded, and said, “Of course you do, and if you want to fight, we’ll fight, but there’s not a lot to work with.”
Checking my watch, I saw we had less than twenty minutes of the hour left.
Gerry played the accident footage, but I didn’t need to see it a second time. Instead I paid close attention to Sinton and his associates, and so I was pretty certain they didn’t recognize Perry Lake, the professional driver who I was sure had been paid to hit David and had given a false name to the cops. According to the NYPD, Perry was John Woodrow. It made sense. Perry Lake had a list of priors for dangerous driving. I suspected that John Woodrow had a clear record.
“Just give me a second and I’ll be done,” said David.
With my right index finger, I tapped the back of my left hand. He wanted more time, and I’d signaled that he had five minutes.
We sat in silence for what seemed like ten minutes. In reality it was more like thirty seconds. Sinton couldn’t just sit there. He wanted to stamp his authority on the case.
“David, I know that you’re innocent. I know that Mr. Flynn, here, has passion and skill. But he’s also—you’ll forgive me for saying so—a small-time criminal lawyer who would jump at the chance of a huge trial like this. No offense,” he said, giving me a look that said he meant every word to be as offensive as possible.
“None taken,” I said.
“The gun, which I think is likely to be the murder weapon, was found in your car.”
“Like I said, I never saw it before…”
“David, come on, it was found next to you,” said Sinton.
“You don’t believe me,” said David.
“It’s not a question of what I believe, David. This is about the evidence. We have to—”
Sinton broke off. It took me a few seconds to realize he wasn’t pausing to come up with the right words to appease his client. He was staring straight at David, transfixed. I got up and moved around the table, picking up the remote as I moved. I hit eject and waited for the disk, but really I was trying to see what Sinton was looking at.
His line of sight focused on David, who was ignoring everyone, head down, typing furiously on his laptop.
Then I saw it.
Gerry Sinton wasn’t looking at David. He was looking behind David. He was staring at the reflection on the window from David’s computer screen.
I was farther away than Sinton and at a worse angle, and even I could see in the mirrored reflection what was happening on David’s computer.
The laptop showed two pages on a split screen. On one side was the Harland and Sinton log-in screen, with a large white box below their logo that asked for a password.
On the other screen was what looked like code. Bright green symbols and numbers that David was able to create at blistering speed before highlighting the sequence and then cutting and pasting the code into the password box on the other screen. I saw LOG-IN FAIL come up on the Harland and Sinton page, and David retyped another sequence.
An electric current shot up my spine.
The DVD ejected onto the rich burgundy carpet. I was already moving toward David. I slammed the laptop closed, almost trapping his fingers.
“Enough PR work. Gerry’s right. If we don’t get you off, then all of this,” I said, gesturing to Boo and Roger, “doesn’t matter a damn.”
The suddenness of my outburst and slam from the laptop closure spread a silence over the room as if all had stopped breathing to let the echoes find a home.
Sinton tapped on the slate tabletop, his pinkie ring making a repeated chipping sound. His gaze seemed far away, across the street to the Corbin Building, over the rooftops and beyond the trees of Central Park. His head swiveled around and snapped those cold eyes on me.
His voice had changed. The deep aggressive drawl had been replaced by a cold, detached tone.
“Your wife went down to the courthouse to speak to you this afternoon. She didn’t come back to work afterward.”
He slipped a cell phone from his jacket, typed something, hit send, and returned his stare to me.
“If she’s ill, she should’ve reported sick. A phone call at least. You mind telling me where she is?”