All That Is Mine I Carry With Me, page 20
The district attorney leans back and crosses his arms, then seems to realize his body language is wrong, and he promptly unfolds his arms again, leans forward, and lays his arms on the table. I find all this ungracefulness weirdly reassuring. A man this socially clumsy cannot afford to lie. He could never get away with it.
So I have some difficult news for you, which is that we are not going to indict the case at this time.
Aunt Kate’s hand flies to her mouth, a rare loss of composure.
No one else reacts.
I’ve studied this question and discussed it with colleagues, and the evidence just isn’t there. I am truly sorry, but that’s the fact of the matter. Obviously the discovery of your mother’s remains is a big, big break. One of the enormous holes in the evidence until now has been the lack of proof that your mother was actually killed. That’s no longer an issue. But it’s not enough. It’s a circumstantial case, which is okay; we win circumstantial cases all the time. But there just isn’t enough to charge anyone right now. Now, having said that, I want you to understand that this case is not closed. It will not be ignored or inactive or anything else. We will pursue the case aggressively, as we always have. When I charge your mother’s murderer someday, I’m going to nail him, I promise you that. But I’m not going to endanger the case by rushing ahead with incomplete evidence.
Silence.
Kate says at last, Rushing? It’s been eighteen years.
He nods. I know.
What if someday never comes? What if this is as much proof as you’re ever going to get?
Then there’s still no sense in charging anyone, not if we already know we’re going to get a not-guilty. If the case isn’t there, it isn’t there.
But what possible other evidence could there be at this point? What are you waiting for?
I don’t know, honestly. I can imagine all sorts of evidence coming up: physical evidence, a new witness, a confession of some kind. We’ll have to wait and see.
We’ve been waiting eighteen years.
Things can change. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen. Cold cases do get solved. New evidence does turn up.
Aunt Kate shakes her head. She looks both disappointed and a little scornful of this man who is so fastidious in his preparation, and perhaps so risk averse, that he cannot actually act.
Alex says, as if to soothe but actually to silence her: Aunt Kate, Mr. Leary has a duty to do what he thinks is right.
Jesus, I mutter.
Alex, my parents are dead, my sister is dead, I’m fifty-nine years old. I don’t have forever. I think we should be honest: if it doesn’t happen now, it’s probably never going to. That’s what this means, that’s what he’s telling us. Your father gets away with it. Is that what anyone here thinks is right? Does anyone think this is right?
Aunt Kate, you’re assuming he did it. If there’s no evidence pointing to him, then maybe he didn’t do it.
Kate’s face tightens, holding back the words from escaping her mouth.
Miranda says, No one’s said his name.
A beat.
I have been determined not to speak at this meeting. Though I am as intimately involved as anyone here, I feel like an interloper. I live far away. I feel far away, from all of this, from Her, from Him. But I find myself saying to the district attorney, Can I just ask you: do you think my father did this? I’m not asking whether you can prove it in court. Just, do you think he did it?
Yes.
Do you have any other suspects?
No.
Any evidence that points to someone else?
No.
How sure are you that he did it? Like, percentage-wise?
That’s hard to say.
I’m just asking what you think. Your opinion. Are you sure he did it?
I’m sure, yes.
A hundred percent sure?
I can’t put a number on it.
Isn’t it possible that some stranger did this? Maybe my mom went to that little town on her own that day and someone attacked her, some crazy man? Maybe she was robbed or…or raped or just murdered for no reason, out of the blue? That happens, doesn’t it?
It’s possible, yes.
So you have doubt?
No. I’m just acknowledging the possibility. We’re human beings, we’re working with incomplete information—I might be wrong. It’s possible. That’s not the same as doubt.
That makes no sense. You just said you’re sure. Now you’re saying there’s a chance you’re wrong.
There’s always a chance I’m wrong. My job requires that I make decisions anyway. I’m not an appeals lawyer or a journalist who comes along after the fact; I don’t have the benefit of hindsight or new evidence. I have to make decisions based on the imperfect information that’s in front of me right now. So even if I make the right decision, the reasonable decision, someday I could be proven wrong. My job is to accept that possibility and make decisions anyway. There’s no other way. Someone has to decide. Right now, that someone is me.
And you’ve decided on my dad.
I have.
Dan Larkin killed my mother.
In my opinion, yes. I’m sorry.
I lean back in my chair, feeling a little stoned.
Alex says, I think we need to remember that Dad has rights too. I don’t accept this assumption that he did this. He is our father, Jeff, he’s your father. You owe him something.
I owe him? What do I owe him?
Loyalty. Gratitude.
Gratitude! For killing my mother?
For your existence. He brought you into this world.
Ai, Alex, let’s not do this.
Kate says: Alex, doesn’t Jeff owe all those things to his mother too?
Yes. Of course, Aunt Kate. You know what I mean.
I don’t. What do you mean, Alex?
Look, we all know—I’m sorry, but we all know Jeff and Dad don’t get along. You moved three thousand miles away from him.
I moved three thousand miles away from you too.
Aunt Kate says, That’s enough.
Jeff, I don’t mean to fight with you. I’m just saying, you have to be fair to him too. That’s all.
I am being fair. You just heard the DA say Dan Larkin killed his wife. Then you decided to ignore that and blame me instead.
I heard the DA express an opinion. Well, I have an opinion too. I disagree with him. Dan Larkin killed his wife? Do you even hear yourself? Who talks like that? Those are your parents you’re talking about.
Well, Kate intervenes, it doesn’t matter. None of our opinions matter, do they, Mr. Leary? It doesn’t matter what we want. The decision is yours and yours alone.
It does matter. Your family’s input is something I listen to and I consider and I give great weight to. But yes, in the end it’s my decision.
And your decision is already made. You won’t charge Dan with killing my sister.
I can’t. I’m sorry.
You keep saying that, I’m sorry. What does it even mean, you’re sorry? You’re not sorry enough to charge the man who you’re absolutely sure killed my sister.
Tight-lipped, the DA nods.
And if I tell you, as Jane’s sister, that I would rather take the chance of a not-guilty, that I would rather see him tried for what he did to my sister, even if it’s a longshot, than see him get off scot-free?
I’m sorry, I can’t do it. If we indict him and he gets off, then it’s all over. We get one bite at the apple. I can’t waste it if I don’t think we have a realistic shot of a conviction. I also have a professional duty not to charge anyone if I think the evidence isn’t there.
Alex says: Aunt Kate, he has no choice.
Aunt Kate eyeballs Alex, registering his betrayal but determined not to be distracted by it.
So what are we supposed to do? My sister is dead. What am I supposed to do?
The district attorney shakes his head, patient, nonjudgmental, but intransigent.
Nothing, he says. There’s nothing any of us can do but wait and hope for another break.
* * *
—
Our audience with the district attorney ends with a few announcements. Mom’s bones will now be released for burial, we are told. Later today, the DA will issue a press release announcing his decision. We are admonished not to speak too much to the press, if we are contacted, lest we complicate a prosecution at some hazy time in the future.
We accept all this information in defeated, submissive silence.
Awkward handshakes all around.
To Aunt Kate the district attorney says one last time: I know you’re disappointed. But I hope in time you’ll understand my position. We are on the same side, you know.
She gives him a forbearing smile, like an adult might give to a child.
Kate says, May we borrow the room for a few minutes before we leave? I’d like to have a moment together as a family. It’s a lot to process.
Of course.
The DA and his assistants file out.
On his way after them, Glover tells Miranda, I’ll catch up with you later.
Mimi takes his hand in hers and thanks him for coming.
Waiting for Miranda to release his hand and with all our eyes on him, Glover looks stricken.
Aunt Kate watches this interaction with a curious expression. Miranda, you asked him to come?
Yes.
Why?
Because he’s my friend.
He’s a police detective?
Yes. But I wanted him here. He knows everything about the case.
Miranda has a way of sounding more naive than she actually is.
Kate says to Glover, You stay.
She closes the door, sits back down.
Detective…what was it?
Glover. Tom. Tom Glover.
What do we do now, Detective Glover?
Um, basically it’s like the DA said: there’s nothing you can do.
I don’t accept that.
That’s the way it is. It’s his decision. That’s how the system works.
Then we have to change the system. We have to change his mind, don’t we?
Alex groans. Aunt Kate, respectfully, what are you talking about? You just heard the DA say there’s not enough proof. That’s it. Let it go.
No. I will not let it go. We’re talking about my sister.
And my mother. And not for nothing, my father too. I shouldn’t have to keep saying this: he has rights, he deserves some consideration.
Alex, I love you, I’ve loved you since the day you were born, and I’ll love you till the day you die. But I can’t just look the other way. Don’t ask me to do that.
I’m not asking you to look the other way. I’m asking you to accept reality. At some point we have to move on. For all of our sake. How long is this going to go on?
Is that what you kids think? Jeff? Miranda? Is it time to move on? Is that what you want to do?
Mimi’s head is down.
Kate: Do we think he did it? Isn’t that the real question?
I say, I don’t know. I don’t know anything.
And it is true: my thoughts are swirling. I genuinely don’t know what I believe. More than that, what bothers me now is that I am being forced to think about it, forced to visit this uncomfortable subject, forced to think at all. What I want, really, is to be in San Francisco, far away, with a beer and a spliff and a head as empty and light as a float in Macy’s parade.
Miranda lifts her head and declares: I think he did it.
She looks around the table at each of us, gauging our reaction, but nobody has any extra emotion to give.
Aunt Kate says, Well, that’s two guilties, one not-guilty, one not sure.
There are others in the room, of course, the spouses and Glover. But they don’t get a vote.
Alex sulks: Just to be clear, I didn’t say not-guilty. I said he’s entitled to the benefit of the doubt, just like anyone else. Process matters. We need to respect the process.
Aunt Kate: All right, so two guilties, zero not-guilties. Detective, what can we do? We need to get this case into court. How do we do that?
I don’t know.
There must be something.
Glover: Find more evidence.
We’ve waited eighteen years. More evidence probably isn’t coming. So what else? Think. Who can we talk to?
There’s no one else to talk to. Like I said, it’s the DA’s call.
Well, there must be someone above him. Who do we appeal to? Who could order him to proceed?
The AG and the governor. Technically. Good luck with that.
Who could persuade him, then? Who would the DA listen to?
I don’t know. Maybe George Bailis.
Okay, a name finally. Great. Who’s George Bailis?
He’s a lawyer. Back when all this started, he was the DA’s right-hand man. The DA was old and sick. Bailis was the whiz kid. Nothing happened without a nod from George Bailis. He’s the one who decided not to charge the case in the first place, twenty years ago.
How do you know that?
I was in the room. I was looking right at him.
Why would the DA listen to this George Bailis?
Because he ran this place for years. He’s like the pope.
Where do we find him? The Vatican?
I have no idea.
Well, he’s a lawyer, right? He can’t be too hard to find. These people don’t hide.
Kate stands and snaps up a yellow pages from a bookshelf in the corner.
Alex says: Aunt Kate, this is wrong. I don’t agree with this.
Alex, if you don’t want to be a part of it, I understand, honey. But this was my sister. As long as there’s something I can do, I’m gonna do it.
* * *
—
Bailis’s office is downtown, on a narrow, shadowy block off Franklin Street, in a tomb-like, granite-front, prewar office building. In the lobby, the directory announces, in faded gold lettering, that this is the Stratford Building, a pretension that makes me want to escort this exhausted old building off somewhere private and shoot it.
We squeeze into a small elevator for a rattly ride to the third floor. Luckily, only four of us have come: Aunt Kate, Miranda, Glover, and me. Still, we have to stand uncomfortably close to one another.
Mimi grins at the awkwardness. This is cozy, she says.
She is right to smirk. This whole errand feels unserious. We all know we are humoring Aunt Kate. My aunt can be bullish but she will accept it soon, she will have to. It is time to bury Jane once and for all.
For my part, I am already thinking ahead to the funeral. Will the coffin be sized for an adult, in which case it will be mostly empty? Or will it be shoebox sized, for the few bones that remain? Will the bones be tied down or wrapped to keep them from rolling and clattering? Will one of us have to make a speech? Not me, I hope. God, just get me to the plane, get me a Stoli on ice, get me home to S.F. and a chilly, foggy oblivion. That’s all I want.
By the time we arrive at the Law Offices of George M. Bailis LLC, I have this weird feeling that we have come to a charmed place. The obscure building, the antique elevator, a dark hallway—it is like a fairy tale, like we have passed through a series of secret doors and passageways to reach the Hidden Cave. The office itself is nothing so grand. Antique tables with crackled surfaces, a wavy oriental rug, a reproduction of a second-rate painting of a three-masted sailing ship. It is all so small and shabby, a cheap imitation of my father’s bigger, slicker office.
Bailis comes out to greet us promptly. His whiz-kid days are long behind him. He is thin and grave. His hair is more salt than pepper. He wears mouse-brown shoes with a gray suit and a cheap tie that my father wouldn’t be buried in.
When the cop Tom Glover explains who we are, Bailis says, Yes, of course.
When Aunt Kate thanks him for seeing us, he says, I remember your name.
He seems to have been expecting us, all these years. I am tempted to apologize for not coming sooner.
Bailis leads us to a conference room that looks out, through a venetian blind, onto an air shaft. There he listens with an impassive expression to Kate’s recap of our frustrating meeting with the district attorney.
Already Mimi and I are exchanging glances: now it is Bailis who is humoring Aunt Kate.
When Kate is done, the lawyer—the pope—asks, What is it you want me to do?
Glover asks if Bailis will intervene with the DA, get him to reconsider his decision.
Bailis: It won’t do any good. He won’t listen. He’s too timid, always has been.
Kate: So Dan just gets away with it? There’s nothing we can do?
Bailis reprises the same tired, rote legal advice we just heard an hour ago: If the prosecutor will not charge him with the crime, there is nothing we can do. Only the government can initiate a prosecution for murder. Blah, blah, blah.
Aunt Kate shakes her head. She looks like she might cry, which is something I have never seen and never thought was possible.
Bailis says, There is another way. If you’re absolutely determined, you could sue him.
Sue him? For murder?
Yes. Well, for wrongful death, technically. Infliction of pain, infliction of emotional distress, loss of companionship.
Sue him for money, you mean.
That’s right. But the money isn’t the real point. The point is to have your day in court. It’s a way—it’s the only way—to establish the truth in a public forum. To hold him accountable.
But we don’t have enough proof.
For a criminal case, maybe not. In a criminal case, the DA has to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. In a civil suit, all you need is a preponderance of the evidence. Fifty percent plus a feather.
You think we could do that?
