Presumed Innocent Read Free

what I've been saying? Because I believe that. I believe that effective law enforcement starts right at the top. I believe that's true. Raymond's soft. He's tired. He doesn't have it left to be tough."
    I met Nico a dozen years ago, on my first day as a deputy P.A., when we were assigned to share an office. Eleven years later I was the chief deputy and he was head of the Homicide Section and I fired him. By then he had begun overtly attempting to run Raymond out of office. There was a black physician, an abortionist, whom Nico wanted to prosecute for murder. His position made no sense as a matter of law, but it excited the passions of various interest groups whose support he sought. Nico planted news stories about his disagreements with Raymond; he made jury arguments — for which abundant press coverage always was arranged — that were little more than campaign speeches. Raymond left the final act to me. One morning I went to K mart and bought the cheapest pair of running shoes they had. I centered them on Nico's desk with a note: 'Goodbye. Good luck. Rusty.'
    I always knew campaigning was going to suit him. He looks good. Nico Della Guardia is about forty now, a man of medium height, fastidiously trim. He has been concerned about his weight, eating red meat, things like that, as long as I've known him. Although his skin is bad and his coloring peculiar — red hair and olive skin and light eyes — he has the sort of face whose imperfections are not detected by a camera or even across a courtroom and he is uniformly regarded as handsome. Certainly he has always dressed the part. Even in the days when it required half his paycheck, his suits were tailor-made.
    But far beyond good looks, Nico's most arresting aspect has always been the brassy and indiscriminate sincerity he is displaying here, reciting the elements of his platform while conversing, in the midst of a funeral, with his opponent's chief assistant. After twelve years, including two in which we shared an office, I have learned that Delay can always summon up that kind of overeager and unreflective faith in himself. The morning that I fired him nine months ago, he strolled past my office on his way out, bright as a new penny, and said simply, I'll be back.
    I try to let Nico down easy now.
    "It's too late, Delay. I've promised my vote to Raymond Horgan."
    He is slow to get the joke, and when he does, he will not give the subject up. We go on playing a sort of lawyer's Dozens, dwelling on weaknesses. Nico admits his campaign is short of money but claims that the archbishop's unspoken support lends him "moral capital."
    "That's where we're strong," he says. "Really. That's where we'll pick up votes. People have forgotten why they ever wanted to vote for Civil Rights Raymond. He's just a blur to them. A blob. I have a strong, clear message." Nico's confidence is radiant, as ever, when he speaks about himself. "You know what worried me?" Nico asks. "You know who would have been hard to beat?" He has crept a foot closer and lowered his voice. "You."
    I laugh out loud, but Nico goes on: "I was relieved. I'm telling you the truth. I was relieved when Raymond announced. I'd seen it coming: Horgan holds a big press conference, says he's hanging it up, but he's asked his top assistant to carry on. Media is going to love Rusty Sabich. A non-political guy. A professional prosecutor. Stable. Mature. Somebody everyone can depend on. The man who broke up the Night Saints. They play all that stuff and Raymond brings Bolcarro in behind you. You'd've been tough, very tough."
    "Ridiculous," I say, manfully pretending that like scenarios have not described themselves to my imagination on a hundred occasions in the last year. "You're really something, Delay," I tell him. "Divide and conquer. You'll just never stop."
    "Hey listen, my friend," he says, "I am one of your true admirers. I mean that. There are no hard feelings here." He touches his shirt above the vest. "That is one of the