She turned to her desk, opened a file and glanced at the top sheet.
“Nine arrests in just the last five years,” she said. “This is her third drug charge and she’s never spent more than three days in jail. Forget PTI. She’s got to learn sometime and this is that time. I’m not open to discussion on this. If she pleads, I’ll give her one to three. If she doesn’t, I’ll go get a verdict and she takes her chances with the judge at sentencing. I will ask for the max on it.”
I nodded. It was going about the way I thought it would with Faire. A one-to-three-year sentence would likely result in a nine-month stay in the slam. I knew Gloria Dayton could do it and maybe should do it. But I still had a card to play.
“What if she had something to trade?”
Faire snorted like it was a joke.
“Like what?”
“A hotel room number where a major dealer is doing business.”
“Sounds a little vague.”
It was vague but I could tell by the change in her voice she was interested. Every prosecutor likes to trade up.
“Call your drug guys. Ask them to run the name Hector Arrande Moya on the box. He’s a Colombian. I can wait.”
She hesitated. She clearly didn’t like being manipulated by a defense attorney, especially when another prosecutor was in earshot. But the hook was already set.
She turned again to her desk and made a call. I listened to one side of the conversation, her telling someone to give her a background check on Moya. She waited awhile and then listened to the response. She thanked whoever it was she had called and hung up. She took her time turning back to me.
“Okay,” she said. “What does she want?”
I had it ready.
“She wants a PTI slot. All charges dropped upon successful completion. She doesn’t testify against the guy and her name is on no documents. She simply gives the hotel and room number where he’s at and your people do the rest.”
“They’ll need to make a case. She’s got to testify. I take it the two grams she had came from this guy. Then she has to tell us about it.”
“No, she doesn’t. Whoever you just talked to told you there’s already a warrant. You can take him down for that.”
She worked it over for a few moments, moving her jaw back and forth as if tasting the deal and deciding whether to eat more. I knew what the stumble was. The deal was a trade-up but it was a trade-up to a federal case. That meant that they would bust the guy and the feds would take over. No prosecutorial glory for Leslie Faire—unless she had designs on jumping over to the U.S. Attorney’s Office one day.
“The feds will love you for this,” I said, trying to wedge into her conscience. “He’s a bad guy and he’ll probably check out soon and the chance to get him will be lost.”
She looked at me like I was a bug.
“Don’t try that with me, Haller.”
“Sorry.”
She went back to her thinking. I tried again.
“Once you have his location, you could always try to set up a buy.”
“Would you be quiet, please? I can’t think.”
I raised my hands in surrender and shut up.
“All right,” she finally said. “Let me talk to my boss. Give me your number and I’ll call you later. But I’ll tell you right now, if we go for it, she’ll have to go to a lockdown program. Something at County-USC. We’re not going to waste a residency slot on her.”
I thought about it and nodded. County-USC was a hospital with a jail wing where injured, sick, and addicted inmates were treated. What she was offering was a program where Gloria Dayton could be treated for her addiction and released upon completion. She would not face any charges or further time in jail or prison.
“Fine with me,” I said.
I looked at my watch. I had to get going.
