“It’s a scandal.”
“But the thing is, when I didn’t have any money, even a little check helped. Now, though, it’s hard to take the whole thing seriously. But besides that, I just don’t get poetic ideas anymore. And I just don’t feel it.” He forced a smile. “It’s funny. Getting away from poetry hasn’t been bothering me, but now that I’m talking with you about it I find myself feeling bad. As though by giving up poetry I’m letting you down or something.”
“You’re not letting me down,” Ehrengraf said. “But to dismiss the talent you have, to let it languish—”
“Well, I just don’t know if I’ve got it anymore,” Telliford said. “That’s the whole thing. I sit down and try to write a poem and it’s just not there, you know what I mean? And Robin says why waste my time, that nobody really cares about poetry nowadays anyway, and I figure maybe she’s right.”
“Her father’s daughter.”
“Huh? Well, I’ll tell you something that’s ironic, anyway. I was having trouble writing poetry before I went to jail, what with the hassles from Robin’s old man and all our problems and getting into the wine and the grass too much. And I’m having more troubles now, now that we’ve got plenty of money and Robin’s father’s out of our hair. But you know when I was really having no trouble at all?”
“When?”
“During the time I was in jail. There I was, stuck in that rotten cell with a lifetime in the penitentiary staring me in the face, and I swear I was averaging a poem every day. My mind was just clicking along. And I was writing good stuff, too.” The young man drew an alligator billfold from the breast pocket of the velvet jacket, removed and unfolded a sheet of paper. “You liked the Kansas poem,” he said, “so why don’t you see what you think of this one?”
Ehrengraf read the poem. It seemed to be about birds, and included the line “Puppets dance from bloody strings.” Ehrengraf wasn’t sure what the poem meant but he knew he liked the sound of that line.
“It’s very good,” he said.
“Yeah, I thought you’d like it. And I wrote it in the jug, just wrote the words down like they were flowing out of a faucet, and now all I can write is checks. It’s ironic, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is.”
It was a little over two weeks later when Ehrengraf met yet again with William Telliford. Once again, the meeting took place in the jail cell where the two had first made one another’s acquaintance.
“Mr. Ehrengraf,” the young man said. “Gee, I didn’t know if you would show up. I figured you’d wash your hands of me.”
“Why should I do that, sir?”
“Because they say I killed Robin. But I swear I didn’t do it!”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“I could have killed Jan, for all I knew. Because I was unconscious at the time, or in a blackout, or whatever it was. So I didn’t know what happened. But I was away from the apartment when Robin was killed, and I was awake. I hadn’t even been drinking much.”
“We’ll simply prove where you were.”
Telliford shook his head. “What we can’t prove is that Robin was alive when I left the apartment. I know she was, but how are we going to prove it?”
“We’ll find a way,” Ehrengraf said soothingly. “We know you’re innocent, don’t we?”
“Right.”
“Then there is nothing to worry about. Someone else must have gone to your house, taking that fire axe along for the express purpose of framing you for murder. Someone jealous of your success, perhaps. Someone who begrudged you your happiness.”
“But who?”
“Leave that to me, sir. It’s my job.”
“Your job,” Telliford said. “Well, this time you’ll get well paid for your job, Mr. Ehrengraf. And your system is perfect for my case, let me tell you.”
“How do you mean?”
“If I’m found innocent, I’ll inherit all the money Robin inherited from her father. She made me her beneficiary. So I’ll be able to pay you whatever you ask, eighty thousand dollars or even more.”
“Eighty thousand will be satisfactory.”
“And I’ll pay it with pleasure. But if I’m found guilty, well, I won’t get a dime.”
“Because one cannot legally profit from a crime.”
“Right. So if you’ll take the case on your usual terms—”
“I work on no other terms,” Ehrengraf said. “And I would trust no one else with your case.” He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs for a moment before continuing. “Mr. Telliford,” he said, “your case is going to be a difficult one. You must appreciate that.”
“I do.”
“Of course I’ll do everything in my power on your behalf, acting always in your best interest. But you must recognize that the possibility exists that you will be convicted.”
“And for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“Such miscarriages of justice do occasionally come to pass. It’s tragic, I agree, but don’t despair. Even if you’re convicted, the appeal process is an exhaustive one. We can appeal your case again and again. You may have to serve some time in prison, Mr. Telliford, but there’s always hope. And you know what Lovelace had to say on the subject.”
“Lovelace?”
“Richard Lovelace. Born 1618, died 1657. ‘To Althea, from Prison,’ Mr. Telliford.
“Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.”
Telliford shuddered. “ ‘Stone walls and iron bars,’ “ he said.
“Have faith, sir.”
“I’ll try.”
“At least you have your poetry. Are you sufficiently supplied with paper and pencil? I’ll make sure your needs are seen to.”
“Maybe it would help me to write some poetry. Maybe it would take my mind off things.”
“Perhaps it would. And I’ll devote myself wholeheartedly to your defense, sir, whether I ever see a penny for my troubles or not.” He drew himself up to his full height. “After all,” he said, “it’s my obligation. ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more.’ That’s also Lovelace, Mr. Tellford. ‘To Lucasta, Going to the Wars.’ Good day, Mr. Telliford. You have nothing to worry about.”
The Ehrengraf Alternative
“What’s most unfortunate,” Ehrengraf said, “is that there seems to be a witness.”
Evelyn Throop nodded in fervent agreement. “Mrs. Keppner,” she said.
“Howard Bierstadt’s housekeeper.”
“She was devoted to him. She’d been with him for years.”
“And she claims she saw you shoot him three times in the chest.”
“I know,” Evelyn Throop said. “I can’t imagine why she would say something like that. It’s completely untrue.”
A thin smile turned up the corners of Martin Ehrengraf’s mouth. Already he felt himself warming to his client, exhilarated by the prospect of acting in her defense. It was the little lawyer’s great good fortune always to find himself representing innocent clients, but few of those clients were as single-minded as Miss Throop in proclaiming their innocence.
The woman sat on the edge of her iron cot with her shapely legs crossed at the ankle. She seemed so utterly in possession of herself that she might have been almost anywhere but in a jail cell, charged with the murder of her lover. Her age, according to the papers, was forty-six. Ehrengraf would have guessed her to be perhaps a dozen years younger. She was not rich—Ehrengraf, like most lawyers, did have a special fondness for wealthy clients—but she had excellent breeding. It was evident not only in her exquisite facial bones but in her positively ducal self-assurance.
“I’m sure we’ll uncover the explanation of Mrs. Keppner’s calumny,” he said gently. “For now,
why don’t we go over what actually happened.”
“Certainly. I was at my home that evening when Howard called. He was in a mood and wanted to see me. I drove over to his house. He made drinks for both of us and paced around a great deal. He was extremely agitated.”
“Over what?”
“Leona wanted him to marry her. Leona Weybright.”
“The cookbook writer?”
“Yes. Howard was not the sort of man to get married, or even to limit himself to a single relationship. He believed in a double standard and was quite open about it. He expected his women to be faithful while reserving the option of infidelity to himself. If one was going to be involved with Howard Bierstadt, one had to accept this.”
“As you accepted it.”
“As I accepted it,” Evelyn Throop agreed. “Leona evidently pretended to accept it but could not, and Howard didn’t know what to do about her. He wanted to break up with her but was afraid of the possible consequences. He thought she might turn suicidal and he didn’t want her death on his conscience.”
“And he discussed all of this with you.”
“Oh, yes. He often confided in me about his relationship with Leona.” Evelyn Throop permitted herself a smile. “I played a very important role in his life, Mr. Ehrengraf. I suppose he would have married me if there’d been any reason to do so. I was his true confidante. Leona was just one of a long string of mistresses.”
Ehrengraf nodded. “According to the prosecution,” he said carefully, “you were pressuring him to marry you.”
“That’s quite untrue.”
“No doubt.” He smiled. “Continue.”
The woman sighed. “There’s not much more to say. He went into the other room to freshen our drinks. There was the report of a gunshot.”
“I believe there were three shots.”
“Perhaps there were. I can only remember the volume of the noise. It was so startling. I rushed in immediately and saw him on the floor, the gun by his outstretched hand. I guess I bent over and picked up the gun. I don’t remember doing so, but I must have done because the next thing I knew I was standing there holding the gun.” Evelyn Throop closed her eyes, evidently overwhelmed by the memory. “Then Mrs. Keppner was there—I believe she screamed, and then she went off to call the police. I just stood there for a while and then I guess I sat down in a chair and waited for the police to come and tell me what to do.”
“And they brought you here and put you in a cell.”
“Yes. I was quite astonished. I couldn’t imagine why they would do such a thing, and then it developed that Mrs. Keppner had sworn she saw me shoot Howard.”
Ehrengraf was respectfully silent for a moment. Then he said, “It seems they found some corroboration for Mrs. Keppner’s story.”
“What do you mean?”
“The gun,” Ehrengraf said. “A .32-caliber revolver. I believe it was registered to you, was it not?”
“It was my gun.”
“How did Mr. Bierstadt happen to have it?”
“I brought it to him.”
“At his request?”
“Yes. When we spoke on the telephone, he specifically asked me to bring the gun. He said something about wanting to protect himself from burglars. I never thought he would shoot himself.”
“But he did.”
“He must have done. He was upset about Leona. Perhaps he felt guilty, or that there was no way to avoid hurting her.”
“Wasn’t there a paraffin test?” Ehrengraf mused. “As I recall, there were no nitrite particles found in Mr. Bierstadt’s hand, which would seem to indicate he had not fired a gun recently.”
“I don’t really understand those tests,” Evelyn Throop said. “But I’m told they’re not absolutely conclusive.”
“And the police gave you a test as well,” Ehrengraf went on. “Didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“And found nitrite particles in your right hand.”
“Of course,” Evelyn Throop said. “I’d fired the gun that evening before I took it along to Howard’s house. I hadn’t used it in the longest time, since I first practiced with it at a pistol range, so I cleaned it and to make sure it was in good operating condition I test-fired it before I went to Howard’s.”
“At a pistol range?”
“That wouldn’t have been convenient. I just stopped at a deserted spot along a country road and fired a few shots.”
“I see.”
“I told the police all of this, of course.”
“Of course. Before they gave you the paraffin test?”
“After the test, as it happens. The incident had quite slipped my mind in the excitement of the moment, but they gave me the test and said it was evident I’d fired a gun, and at that point I recalled having stopped the car and firing off a couple of rounds before continuing on to Howard’s.”
“Where you gave Mr. Bierstadt the gun.”
“Yes.”
“Whereupon he in due course took it off into another room and fired three shots into his heart,” Ehrengraf murmured. “Your Mr. Bierstadt would look to be one of the most determined suicides in human memory.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“But I do believe you,” he said. “Which is to say that I believe you did not shoot Mr. Bierstadt. Whether or not he did in fact die by his own hand is not, of course, something to which either you or I can testify.”
“How else could he have died?” The woman’s gaze narrowed. “Unless he really was genuinely afraid of burglars, and unless he did surprise one in the other room. But wouldn’t I have heard sounds of a struggle? Of course, I was in another room a fair distance away, and there was music playing, and I did have things on my mind.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“And perhaps Mrs. Keppner saw the burglar shoot Howard, and then she fainted or something. I suppose that’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Eminently possible,” Ehrengraf assured her.
“She might have come to when I had already entered the room and picked up the gun, and the whole incident could have been compressed in her mind. She wouldn’t remember having fainted and so she might now actually believe she saw me kill Howard, while all along she saw something entirely different.” Evelyn Throop had been looking off into the middle distance as she formulated her theory and now she focused her eyes upon the diminutive attorney. “It could have happened that way,” she said, “couldn’t it?”
“It could have happened precisely that way,” Ehrengraf said. “It could have happened in any of innumerable ways. Ah, Miss Throop”—and now the lawyer rubbed his small hands together—“that’s the whole beauty of it. There are any number of alternatives to the prosecution’s argument, but of course they don’t see them. Give the police a supposedly ironclad case and they look no further. It is not their task to examine alternatives. But it is our task, Miss Throop, to find not merely an alternative but the correct alternative, the ideal alternative. And in just that fashion we will make a free woman of you.”
“You seem very confident, Mr. Ehrengraf.”
“I am.”
“And prepared to believe in my innocence.”
“Unequivocally. Without question.”
“I find that refreshing,” Evelyn Throop said. “I even believe you’ll get me acquitted.”
“I fully expect to,” Ehrengraf said. “Now let me see, is there anything else we have to discuss at present?”
“Yes.”
“And what would that be?”
“Your fee,” said Evelyn Throop.
Back in his office, seated behind a desk which he kept as untidy as he kept his own person immaculate, Martin H. Ehrengraf sat back and contemplated the many extraordinary qualities of his latest client. In his considerable experience, while clients were not invariably opposed to a discussion of his fees, they were certainly loath to raise the matter. But Evelyn Throop, possessor of dove-gray eyes and remarkable facial bones, had proved an exception.
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“My fees are high,” Ehrengraf had told her, “but they are payable only in the event that my clients are acquitted. If you don’t emerge from this ordeal scot-free, you owe me nothing. Even my expenses will be at my expense.”
“And if I get off?”
“Then you will owe me one hundred thousand dollars. And I must emphasize, Miss Throop, that the fee will be due me however you win your freedom. It is not inconceivable that neither of us will ever see the inside of a courtroom, that your release when it comes will appear not to have been the result of my efforts at all. I will, nevertheless, expect to be paid in full.”
The gray eyes looked searchingly into the lawyer’s own. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Yes, of course. Well, that seems fair. If I’m released I won’t really care how the end was accomplished, will I?”
Ehrengraf said nothing. Clients often whistled a different tune at a later date, but one could burn that bridge when one came to it.
“One hundred thousand dollars seems reasonable,” the woman continued. “I suppose any sum would seem reasonable when one’s life and liberty hangs in the balance. Of course, you must know I have no money of my own.”
“Perhaps your family—”
She shook her head. “I can trace my ancestors back to William the Conqueror,” she said, “and there were Throops who made their fortune in whaling and the China trade, but I’m afraid the money’s run out over the generations. However, I shouldn’t have any problem paying your fee.”
“Oh?”
“I’m Howard’s chief beneficiary,” she explained. “I’ve seen his will and it makes it unmistakably clear that I held first place in his affections. After a small cash bequest to Mrs. Keppner for her loyal years of service, and after leaving his art collection—which, I grant you, is substantial—to Leona, the remainder comes to me. There may be a couple of cash bequests to charities but nothing that amounts to much. So while I’ll have to wait for the will to make its way through probate, I’m sure I can borrow on my expectations and pay you your fee within a matter of days of my release from jail, Mr. Ehrengraf.”
Enough Rope Page 68
