by Scott Turow
"I ould ask Dixon not to do so.?"
"And he's always done just what you w ' anted; fight His son had lifted his face to a haughty angle. Peter was an angry young man, no doubt about that. Life deeply dissatisfied him-people failed him in all respects. He was not gay, Stern suddenly thought. He was, rather, oddly misanthropic. He rendered help out of some sense of superiority or noble duty, but he expected-perhaps even enjoyed-disappointment, time and again. He had full faith in no one.
In this, Stern realized, to a greater measure than he wished, Peter was his son.
"I thought about this for a long time. I went to dinner out there and I talked to Kate and John all night. I took Dixon's little letter to theUiS. Attorney home with me, where he'd laid out the whole seam. I kept going over the details. And then, of course, I figured out the answer. The obvious fucking answer: John should go to the FBI.
But…" Peter, maestro-like, had lifted both hands. "Yes?"
"But blame Dixon. Say it was,ll Dixon's show. John was minorly involved, just the flunky." They looked intently at one another, "Very clever," said his father at last.
"I thought so." Peter smiled stiffly, for effect. "Of course, there were a few problems. For one thing, John could never carry this off.
Not on his own. He didn't have the nerve left 'to walk down the street by himself, let alone bullshit the FBI."
"So you volunteered?"
"Yes."
"You became his representative."
"Right."
"His defense lawyer," said Stern.
Peter did not answer; it was clear, however, that he had never thought of it this way.
"Is that truly, Peter, how you imagine this business is conducted?"
"Oh, spare me," he said. "I sat at your dinner table too long. How many people have you gotten immunity for who were lying their asses off and blaming whoever the government wanted to hear about?"
"Far fewer than you apparently imagine, Peter. And in any event, whatever fictions were spoken I had not created,"
"No? Were they 'fictions' you really believed? I know.
You're just the lawyer. If the client has the baltsor the brains-not to tell you he's lying, you pass him along without comment. And how many of.those little fairy tales have you helped shapeT'
Peter was the son. He knew his father:s life well. "There are distinctions, Peter. I think as little of your presumption in this matter as you would, were I to perform open-heart surgery."
"Look," said Peter. "It was my sister." He resumed once more his aspect of inspired anger. The challenge was there: my sister. Your child. They stared again at each other. "So you called the FBI," said Stern.
Peter met Kyle Horn in the lobby of a downtown hotel. They adjourned to the men's room and searched one another for electronic devices. Then Peter made his proposal. He was uninvolved himself, but he knew a man.
The man had a boss who was one of the biggest names at the KCFE. There was a seam. The man was involved-at the bottom, not the top-and he was scared. He would tell allZ--but only for immunity and a promise that Peter's part in arranging this would never be revealed. Take it or leave it, Peter told him…
"And the government agreed?"
"Not at first. I had to meet Sennett. They made me go over the whole thing about four times. Finally, I let them interview John in person.
All hush-hush, since they wanted John to be able to stay undercover. But I could see they would go for it from the day I gave them Dixon's name.
They actually made jokes about RICO'ing the place and calling it Maison Stan."
Maison Stan, thought Stern.
"Did they know you were my son?"
"I told them."
"They must have been very amused."
"I suppose. Mostly, they were concerned. None of us knew for sure who Dixon would use as his lawyer, but once you Showed up I got all kinds of bulletins and memos and guidelines and crap about never discussing the case with you. Which I've followed. For the last three weeks they've been telling me I've got to stay away from Marta, too, and I have.
"We all sort of panicked when what's-her-name, Margy, sent out that memo saying you were going to talk to the people on the order desk." But Sennett had figured for a while that they were going to have to subpoena John to keep his cover, so they did it then and told you that you couldn't represent him. Pretty cute, huh?" Peter smiled faintly.
Stern did as well. All deserved. They had rnn rings around him.
"I take it that Mr. Tooley was another player in your farce?"
"More or less. I suggested him and Sennett thought that was great. I think at one point Stan told Mel not to ask too many questions, which was fine with him. He's not your biggest fan."
"Indeed not," said Stern. Peter had located all'his father's foremost antagonists and joined league with them.
In the midst of everything else, Stern was stung by the thought, and he stood, walking across the tiny kitchen to the counter. For some reason he found himself recalling the early years, when the children were piled with pillows and blankets into the back of the current sedan and the entire family went to the drive-in for a movie: Only Peter of the three children remained awake. Even at the age of six or seven, he would watch the entire show, entertaining his parents with his curiosity about the world of adults, while the girls pressed their tiny hands to their faces and slept.
"You know you have inflicted terrible misery on your uncle.
' '
Peter's eyes lighted on him briefly, holding the'same hard gleam.
"I told you I wasn't sorry."
"You believe Dixon deserved this? For what-his treatment of John?" ',,,
"For lots of things. He's lived a piggish life." ',
"I see," said Stern. "For what other grave sins of Dixon's were you attempting to deliver retribution?"
Peter was silent. Eventually, he looked away.
"Help me with the chronology, Peter. When, exactly, did Nate Cawley tell you about your mother's condition?
Clearly, it was near the time of these events."
Peter, using his thumb, peeled the paper wrapper off his soda bottle. He was worrying his head somewhat, disappointed about something.
"Nate told me last week he talked to you about Mom. He swore he kept me out of it."
"He did not mention your name," said Stern. "As I said when I arrived, I have been mulling over the circumstances."
Peter shrugged ind'ffferenfiy. He was not certain he believed his father, but that was beside the point.
"He felt someone in the family had to know, because of the state she was in. He figured I was another doctor, you know. He wanted me to keep an eye out and my mouth shut.
Needless to mention," said Peter, glancing fieetingly at his father, "he thudcs he made a rather serious error."
"Nate has been hardest on himself, Peter. He even believed that I might sue him. Did you know that?"
"I knew." Peter nodded. "I thought it was possible, frankly. If you got the whole story. I figured you'd regard it as the height of irresponsihirlty thato the drive-in for a movie: Only Peter of the three children remained awake. Even at the age of six or seven, he would watch the entire show, entertaining his parents with his curiosity about the world of adults, while the girls pressed their tiny hands to their faces and slept.
"You know you have inflicted terrible misery on your uncle.
' '
Peter's eyes lighted on him briefly, holding the'same hard gleam.
"I told you I wasn't sorry."
"You believe Dixon deserved this? For what-his treatment of John?" ',,,
"For lots of things. He's lived a piggish life." ',
"I see," said Stern. "For what other grave sins of Dixon's were you attempting to deliver retribution?"
Peter was silent. Eventually, he looked away.
"Help me with the chronology, Peter. When, exactly, did Nate Cawley tell you about your mother's condition?
Clearly, it was near the time
of these events."
Peter, using his thumb, peeled the paper wrapper off his soda bottle. He was worrying his head somewhat, disappointed about something.
"Nate told me last week he talked to you about Mom. He swore he kept me out of it."
"He did not mention your name," said Stern. "As I said when I arrived, I have been mulling over the circumstances."
Peter shrugged ind'ffferenfiy. He was not certain he believed his father, but that was beside the point.
"He felt someone in the family had to know, because of the state she was in. He figured I was another doctor, you know. He wanted me to keep an eye out and my mouth shut.
Needless to mention," said Peter, glancing fieetingly at his father, "he thudcs he made a rather serious error."
"Nate has been hardest on himself, Peter. He even believed that I might sue him. Did you know that?"
"I knew." Peter nodded. "I thought it was possible, frankly. If you got the whole story. I figured you'd regard it as the height of irresponsihirlty that he involved me rather than you."
Stern meditated an instant on Peter's dim hopes for him.
They expected, inalterably, the worst of each other.
"On the contrary, I believe it was prudent. I am certain you did your utmost. You were a devoted son, Peter, to your mother."
Peter puckered his lips a bit at the final words, but said no more.
"And how had you divined what Dixon's,role was in your mother's illness?"
Peter looked up. "I'd taken a medical history from him.
Remember? I was his doctor. After I talked to Nate, I checked my notes. The dates matched. He had gonorrhea, too, in Korea, did you know that?"
It had not come up in discussion, said Stern.
"He thinks it made him sterile," Peter said. It was a thought, a professional 6bscrvation. With it, he walked into the other room and sat'down on the blue foam sofa. His bravery, his moral certitude seemed to be flagging. His look was turning abject.
"So, when you heard about John's dilemma, it was not entirely accidental that you began to consider how this might be turned back against Dixon."
Peter did not answer.
Stern approached from the kitchen. "It was gallant of you, Peter, to fight your mother's battles. Not to mention mine." Stern, standing, took a moment to turn a dark countenance on his son, then moved to the window. Evening was coming . through a great rosy sky. The last of the near-town commuters were in the street now, a stream of isolated persons carrying home, from various fancy shops, dihners which they would eat in silence, alone.
"And may I now demand the last piece, Peter?"
"Which is?"
"How was it that your mother came to learn of this scheme to accuse Dixon?"
In his surprise, Peter let forth a brief sound-part laughter, part groan.
"You're smart," Peter said to him. "I'll always give you that."
Stern dipped his head in appreciation." And the answer?"
"She could see how distraught Kate was. She knew something was wrong.
Finally, she pried some of it out of her. Kate told her what John had done at MD. And that I was trying to work it out. No details."
"And of her pregnancy Kate said what?"
"Nothing. Not a word. She still wasn't,positive she wouldn't have to terminate."
Slowly, Stern nodded. That would fit.
"Anyway, so Morn came to see me, to find out what was going on. I told her she shouldn't worry about it. But naturally that didn't satisfy her."
"And so you informed her what you had done?"
"Yeah.
Eventually."
"Thinking what? That she would be delighted? That she, of all people, Would share your desire for vengeance on Dixon?"
"You don't have to try tO make it sound so ludicrous."
"Oh, I see your logic, Peter. You carried in Dixon I'Ve a cat out mousing and laid him at your mother's feet. And her reaction-shall I guess?-was horror."
"Horror," said Peter. "I tried to explain it to her. You know. That it was the best thing for everybody in the end, but she wouldn't hear it."
"And how far along had your plan proceeded by then?"
"Pretty far. Sennett'd met John. It was just abouta done deal. I'd refused to let him take a lie detector, but we'd agreed that he'd stay undercover at MD and wear a hidden tape recorder-what do they call it?
Wear a wire. ' ' "On Dixon?" By the window, Stern was still. "And what was to happen when your uncle was tape-recorded denying any role in the scheme?"
Peter looked at him at length. "You still don't get it, do you?"
Weary of being derided, Stern closed his eyes for an instant and searched in himself for restraint.
"I had to explain it to Mom, too. The idea wasn't to get Uncle Dixon for what John did. I mean, he didn't do it, after all. I knew he would deny it. He'd say it was all John's doing. And John would say Dixon was scared and was trying to save his skin by blaming the whole thing on him.
It would be a pissing contest in the end, a flatfooted fucking tie.
There'd be nobody to prosecute because the government would never know which version was true.
Everybody'd just go on. With no jail. And no torture. It was a decent solution for both of them."
"But?"
"But he kept his mouth shut. Uncle Dixon did."
"Why?"
Peter threw both hands in the air.
"You ask me? You're his lawyer. I don't know what's going on. I sit awake at night. I just can't believe it's gone as far as it has. Have you got any idea?"
Stern pondered, reluctant to speak.
"I have suspected for a few days now that he is assuming blame that properly lies with John and Kate. I cannot imagine what would move him to do that, particularly given what you tell me." He turned back to. the old double-hung window, the frame lumpy with generations of paint. "And what happened to this plan to tape-record Dixon?"
"That's why they were trying to subpoena him.. In March?
They were sure he'd go running for John as soon as he was served. It was a setup. John was wearing the equipment for two weeks. But the agents could never find Dixon. And once they did, he wouldn't talk to John. I mean, not even hello or goodbye. There hasn't been word one between them in months. Uncle Dixon just gives him his killer look-John is still terrified. Sennett figures you'd warned Dixon not to go near him."
"Need I ask, Peter, how Agent Horn was finally able to find your uncle to serve him that day?"
"No, you needn't ask. They were supposed to catch up with him outside, as he came in."
Stern shook his head. How pitiful it was. He returned to the kitchen for his suit coat.
"You've placed yourself in enormous jeopardy, Peter. If the government is ever able to piece this together, you will join your brother-in-law in prison."
"Oh, I was scared at first. But the three of us talked about what would happen if it all went to shit." Peter smiled warmly. "How do they prove I knew John was lying?"
Peter had learned a good deal in those years sitting at his father's dinner table with his bored, superior look. When his children were young, Stern would look at them, arrayed at that table, with such gratitude-they were all clever, all healthy, all pleasing to the eye.
They had every good fortune, he thought.
"They were never really skeptical," said Peter. "After they went out to the bank and confirmed that Dixon had written the check to cover the debit on the Wunderkind account.
They never seemed to figure there could be any other reason he might do it. And, of course, Dixon had the records that showed who owned the account, and was hiding them. And what's-her-name even lied for him in the grand jury. It looked pretty convincing," said Peter.
"You are referring to Margy?"
"Yeah. Kyle says that after the indictment they'll give her a chance to 'refresh her recollection." "He made the quotation marks in the air.
Stern straightened the sleeves on his coat. His son, re
considering everything, sat with his head in his hands. Occasionally, Stern was called upon to represent young people-sixteen, seventeen, eighteen years old, children really-who had taken part in events so heinous that they would be tried as adults. The most recent example was Robert Fouret, a sulky college freshman who, stoned on something, had put his father's Porsche in drive rather than reverse and crashed his waiting girlfriend against the garage wall, killing her. In these circumstances Stern always felt for the parents, wealthy people who had retained hun in the hope that he could repair all damage, and who discovered in time that not even a favorable sentence would still the reverberations of great wrongs. It was the parents who saw clearly, helplessly, the way the excesses and impulses of youth, stupid empty-headed acts, childish compulsions acted out in an instant, could burden and even extinguish the opportunities of a young life.
Stern saw this, too. But he spared himself, at least for the moment, that anguish, For the moment, all that made itself clear was that his son and he had reached a point of termination. Within, in his own emotional theater, some final curtain had come splashing down. No doubt he had responsibilities here; he would suffer intensely when it came time to assess blame.
But for now he knew that the years-the virtual half of an adult lifetime-of recriminations, of ambivalent efforts with Peter were past.
He would greet his son always with absolute cordiality-he owed his mother's memory that much and he knew that they would forever regard one another with pain. But something essential was over; he was done, he saw, awaiting improvement, acceptance, or change.
He was ready to leave now, but he had learned in the law that the pronouncement of judgments mattered, perhaps more than anything else.
"Peter, I shall say this once. What you have done is unforgivable. It is wholly immoral. And, as important; you have risked unlimited misery for everyone in this family."
Peter took this in quietly, but finally made a sound to himself and once or twice bobbed his head.
"That's what Mom thought. She was terrified. It was the dumbest move of my life, telling her." Peter looked up.
"I'm sure it was the last straw." His face was divided by a visible palsy, a tremor of contained emotion. It came to Stern then, a clear realization that, whatever the impact of the awful judgments which Peter applied to others, he afflicted them most severely on himself. He had bid his mother, the dearest soul in his life, farewell for eternity, with her parting expression One of withered hope and dashed beliefs.
