The Burden of Proof kc-2

by Scott Turow

  "Please, Dixon. When in the history of humankind did these events take place?"

  "I don't know. It was right after Kate Went to college.

  Clara was at the end of things. Very depressed. Swimming through all kinds of dark shit. You were on your big case in Kansas City. Busy, busy, busy."

  "Is that your excuse, Dixon?"

  Dixon eyed him as he removed another cigarette.

  "I told you, I took advantage. She couldn't have cared less about anything. It was an act of despair," Dixon said.

  "Fucking despair."

  "Thank you, Dixon, for your important psychological insight."

  "She was destroying her life. She was getting even with you."

  "Again," said Stern.

  For the first time, he felt, absurdly, that it was likely he might cry.

  This was not what he wanted to hear, Dixon revealing to him Clara's hidden sides. Did Dixon really have it right? Close enough, probably.

  Clara had taken her reprisals, hoping that in what was most forbidden some dark magic might be found. She would soil and abase herself, pray for release, and if worst came to worst, she at least would have cause for her misery, her contempt for herself.

  "It was A night and A day. And it was a complete bust," said Dixon. "A zero. I'm not just saying that now. If she hadn't come up with that problem, you could have said nothing happened."

  "If," said Stern.

  "Obviously, I hadn't noticed," said Dixon. "I'll never forget. She handed me a note atsome family sh'mdig. I still remember it..One line, She neve wasted words,. Not ewn Dear Asshole, Just 'I am being treated for,..":, Dixon circled a hand to fill in the blank. "I had no idea And then when I told your sister she had to be examined, she prOmptlY tossed me out on my duff. And went to cry on Clara's shoulder. Talk about fucked up."

  This drama, all of the play, had transpired entirely. out of his presence. He roamed offstage in Kansas City. In the arms of his own jealous mistress. Absorbed in the role he liked best, he had managed to miss the signal events of his lifetime.

  He smoked his cigar for some time then. The night with-ofit sleep had taken its toll. His eyes felt raw and his limbs, after the rush of anger,. were now burning and weak. As for the cigar, he was shocked to find that its taste was no longer pleasing. He would finish it, of course. He had begun to smoke cigars in Henry Mittler's office when he could not really afford them, usually limiting himself to the ones Henry reluctantly supplied, and with a cigar in his hand he still experienced mixed sensations of absolute triumph and parched frugality. But he would have no difficulty, Stern thought, not picking up another. His life, after all, had changed.

  "She came to my office," Dixon said. "Just showed Up.

  "Clara?"

  "No, the man in the moon." He had lain down 'completely on Stern's sofa.

  "I knew why she had to be there.

  She hadn't said more to me than 'Pass the beans' for years."

  "And?"

  "And she came in, she sat down, and she cried. Jesus, did she cry."

  Dixon lay there a moment with the thought. "Not a dry eye in the house.

  Anyway, I heard the whole fucking story. Peter. John. Doctors.

  Treatment. What got me was the money. When she handed over the check, like she thought money-" Dixon lifted a hand, suddenly rheumy-eyed again, hurt once more to think Clara believed ' dollars. might persuade him. In his own mind, of course, Dixon had no price. "And what was her thought, Dixon? What did she want?"

  "Want? What you'd think a mother would want.

  She wanted her children to be safe. She wanted me to figure a way out.

  That was the/eason for the check. She thought maybe I could repay everybody, MD, all the customers, and wash it all out."

  "And what did you tell her?"..

  "It was too frigging late for that. Peter had already started playing junior G-man."

  "Did you understand that Peter's theory was that no' one would be charged?"

  "Yeah, I understood. That was strictly nuts. I figured if I opened my mouth, John and he would end up drawn and quartered. I thought even those jerks in the U.S.

  Attorney's Office could see through this. What's my motive, for Chrissake. I'm going to fuck around stealing nickels and dames?"

  "Did you tell Clara that?"

  "She was a bright lady. She knew what the risks were.

  She was scared to death for all of them."

  "And so?"

  "And so what?"

  "How did your conversation end, Dixon?"

  "Oh, I don't know. The other reason she'd come was because of her medical condition. She wanted me to know that she might have to let you know the score. I mean, she wasn't worried for my sake-she was concerned Silvia would find out. Prayway, after she got through that, she put on this very composed look and said, 'Dixon, I am really not certain that I am able to carry on." It was the scariest fucking moment of my life. I didn't have to ask what she was talking about."

  "And how did you respond?"

  "How the fuck do you think I responded? I begged her not to do it. For about half an hour. I gave her every reason I could think of. She kept talking about the children. Peter and Kate. And john. And you. A lot about you. She was completely unglued. You know, I tried to reassure her. I told her Peter and Kate and John would be okay," said Dixon ."But what could I really say to convince her of that?" He shrugged. "So I promised."

  It was like everything else. Everything else. Like forms in the clouds. He had seen it but never made out the shape.

  "You promised Clara," said Stern, "that you would stand mute when accused and accept the blame."

  Dixon, on the sofa, let his arm dangle down. He flicked his ashes toward the ashtray and missed by a considerable margin. He sat up then and ground the heels of his palms against both eyes.

  "May I ask why, Dixon?"

  "I just told you why. Because I owed it to her. Look, I'm not you, Stern. I'm not wise or good. I can't help what I do. I can only be sorry afterwards. That's the story of my life. But I clean up my own messes." They sat together for some time.

  "I release you, Dixon."

  "What?" ,"I release you from this bargain. It was truly valorous.

  You were dealing for Clara's life, but in spite of your brave efforts, you failed. You may be released." Dixon shook his head. "I promised her."

  "Dixon."

  "I promised."

  "I cannot permit this, Dixon."

  "I didn't ask for your permission."

  "I have thought. about this at length, Dixon. I believe that John and Peter must be allowed to play their hands.

  Speak up. Hire another lawyer and through him tell the truth. See if the prosecutors end up confounded, as Peter calculated they would."

  "And what happens if Sennett gets hit by lightning and actually believes me? If he tums on those two, it'll make what he's planning for me look like a party game."

  Stern allowed his shoulders to move-his weary, mystical, foreign look.

  There were no words.

  "Listen," said Dixon, "I've held my breath all the way along. I've hoped for months that those creeps would drop the ball over there. Fuck things up, or lose interest, or have doubts. But I won't play it that way. John will never make it. I've seen him when someone tums up the bright lights. In a courtroom, or with somebody really banging away at him, he'll fold. You mark my words. And he'll t,ace Peter down with him. Maybe even Kate."

  Dixon was correct.-no question of that. He had thought this out carefully. John would be wearing wires on the entire family by the time Sennett was through with him. "That was the risk Peter chose, Dixon."

  "Oh, screw that. They' re children."

  Stern sat down on the sofa beside him. With a single finger, he actually touched Dixon's hand.

  "Dixon, I understand your object. I recognize that you are attempting to settle accounts with me-that you wish to see the rest of my family remain intact. But I absolve you."

  Dixon
glared at him, rankled-no, more: outraged. "Can't you just show some fucking gratitude and shut up?" He got to his feet. "I'm pleading guilty, Stern. And I want you to arrange it."

  "I shall not."

  "Don't give me that 'shall not' crap. This is the right thing."

  "It is a fraud, Dixon.".

  "Oh, stow it, Stern. Don't start boasting with me about your honor.

  I've known you too long. You've whored around plenty for reasons worse than this. I'm talking about your children."

  "Yes. You think you're the only one in this family with the right to be noble?"

  "Silvia-"

  "Silvia will be fine. She'll have you to take care of her.

  She'll see me on the weekends. You'll get me into some country club.

  I'll do that time standing on my head.", Dixon's 'primary talents were still in the arena of sales.

  Pacing here, he had taken on his urgent salesman's bearing.

  It was all bluster-Stern knew that. Dixon's haggard look and fitful nights were not due to the welcome prospect of country-club living. But Dixon had once been a soldier. He knew that courage was not the absence of fear but the ability to carry on with dignity in spite of it. At this instant he was oddly reminiscent of the young man Stern had met, with. his strong chin and wavy brass-toned hair, wearing his uniform like a trophy andWilling himself to glory-a perfect specimen of what Stern then believed to be the most enviable species on the planet, a true American.

  'Dixon, it is wrong."

  "Oh, fuck principle, Stern. Fuck your honor! Don't you understand, you sanctimonious asshole, that this was exactly why she was afraid to come to you?" In great heat, Dixon smote the desk once with his fist. The glass broke through with an odd tone-a clear snap and a whiny ringing.

  Both men moved at once. Stern rushed to his own side and, like Dixon, held the two pieces together. Along the Crack, one edge was now barely below the other. The heaps of papers had tumbled and Stern's cigar had jumped out 6f the ashtray and lay in the cleft, still bum'ing.

  "Will it fall?" Dixon asked.

  Stern was not certain He finally swiveled his desk chair about and propped it beneath the separated halves. Slowly, Dixon removed his hands. The desk sagged barely, perceptibly, but moved no farther.

  It required a second for Stern to recollect where they had been. The hammer fall of Dixon'sobservation had been lost in the commotion; for the moment, he was saved. He knew that Dixon had pondered this matter at length and was onc more correct. Clara had doubted her husband's pragmatism, his willingness to yield his scruples, especially in a contest with his son. For the tune being, however, he could put that thought aside; the suffering would come later, when he was alone. Right now, he felt a different curiosity, one that had arisen yesterday, with a ramark of Peter's.

  "Why am I your lawyer, Dixon? Now. In this matter?"

  "Where else would I go? And besides, you might have thought something was up if I hired a different attorney."

  "But you say you feared my principles."

  "You weren't going to find out.".

  "Is that why you left the safe with me for s6 long?"

  "It was locked."

  "Nevertheless."

  "Listen, you scared the shit out of me with that song-anddance about search warrants. I believed you. I thought it was the best place for it."

  "But you did not even take the precaution of destroying the check Clara had brought you."

  "How could I? I figured the bankers would go look for it.

  Or the lawyer for the estate. I had my whole routine planned when they got here: 'She wanted to open a new investment account for the kids, died before we finished the papers, boy, am I glad to see you, sign right here."

  "Dixon smiled at himself.

  "Yet you must have recognized some risk that I might piece it together?"

  Dixon leaned over the broken desktop.

  "They're your children, Stern. You may give me all your high-minded advice about turning them in, but I don't see you banging down the prosecutor's door. You'd never do it."

  Dixon, with his canny, handsome face, his weary eyes, regarded his brother-in-law. "You'll do what I want. You've got to."

  "You couldn't resist the game, Dixon, could you?" Dixon shrugged.

  "Competitive instincts," he said.

  "Why do you feel so 'improved by my weakness? You love to see me bend, Dixon."

  They were still across from one another. But the traces of some forgotten laughter already sneaked through Dixon's expression in spite of his most disciplined efforts at suppressing it. He was wonderfully amused, tickled pink.

  "t want to plead guilty," he said. He knew he had won, as he knew all along he would, if it came to this.

  Stern went down the hall and returned with coffee for both of them. It was, he admitted, an opportune time to negotiate. Sennett would be reluctant to confront a motion concerning the govemment's relationship with Peter. While he would ultimately prevail, Sennett knew he'd be seriously criticized along the way. The judges would chastise him for his zeal and the defencked."

  "Nevertheless."

  "Listen, you scared the shit out of me with that song-anddance about search warrants. I believed you. I thought it was the best place for it."

  "But you did not even take the precaution of destroying the check Clara had brought you."

  "How could I? I figured the bankers would go look for it.

  Or the lawyer for the estate. I had my whole routine planned when they got here: 'She wanted to open a new investment account for the kids, died before we finished the papers, boy, am I glad to see you, sign right here."

  "Dixon smiled at himself.

  "Yet you must have recognized some risk that I might piece it together?"

  Dixon leaned over the broken desktop.

  "They're your children, Stern. You may give me all your high-minded advice about turning them in, but I don't see you banging down the prosecutor's door. You'd never do it."

  Dixon, with his canny, handsome face, his weary eyes, regarded his brother-in-law. "You'll do what I want. You've got to."

  "You couldn't resist the game, Dixon, could you?" Dixon shrugged.

  "Competitive instincts," he said.

  "Why do you feel so 'improved by my weakness? You love to see me bend, Dixon."

  They were still across from one another. But the traces of some forgotten laughter already sneaked through Dixon's expression in spite of his most disciplined efforts at suppressing it. He was wonderfully amused, tickled pink.

  "t want to plead guilty," he said. He knew he had won, as he knew all along he would, if it came to this.

  Stern went down the hall and returned with coffee for both of them. It was, he admitted, an opportune time to negotiate. Sennett would be reluctant to confront a motion concerning the govemment's relationship with Peter. While he would ultimately prevail, Sennett knew he'd be seriously criticized along the way. The judges would chastise him for his zeal and the defense bar would protest vehemently. The papers might say unpleasantlhings. Sennett would be eager to avoid the damage to his reputation.

  "Sure," said Dixon, quick to agree.

  "But I shall not let them stampede us in the interval.

  Sennett may seek to use the proceedings concerning me as leverage against you. I shall not negotiate from weakness.

  If they must hold me in contempt-"

  "Fine, fine," said Dixon, "we can take adjoining cells." He handed Stern the phone.

  It. was before eight; the secretaries were not in. But they were in luck. Sennett picked Up the line himself.

  SENNETT agreed to see him at four. The U.S. Attorney was cagey on the phone and asked what their meeting might concern, but Stern said merely that it was imperative that they speak. Sennett was at an obvious disadvantage, too apprehensive to ask him to elaborate. The idea came to Stern while they were still speaking. That brittle unyielding edge in Sennett's voice suddenly riled him, but before placing the call, he waited
to see Dixon off, and to attend to a few matters on Remo's case, scheduled to start trial a week from Tuesday. By then, it was close to noon.

  "Would you have a few minutes for lunch?" He had reached her directly.

  "I'm not eating," Sonny said. "The beat's Sort of got me."

  She hung on the line, waiting for something, probably an explanation.

  "If it's about your meeting with Stan, I won't be there."

  More a personal matter, Stern responded. He would welcOme a moment of her 6me. "Could you meet me at the Morgan Towers Club in twenty minutes?"

  "Oh, Sandy, I hate those private clubs. I'm dressed like a bag lady.

  You know, with the heat." As always, the air conditioning in the new federal building had failed.

  "I prefer a neutral locale." Away from her office, he meant. "For your sake. I promise there will be no fashion commentary."

  "My sake?"

  "When-we meet," he responded.

  He feared at first that she would not come. He sat in one of the overstuffed c!ub chairs across from the elevators, watching the polished steel doors open and close and the business types disembarking. When Sonny arrived, she looked rosy and agitated and, as she herself was the first to acknowledge, out of place, dressed in a simple sleeveless maternity frock better for a country outing. Sonny seemed to have reached that point in her pregnancy where the premium was on merely surviving. There was a vague ungainly roll as she walked. Approaching, she removed a broad slouch hat, with a pink satin ribbon, which she had worn to protect herseft from the sun.

  "Here." Stern had raised a hand in greeting. He complimented her appearance, and asked again about lunch or a drink.

  "I couldn't." She put a hand on her stomach and made a face. "And I'm on the run. Come on, Sandy. What's this about?" '

  On second thought, he led her down a hall to a rear cloakroom, a small space paneled in red oak, unused in the sununer. The banging of the kitchen went on behind the wall, and the vegetable and meat smells of luncheon cooking emerged through the air returns. The place had a vague secret feel.

  "I apologize for this maneuvering. I suspect Sennett might eriticie you for meeting with me."

  She made another face in response: Who cared? "Sonny, I am deeply grateful for your act yesterday, but it was illadvised. I am certain that the United States Attorney was displeased."