To Save a Son

by Brian Freemantle

  “Don’t!”

  “All right,” she said, backing off. “Just so you know.”

  “I know,” said Franks. “I know.”

  “I meant what I said, about staying.”

  “No!”

  “You want me to go?”

  “Yes.”

  “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be in movies and books.”

  “This isn’t movies and books.”

  “If it were, no one would believe it.”

  “Please go, Tina.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “You think I’m a shit?”

  “No.”

  “I feel like one.”

  “Maybe that’s how I should feel. You’re with Maria now, after all.”

  “Can I call you? Direct I mean?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’d like to.”

  “Have you told Maria about our meeting here?”

  “She knew you were a witness; that we’d obviously meet.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “No,” admitted Franks, “I haven’t told her.” From the first night he’d delayed the second night, and then he’d decided Maria would suspect him of keeping things from her—which he was—so he decided against doing it at all.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t.”

  “That sounds like David when he’s petulant.”

  “I asked you to go.”

  “I thought you might change your mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “You didn’t try to make love to me that night on the boat, when you were at Harvard and we went sailing off Martha’s Vineyard. Do you remember?”

  “I remember,” said Franks nostalgically.

  “I thought you would. Try to, I mean. I made my mind up to do everything but go the whole way. But you didn’t try. I know I thanked you afterward, but I always wished you’d tried. For a long time I thought there might be something wrong with me. That I wasn’t attractive or sexy or something.”

  He poured more brandy for them both, and she said, “Do you really want that?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Why’d you pour it, then?”

  “Because I couldn’t think of anything to say and it gave me something to do.”

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  “Yes.”

  “Horny?”

  Yes, he thought. He said, “if we’re going to solve anything, this isn’t the way to do it. It isn’t a screwing competition.”

  The coquettishness went abruptly from her. “No,” she conceded. “It isn’t, is it?” She tried to brighten. “I always did trust you to do the right thing, remember? Like you’re doing now. I don’t know what’s going to happen between us. I’m glad at least that you’re uncertain.”

  Franks wished that he weren’t. He said, “I still care, Tina.”

  “Nurses and doctors care,” she said.

  “You’re being flip.”

  “It’s a kind of protection.”

  “I’ll come up to see you, as soon as I can,” said Franks. “The children, too.”

  “Tell Maria,” insisted the woman. “I want her to know.”

  “Why?”

  “I just do.”

  “Now you sound like David.”

  Tina stood abruptly. “There won’t be time for any proper good-byes at the witnesses’ room tomorrow.”

  “I guess not,” said Franks. What was a proper good-bye?

  Tina stood with her hands resting on the small table between them, looking down at him. “I want you to kiss me,” she said.

  Franks stood, keeping the table between them, leaning forward.

  “Not like that,” said the woman.

  Franks came around the obstruction, wanting to reach out for her but holding back.

  “I said I wanted you to kiss me.”

  Franks felt out, tentatively, and she reached for his hands. They didn’t come together in any tight embrace but kissed with their bodies scarcely touching, mouths only slightly parted, tongue nervous against tongue. Franks was the first to stand back, breaking the contact.

  “I’ll go,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Did I say I loved you?”

  “I think you did.”

  “I thought I’d say it again. Just to make sure you understood.”

  “Good night, Tina.”

  “Good night.” She came forward quickly, kissing him again, and then turned for the door. He followed to let her out, and in the corridor she said, “Good luck, for tomorrow.”

  “You, too,” he said.

  Tina was called first, as Ronan had promised. Her evidence about shareholding division was little more than technical, and her ignorance of the organization within the Bahamian or Bermudan companies so obvious that the lawyers for the three accused men quite quickly abandoned any attempt at unsettling her. It was still before midday when she emerged from the court into the anteroom. It was crowded, and as Tina had predicted the previous night there was no possibility of any sort of proper good-bye. The usher who saw her out stood waiting in the doorway to take Franks into the courtroom.

  “I’ll be in touch,” said Franks.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  He remained in the room, watching his wife make for the corridor between her two FBI escorts, so he wasn’t immediately aware of Ronan coming up behind the increasingly impatient usher.

  “Ready?” queried the district attorney.

  Franks turned. “Ready,” he said.

  28

  Franks’ impression as he walked into the courtroom was of entering an arena. From Ronan’s opening and the evidence already given he was known to be the principal prosecution witness and was the sole object of attention of everyone in the room. There was a small nameplate on the rostrum identifying the white-haired judge as a man called Basnett. The man looked at him expressionlessly as Franks took the stand and recited the oath. To Franks’ left sat the jury, seven men and five women. Directly in front was Ronan at the prosecutor’s table. To his left, each with a separate table, sat Flamini, then Pascara, and then Dukes. Each of the accused had two men with him whom Franks assumed were counsel. Luigi Pascara sat directly behind his father, just the rail designating the public section of the court separating them. Luigi met Franks’ gaze, staring back with the intense look that Franks remembered from previous occasions, when the man appeared to be memorizing every feature. Franks held the look and completed the oath without faltering. He didn’t drop his eyes until, at the invitation from the judge, he sat in the witness box. The public area of the court was crammed with people. The press area was crowded, too, with reporters overflowing into the public area.

  Ronan came forward, had Franks formally identify himself, and then with the care that the man had always shown started to take him through the evidence of his entrapment. There was complete silence and very little movement in the courtroom, only the undulating hands of the court recorder at her machine and an occasional cough or shift from the public area. Flamini and Dukes stared at him with the intensity of Luigi Pascara, and the blind man faced toward him, too. Very occasionally there was a whispered consultation between the men and their lawyers, at something that Franks said.

  He was scarcely into his evidence at the luncheon adjournment. Everyone stood for the judge’s departure, and as people began to drift from the room Franks said to the district attorney, “How’s it going?”

  “You’re doing fine,” encouraged the man.

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” said Franks. “The case generally.”

  “I’m still happy.”

  Tomkiss was hovering protectively beside the witness stand, and as Franks started to leave he looked toward the accused men. Pascara was sitting, awaiting some guidance, but behind him Luigi looked directly across the court, and as their eyes met the man imperceptibly shook his head, a ge
sture of sad finality. Matching theatrics with theatrics, Franks openly smiled at him and followed Tomkiss from the court.

  Franks’ evidence was still incomplete at the evening adjournment. They left through the front entrance, through an explosion of television lights and camera flashes and yelled, unanswered questions. Back at the Plaza, Franks fixed his drink and thought how lonely he felt without Tina’s company. Or was it Maria he missed?

  He called the safe house at Kingston and had a longer conversation than usual because for the first time in days there was something to talk about. He told her how Luigi Pascara had looked at him and the stupidity of the headshake and how the others had stared at him, too. She asked how he thought the evidence was going, and he told her of Ronan’s confidence and said he still had a long way to go before it was complete.

  “What’s it like, actually confronting them?”

  “It’s like nothing,” said Franks. “Sort of sterile, really.”

  “Aren’t you frightened?”

  “No,” he said at once. “That’s the odd thing about all three of them: none of them look capable of hurting anyone.”

  “They don’t do it personally, do they?” pointed out Maria. “Somebody else does it for them.”

  Luigi looked capable of killing someone, thought Franks.

  “How was Tina?” asked the woman.

  “Tina?” asked Franks guiltily.

  “You’ve seen her, haven’t you? You told me she was being called to give evidence. I’ve been waiting for you to talk about it.”

  Franks was conscious of the strain in her voice. He said, “She’s okay. Actually she asked me to give you a message. That she doesn’t hate you for what’s happened.”

  “How did you feel?”

  “Feel?”

  “Seeing her, for the first time.”

  “Awkward,” said Franks. “Poppa’s out of bed. Needs help with his speech, apparently.”

  There was nothing from Maria’s end of the line, and Franks waited for her to press further. Instead she said, “Still no idea when you’ll get back?”

  “No,” said Franks, relieved.

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  “Honestly?” she demanded.

  “Honestly,” said Franks. With whom and about what was he being honest? Franks asked himself.

  After finishing the call to Maria, Franks remained by the telephone, thinking of Tina. Should he call? He’d intended to when he entered the suite, but after talking to Maria he was undecided. Who deserved his loyalty? And love, for that matter. Tina, who admitted that the breakdown had been her fault? Or Maria, who’d asked for nothing and never taken sides and was prepared to run any sort of physical risk to be with him? Was it possible to love two people? Possible, he supposed. But stupid and selfish to consider it as a sensible question. Franks moved positively away from the telephone, deciding against calling Scars-dale. Twice during the evening the resolve weakened, and twice he managed to resist. He went to court the following morning pleased with his self-control but not quite sure what he had achieved by it.

  The entire day was again occupied by Franks’ answers to Ronan’s questioning. Remembering Maria’s question about fear—and the same question from other people—Franks spoke a lot of the time looking directly at the men who’d cheated him, wanting them to recognize it as the challenge it was. He included Luigi in the attention because he wanted that little bastard with his head-shaking artificiality to recognize it more than any of the others. By the afternoon Franks decided they’d realized the point and were unsettled by it, and he was delighted. He actually tried to heighten his contempt.

  Franks had concluded his evidence in chief by the evening adjournment, and Ronan said he wanted a conference. Remembering the emptiness of the previous night, without Tina in the suite with him, Franks suggested their eating together. Ronan accepted and Franks extended the invitation to include Waldo and Schultz, because they were housed in the same hotel. They returned there in the same protective group of cars.

  Both the FBI men had given their evidence and so were spending their time now in the body of the court. Almost at once, when they reached the suite, Waldo said, “You got to them today.”

  “I wanted to,” said Franks vindictively. “They’ve pulled every trick they can against me, so now it’s their turn to squirm.”

  “And maybe yours,” warned Ronan.

  “Me?”

  “The cross-examination starts tomorrow,” said the district attorney. “We’ve got a good case, but you’re the linchpin that holds everything together. If your evidence can be discredited or destroyed … put into doubt in any substantial way … then they’ve got a chance.”

  “Wait a minute!” said Franks, immediately alarmed. “You saying that after everything that’s happened, they could walk away from this?”

  “No,” said Ronan. “I know we’ve done well, up to now. And I think that the jury has been impressed by the evidence you’ve given so far. You know how some of it sounds—how it could seem that you were involved—because we’ve discussed it. Thus far, I think, we’ve got the benefit of any doubt they might have. What I’m saying is that, good though it looks, we shouldn’t become complacent and imagine we’ve got the conviction; there’s still a way to go yet.”

  Franks knew that the district attorney was trying to reassure him but he didn’t feel reassured. “What are you telling me I ought to do?”

  “Just be careful,” said Ronan. “There’s a lot of tricks that can be pulled inside as well as outside a court. Stay cool, however hard they go at you. They’ll bully and they’ll pressure and they’ll come at you from every way but which, trying to panic you. Don’t say anything without first thinking what it is you’re saying. That’ll be the ploy: to get you angry or confused so that you say something without thinking, something that’s not quite right or correct, so that it looks as if you’re changing the evidence you’ve already given.”

  “Tripodi is the one to watch,” said Schultz, entering the conversation. “He’s the young guy with glasses who’s representing Flamini. He’s out to make a reputation for himself as a trial lawyer.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Waldo. “He gave me more trouble than any of the others.”

  “Who are the others?” asked Franks, wanting as much rehearsal as possible.

  “The lawyer for Pascara is called Samuelson. Chicago firm, long-established law practice. Represented Pascara before. The elderly, white-haired guy who walks with a limp,” said Waldo. “Dukes’ lawyer is a young lion, too, although not as good as Tripodi. Name’s Collington. Tends to get carried away and fall over himself, which creates a bad impression in front of a jury. Tripodi is cooler than a polar bear’s ass.”

  Franks realized suddenly that he was being coached, psyched into performing like American football players were encouraged by cheerleaders; and American football was a game Franks had never been able to understand, either. Rah, rah, rah, he thought. To Ronan he said, “You sure you’re as confident about this as you say you are?”

  “Absolutely,” said the district attorney.

  “That was too quick.”

  “That was the truth.”

  There was an interruption while the courses were changed at the table. When the waiters left the suite—escorted by the outside guards—Franks said, “I want to know what’s happened. What’s happened in the court while I’ve been outside. I’ve seen the newscasts and I’ve read the newspaper accounts and it all seemed to be going well.” Franks paused, looking to Ronan. “Like you said.” He allowed another break. He started again, “As far as you people are concerned, this is a case. A good case but still just a case. It goes down if you’re lucky, and it gets thrown out of court if you’re not. So you can start again and make another one, and maybe you’ll get lucky the next time. I don’t have that luxury. I committed myself for all the reasons that you know, and now I have the feeling—despite everything you say—that it h
asn’t gone as well as you expected. And that you’re worried. So level with me. What’s the problem?”

  There was a shuffled exchange of looks between the three other men. Ronan nodded, accepting the responsibility, and said, “Flamini isn’t looking as he should. Pascara and Dukes have got the numbered accounts around their necks, like the weight that’s going to pull them under. But it’s not so strong against Flamini.”

  Franks looked to each of them in turn. “But what can I do about that?” he said in growing exasperation. “You’ve made the case. Assembled the evidence. I can only say what there is to say; what the truth is.”

  “We’re not asking you to say anything more than that,” said Ronan. “All I’m trying to do—we’re trying to do—is prepare you for what might happen out there in court tomorrow.”

  Franks looked across the narrow space between himself and the other men. “This could get away from you,” he said accusingly.

  “It isn’t going to happen,” said Ronan.

  “It could?” insisted Franks.

  “It could,” conceded the district attorney finally.

  It was the opinion that throbbed through Franks’ mind as he entered the court the following morning, settled himself in the witness stand, and looked expectantly toward the assembled defense counsel. It was Samuelson who rose to begin the questioning, and as the elderly man limped toward him Franks wondered if they had engaged in a conference like his the previous evening to formulate some combined attack.

  The white-haired lawyer stopped short of the witness box, looking not toward Franks but to the jury, examining each of the jurors intently, as if he had not properly seen them before. Very much a theater, thought Franks.

  Still not looking directly at him, Samuelson said, “You did a deal, didn’t you, Mr. Franks?”

  “A deal?” delayed Franks.

  “Yes,” said the lawyer. “In exchange for no prosecution being made against you, you agreed to testify against my client? And Mr. Flamini and Mr. Dukes?”

  “I was cheated and duped by your client and by Flamini and Dukes,” said Franks. “As I have already made clear to this court.”

  “That’s not a proper answer to my question,” said the lawyer.