Judgement Day

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Yes, I don’t think that’s as much of a secret as you think it is. You have to understand that in the eyes of the prosecution and maybe in the eyes of the jury, it adds motive. I have it down to discuss your romantic affair with you and how we will handle it, but what has this to do with the insulin being in your room?”

  “Maxine and I had an argument. It was terrible. I didn’t want her to find out about Tracey. I thought she was suffering enough. It wasn’t really an argument. She yelled and I just stood there, just took it. She threatened all sorts of things, you know. I thought she was just hot and she wouldn’t carry out a single threat, so I didn’t pay any attention to them. I mean, she was a very sick woman by this time and it was affecting her mental condition.”

  “And?”

  “One of those threats was she was going to kill herself and fix it so I would be blamed. Looks like she did.” He sat back, contented with his own explanation.

  Kevin heard a commotion down the hall after he had completed his interview with Stanley Rothberg and they had shaken hands and parted in the lobby.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Diane.

  “Mr. McCarthy.” She beamed. “He got them to drop the charges against his client.”

  “Really?” He hurried down the corridor to Ted’s office. Dave, Paul, and Mr. Milton were standing in front of Ted’s desk, and Ted was standing by his chair. They all held glasses in their hands, and there was an opened bottle of champagne on Ted’s desk.

  “Kevin, you finished just in time,” John Milton said. “Join us in a toast. We always have a toast together after one of us does well with a case.” John Milton poured him a glass and handed it to him. “To Ted,” he said, raising his glass.

  “To Ted,” the others chanted, and everyone drank.

  “What exactly happened?” Kevin inquired, swallowing quickly.

  “The Blatts dropped the charges against Crowley. When they found out how promiscuous their little girl had been, and they realized it would all come out at the trial, they backpedaled,” Ted said. Dave and Paul laughed. John Milton’s smile widened. Kevin thought the revelry made him look younger, the lines in his face thinning, the light in his eyes brightening. Then his expression changed quickly.

  “There’s a lesson here,” Mr. Milton said in a sober voice. “Not all legal maneuvering has to take place in court.” He turned to Kevin. “Think of preparation for every court case the way you would think of two prizefighters readying themselves for the bout. There are ways to psych out the opponent, shake him up before you actually face off so that he loses some confidence in himself and his case.

  “Well,” he said, smiling, “this adds another reason to have a celebration. First, we will celebrate Kevin’s joining our firm and, second, Ted’s success. Party in the penthouse this weekend.” Kevin noted how the others brightened with excitement. “Is everyone free?”

  “No problem for us,” Dave said quickly.

  “Nor us,” Ted said.

  “Fine,” Paul said. They all looked at Kevin.

  “And the guests of honor? It’s time I met Miriam.”

  “We’ll be there. Thank you.”

  “All right, gentlemen, let’s go back to work.”

  Everyone congratulated Ted again and left the office. Dave and Paul went directly to their offices, both of them looking quite fired up by Ted’s success and their short celebration. John Milton put his arm around Kevin’s shoulders as they continued down the corridor.

  “I didn’t mean for it to seem as if I were deserting you back there with Rothberg, Kevin, but I wanted him to understand immediately that this is your case. You’re in charge.”

  “Oh, there was no problem. Thanks for all the nice things you said about me.”

  “I meant every word of it. So. How did your meeting with Rothberg go?”

  “His theory is that his wife killed herself and fixed it so he would take the fall. Claims she learned of his extramarital affair and put together a plan for vengeance and suicide by planting the fateful insulin in his room.”

  “Sounds plausible,” John Milton said. “What’s that line, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’”

  Kevin paused to look at him to see if he meant it. He couldn’t help smirking.

  “You have a problem with Rothberg’s theory?”

  “He claims he saw the insulin in the closet where she planted it but forgot about it because he was so busy running the hotel and business. Even after his wife threatened to frame him. I have some trouble believing that, yes.”

  “The question is, can you present it in a way so the jury will buy it? You’ve got to have confidence in your own case,” John Milton warned.

  Kevin realized that if he didn’t say the right things now, John Milton might very well take the case from him and reassign it to Ted, who was now free.

  “Well, it will help if Rothberg had nothing to do with picking up the insulin supply. I’ll check that out. Most likely it was delivered to the hotel and the nurse signed for it. I’m going to see the nurse and find out what she knew about Maxine and Stanley’s relationship. Perhaps Mrs. Rothberg confided in her, let her know how much she despised Stanley for what he was doing, or maybe she overheard the argument between Stanley and Maxine Rothberg. If she heard her say she would get even with him, kill herself and make it look as if he had done it . . .”

  “That’s good. I’m sure she will open up to you if you suggest that she could be blamed for Maxine’s death. Let her know her drinking problem is well known,” John Milton advised. “She will be more inclined to cooperate. Have we fixed Stanley Rothberg’s whereabouts during the time the fatal insulin dosage was given?”

  Kevin nodded but didn’t look happy. John Milton understood.

  “He was with his lover?”

  “For a man who was too busy to remember that a supply of insulin was placed in his closet, he sure had a lot of time to mess around.”

  “I think we should follow your instincts on this, Kevin. Go with the honesty approach. Have Rothberg own up to his affair, place him with his girlfriend, have her testify to it. Allow the jury to convict him of adultery in their minds but not convict and punish him for murder just because he was an unfaithful husband. Besides, we can’t show the wife as vengeful and suicidal if we don’t first develop the premise of infidelity and give her the motive.”

  “I think I can get some help from her doctor on this, too,” Kevin said. “In his reports he made mention of her depression.”

  “Yes, yes,” John Milton said, a light coming into his face. “That’s very good.” It was as if the man’s excitement could travel like electricity from his quickened heart down his arm and into Kevin’s heart.

  “Of course,” he added, stopping at Kevin’s office door, “it would help matters if he were remorseful, still blaming himself for his wife’s death. Is he?”

  “I didn’t get that impression, no,” Kevin said.

  “Well, see to it that the jury does,” Mr. Milton advised. He smiled, only his smile now was mischievous, almost impish. He looked more like a teenager who had come up with a clever Halloween prank than a masterful attorney developing a legal strategy.

  “I hope I can do that,” Kevin said, almost in a whisper. He was fascinated with John Milton’s bright eyes.

  John Milton patted Kevin on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine, just fine. Keep me up to date,” he said and continued on to his own office. Kevin watched him for a moment and then turned into his office.

  After he sat down, he thought about John Milton’s advice. “I think we should follow your instincts on this . . . go with the honesty approach,” he had said. It was true, those were his instincts, but he didn’t remember telling John Milton that. He remembered only thinking about it.

  He shrugged. He must have mentioned it somehow. What other answer was there? he concluded. The man wasn’t a mind reader.

  Kevin turned back to his files and began to review his interview with Rothberg. The others
looked in to see if he would join them for lunch, but Wendy had already inquired and at his request ordered in a sandwich. She volunteered to take notes and do research through her own lunch hour as well. He was impressed with the dedication and energy everyone at John Milton and Associates had. It stimulated him to push himself harder.

  Because of the success Ted had had with his case, the ride back to the apartment house at the end of the day was quite jovial. Kevin noted that Paul and Dave were just as happy as Ted. They did seem more like a family than attorneys working at the same firm. Later, Kevin was sorry that he was the only one to introduce a dark note and interrupt their lighthearted mood, but he was interested in Ted’s reaction to his success, so he could measure it against his own reaction at the end of the Lois Wilson case.

  “Did you believe Crowley was guilty, though, Ted? I mean, even though the girl was promiscuous, did he rape her?” he asked.

  Everyone stopped smiling, and for a moment the air was pregnant with tension.

  “I didn’t force the Blatts to drop the charges. That was their decision,” he replied defensively.

  “The district attorney should have convinced them to stay with the case,” Paul added.

  “Ted was just doing what he was paid to do and what he was trained to do,” Dave said pointedly. “Just like you when you defended Lois Wilson.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply anything otherwise. I was just curious about your feelings about the man, Ted.”

  “We have to put our feelings, morality, judgments aside to be advocates for the defense, Kevin. It’s one of the first things I learned from Mr. Milton and it’s worked well for me.”

  “For all of us,” Paul said, nodding.

  “It’s like a doctor treating a patient,” Dave explained. “Mr. Milton made this analogy for me when I first arrived. The doctor doesn’t judge his patient’s morality, politics, life-style. He treats the illness, reads the symptoms, and takes action. To be successful as a defense attorney, you have to separate the client from the case. Treat the accusations, read the facts, and take action. If you had to like and believe in everyone you defended, you’d starve to death.”

  Ted and Paul laughed. Kevin nodded. He remembered telling something similar to Miriam when she questioned his vigorous defense of Lois Wilson.

  “If you can’t live with that, you should probably go to work for the district attorney’s office,” Paul said. Then he smiled. “But you know what those guys make.”

  Everyone laughed once more, even Kevin. Paul poured each of them a cocktail and they sat back, the relaxed atmosphere quickly returning.

  “By the way,” Kevin asked, “how does Mr. Milton get back and forth?”

  “In the limo. The man’s a workaholic. He’s in the office much earlier than we are and he often remains there well into the evening,” Paul replied. “Charon brings him his dinner. But what a place he comes home to. Wait until you see the penthouse. Talk about luxury and hedonism.”

  “There are three bathrooms, each with its own whirlpool!” Dave said.

  “And the view,” Ted added. “It’s like standing on top of the world. I always feel . . .”

  “Like God,” Paul said.

  “Yeah.” Ted smiled to himself. “I remember the first time I was up there. Milton put his arm around my shoulders and we both looked out over the city and he said, ‘Ted, you’re not just standing above it all; you are above it all and it will all be yours.’ I was so excited, I couldn’t speak, but he understood. He understood,” Ted repeated. Kevin saw Paul and Dave nod, their faces sober.

  There was something special about this, something different and very unique, Kevin thought. Perhaps they would all be at the top of the world. He suddenly realized the three of them were staring at him.

  “Think we’re overdoing it?” Dave asked. “Making too much of the man?”

  Kevin shrugged. “He’s impressive. I got a bit carried away when I first described everything about the firm and Mr. Milton to Miriam.”

  “He’s one in a million,” Paul said. “We’re all lucky to be with him.”

  “Here, here,” Ted said and raised his glass. “To Mr. Milton.”

  “To Mr. Milton,” Dave and Paul chanted. They all looked at Kevin again.

  “To Mr. Milton,” he said, and they drank. He couldn’t help feeling as if he had just participated in a ritual of some sort. “So,” he said, “he puts on a great party, huh?”

  “The secretaries come, and he always invites interesting people,” Dave said. “You and Miriam will have a great time. In fact, it will be so good, you won’t realize how quickly the time passes.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Kevin said. The three looked at him, all smiling the same way, their looks so similar, in fact, it was almost as if they were wearing identical masks.

  By the time Charon stopped the limo in front of their apartment building and opened the door to let them out, they were all laughing again. Dave had just repeated a joke he had been told by Bob McKensie, an assistant district attorney. They carried their laughter into the lobby and Dave told the joke again, this time to Philip, the security man.

  Kevin enjoyed the feeling of comradeship. They carried it up the elevator, kidding each other about their college backgrounds. They were still joking when they parted to go to their respective apartments.

  When Kevin entered his, he found Norma and Jean standing at opposite ends of the spinet listening to Miriam play. They looked up when he entered, both signaling him not to interrupt. Miriam was so intent on her playing, she didn’t hear him enter anyway. She was playing Beethoven, and the girls looked thrilled. He tiptoed to the couch and sat down. When she finished, he joined the applause and she turned, beaming.

  “Oh, Kev. I didn’t even hear you come in. How long have you been here?”

  “Two dozen bars.” He shrugged.

  “She’s wonderful,” Norma said. “I was telling her there’s a grand piano in Mr. Milton’s penthouse, and as soon as he has a party . . .”

  “He’s having one Saturday night.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Jean squealed. “You’ll play for everyone this weekend!”

  “I’m not that good,” Miriam said.

  “No false modesty. You’re good and you know it,” Norma said sternly. She turned to Kevin. “We’re going to a concert at Lincoln Center tomorrow afternoon—Mahler, Symphony No. 2, ‘Resurrection.’”

  “Can you imagine, Kev? I finally found some people who like classical music, too.”

  “As well as rock,” Jean added.

  “And don’t forget some country and western,” Norma said. The three of them laughed. From the way they hugged and nudged each other, Kevin thought they really did look like lifelong friends. Miriam was really happy. It was going well.

  “I better get my rear in gear,” Norma said. “Kevin’s home, that means Dave’s home.”

  “And Ted.”

  “Oh,” Kevin said as they started away. “Ted will be in a great mood, Jean. He scored a knockout without even going into battle.”

  “Pardon?” She grimaced as if he were going to tell her something terrible instead of something good. He looked to Miriam quickly and thought he saw her shake her head.

  “His case, but I suppose I should let him tell you first.”

  “Oh. Ted never tells me the nitty-gritty details. He knows how much I hate to hear about those things. I don’t even read about the cases when they make the papers.”

  “Nor do I,” Norma said. “It’s better to leave the unpleasant events in this world outside the door, like wiping your feet before entering,” she said. She turned to Jean. “Wasn’t that the way Mr. Milton put it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They both turned back to him, smiling. Kevin widened his eyes with surprise. “Yeah, sure,” he said quickly.

  “’Bye, Miriam. Talk to you later,” Jean sang.

  “Me too,” Norma chorused, and they left.

  For a moment Kevin just stare
d at the closed door. Then he turned to Miriam.

  “We had such a wonderful day,” she began before he could say a word. “First we did the Museum of Modern Art. There’s a wonderful exhibition of paintings from Moscow, never before viewed in the West. We went to the Village for lunch. Norma knew this little place that had the most wonderful variety of quiche. Then we came back uptown and went to a matinee to catch that Australian film everyone’s raving about. It had this great soundtrack taken from Beethoven, so when we came back I played a little of it for them.

  “Oh,” she said, barely stopping for a breath, “we knew we weren’t going to be back in time to prepare dinner, so we stopped at this great take-out and I bought a lobster salad, some French bread, and a bottle of Chardonnay. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.” He shook his head.

  “You’re upset?”

  “No.” He laughed. “I’m just . . . happy you’re happy.”

  “Did you have a good day, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” she said quickly. “The girls tell me that’s all I should ask you. I should work on getting you to put your work problems out of mind and really relax. So . . . you take a shower, get comfortable. I’ll get the dinner ready and find some good dinner music.” She started away before he could respond, leaving him with a smile of confusion on his face.

  He was happy she was adapting so quickly, but there was something about it all that bothered him, like a sharp, short pain in the chest. It could be nothing, or, as was sometimes the case, it could be the first warning of something fatal.

  He shrugged it off and headed for the shower.

  Before the weekend arrived, John Milton and Associates had an additional reason for celebration. Dave Kotein was successful in getting the judge to throw out Karl Obermeister’s confession on the basis that the arresting police officers and the assistant district attorney hadn’t given him an opportunity to phone an attorney before they got him to make the confession. The judge also refused to permit the district attorney to use the evidence they found at Obermeister’s apartment since a complete search of the apartment was made without a warrant and without any charges being lodged beforehand.