Judgement Day

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Apparently, you weren’t successful,” Kevin snapped. It was a brilliant tactic. He was treating his client as if he were the prosecutor and not the defense attorney. It gave his line of questioning a certain validity in the eyes of the jury and the audience. He didn’t look like he liked Stanley Rothberg, and that gave the impression that he wouldn’t help him lie.

  “No, I guess not.”

  “And is it true, as was testified, that news of this affair eventually made its way to your wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have heard the testimony of Beverly Morgan concerning an exchange between you and your wife. Was her description of that exchange accurate?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t take your wife’s threat seriously at the time?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “She was a sick woman. I didn’t think she was capable of it.”

  “Mr. Rothberg, did you inject your wife with an overdose of insulin?”

  “No, sir. I hated to even watch her do it to herself or watch the nurse do it. I usually left the room.”

  “No further questions, your honor.”

  McKensie rose slowly but stood by his desk. “Mr. Rothberg, didn’t you see the insulin in your closet?”

  “Yes, that morning, but I forgot about it. I got involved in some problems in the hotel and forgot to ask the nurse about it.”

  “Even though your wife threatened to implicate you in her death?”

  “I just didn’t think about it. It seemed . . .” He turned to the jury. “It seemed so incredible.”

  McKensie simply stared at him a moment and then shook his head. Most people thought it was in disbelief, but Kevin felt it was from frustration. “No further questions, your honor,” McKensie said and sat down.

  Kevin continued his game plan. He called Tracey to the stand and went through her testimony, just the way they had gone through it in his office. She described Stanley Rothberg coming to her after the fight with his wife, and she related the same details, only adding how disturbed Stanley had been. She looked very sincere when she expressed her own remorse about the course events had taken. Kevin even found himself believing her when she talked about liking Maxine Rothberg.

  McKensie didn’t even bother cross-examining.

  During his summation, Kevin developed the theme John Milton had suggested. Yes, Stanley Rothberg was guilty of adultery, Stanley Rothberg did not have the best character, but he wasn’t on trial for those things. He was on trial for murder, and he was clearly innocent of murder.

  It was obvious to everyone that Beverly Morgan’s revelations had taken the wind out of McKensie’s sails when he got to his summation. Kevin was surprised at how poorly he did, how he stuttered, paused, looked confused. After he sat down, there seemed to be no question in anyone’s mind what the outcome of this trial would be.

  And the jury reacted accordingly, returning a verdict of not guilty in less than three hours.

  By the time Kevin arrived at the office, a celebration was in full swing. His victory was sure to be the lead story on the local television news, yet he didn’t feel as good about it as he expected he would. He had felt better winning Lois Wilson’s acquittal. When he examined his own feelings and the reasons for them, he realized it was because he had won that case with his own sweat, prodding, investigating, poking around until he found ways to discredit the prosecution’s case.

  But this time it was different. He wasn’t fooling himself. What won the case was Beverly Morgan’s testimony corroborating Stanley’s claim. Despite the congratulations and compliments he received, he didn’t feel as proud of himself. It was like winning an important baseball game because of rain after the fifth inning. It hadn’t been a complete effort.

  “I was just lucky,” he told Ted.

  “Luck had nothing to do with it. You structured the defense brilliantly.”

  “Thanks.” He made his way back to Mr. Milton’s office and knocked on the door. He was invited in, but he couldn’t find the man.

  “Over here,” he said. He was suddenly standing by the large windows. “And congratulations.”

  “Thank you, but I was hoping to find you during the recess. I wanted to ask you about Beverly Morgan.”

  “Of course.”

  As Kevin joined him at the window, Mr. Milton put his arm around his shoulders and turned him so they were both looking out over the city. Darkness came late in the afternoon now. It was a sea of lights.

  “Dazzling, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “All that power, all that energy concentrated in such a small area. Millions of people at our feet, incredible wealth, incredible energy, decisions being made that affect the lives of countless others.” He held out his free hand. “All the drama of humanity, every known conflict, every known emotion, birth, death, love, and hate. It takes my breath away to stand above it all.”

  ‘Yes,” Kevin said. He suddenly did feel overwhelmed. Mr. Milton had a soft and enchanting quality to his voice. Hearing him speak and looking out at the lights twinkling like stars was mesmerizing.

  ‘But you’re not just standing above it all, Kevin,” he continued, speaking in undulating tones that to Kevin seemed to be coming from within his own mind. It was as if John Milton had entered his very soul, had housed himself in some empty chamber in his heart and now truly possessed him. “You are above it all, and now we know, it will all be yours.”

  There was a long silence between them. Kevin simply stared out at the city. John Milton continued to embrace him and hold him so he would stay close.

  “You should go home now, Kevin,” he finally whispered. “Go home to your wife and have your own private celebration.”

  Kevin nodded. John Milton released him and moved like a shadow to his desk chair. Kevin stared out a moment longer and then turned, remembering why he had come in.

  “Mr. Milton, that note you sent me . . . How did you know Beverly Morgan had changed her story?”

  John Milton smiled. In the subdued light of the desk lamp, he looked like he wore a mask. “Now, Kevin, you don’t want me to give away all my secrets, do you? Then you young upstarts would all start thinking you could take my place.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “I spoke to her,” he said quickly. “I pointed some things out, and she relented.”

  “What did you say to change her mind?”

  “In the end, Kevin, people choose to do what’s best for themselves. Ideals, principles, whatever you call it, in the final analysis, they don’t matter. There is only one lesson to learn: everyone has his or her price. Idealists think that’s a cynical lesson to learn. Practical-minded folk like you and me and the other associates know it’s the key to power and success. Enjoy your victory.” He turned away to look down at some papers on his desk. “In a day or two, I will have another case for you.”

  Kevin stared down at him a moment and debated whether or not to pursue the conversation. It was obvious John Milton wanted to end it. “Okay,” he said. “Good night.”

  “Good night. Congratulations. You’re a true John Milton associate now,” he added.

  Kevin stood by the door. Why didn’t those words make him feel wonderful? he wondered. He walked out. As he started down the corridor, he thought about those city lights and standing by the window with John Milton beside him. His words returned. Strange, he thought, but they sounded so familiar. Where had he . . .

  And then he remembered. Those were Ted’s exact words when he had described a similar experience at the windows in John Milton’s penthouse. In his heart he knew it wasn’t just a coincidence.

  Who was John Milton? Who were the associates? What was he becoming?

  12

  A cold, bleak rain had begun to fall over the city. Even though he was quite warm in the rear of the limo, Kevin shivered when they stopped at a traffic light, and he gazed out at people rushing to and fro, most caught without their umbrellas. Desp
ite his having every reason to feel cheerful, the drops he saw streaking down storefront windows and over the windows of other cars looked like tears. He sat back and closed his eyes the rest of the way to the apartment house.

  “Mr. Taylor,” Philip cried, opening the lobby door for him as soon as he had stepped out of the limo. “Congratulations! I just heard the news bulletin.”

  “Thank you, Philip.” He shook the icy drops from his hair.

  “I bet it feels good to win such an important case. Everybody’s goin’ to know your name, Mr. Taylor. You must be very proud.”

  “It hasn’t all quite settled in yet,” Kevin said. “I’m still in a bit of a daze myself.” He started for the elevator.

  “Nevertheless, it looks like Mr. Milton’s got himself a reason for another party, eh?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Thanks, Philip.” He stepped into the elevator and pressed 15. As the elevator began its climb, Kevin settled back, still feeling a strange mixture of emotions, elation with an undercurrent of anxiety. Something wasn’t right; something just wasn’t right. He found himself twisting his gold pinky ring back and forth.

  He stepped out when the doors opened but stopped immediately because he thought he heard someone whisper his name. Turning quickly to his left, he was shocked to find Helen Scholefield in a nightgown, her back against the wall, her eyes wide, maddening.

  “Helen!”

  “I saw you and Charon drive up,” she whispered. She glanced back at her apartment. “I don’t have long. She’s sure to find me gone in a moment.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The same thing that happened to Gloria Jaffee will happen to Miriam. I refused to become part of it this time and tried to warn you with my painting, but if he’s made her pregnant, then it’s too late. He’ll feed on her goodness, suck the life from her like a vampire sucks blood. You’ve got to find a way to kill him. Kill him,” she demanded, her teeth clenched, her hands balled into fists. “Otherwise you’ll be left with the same two choices Richard Jaffee had. Thank God he had too much conscience to do anything else . . . only Richard had a conscience.” Her lips began to tremble. “They’re all his. Paul’s become the worst. He’s Beelzebub,” she added, leaning into him, the madness in her eyes making his heart pound.

  “Helen, let me help you back . . .”

  “No!” She backed away. “It’s too late for you, isn’t it? You’ve won one of his cases. You’re his, too, now . . . his. Damn you. Damn you all!”

  “Mrs. Scholefield!” Mrs. Longchamp cried from the apartment doorway. “Oh my!” She rushed into the hallway. “Now you come back inside, please.”

  “Get away from me.” Helen lifted her arms over her head, threatening to pound the nurse.

  “Now just calm down, Mrs. Scholefield. Everything will be all right.”

  “Should I get some help?” Kevin asked. “Call her doctor?”

  “No, no. It’s going to be fine. Just fine,” Mrs. Longchamp said, holding her smile. “Won’t it, Mrs. Scholefield? You know it will,” she added in a soothing voice.

  Helen’s arms began to shake. She lowered them slowly and began to cry.

  “Here, here, now. It’s going to be all right,” Mrs. Longchamp said. “I’ll take you back and you’ll rest.” She embraced Helen Scholefield around the waist firmly and turned her. Then she looked back at Kevin. “It’s okay,” she mouthed and nodded, moving Helen down the corridor toward the apartment door. Kevin watched until they reentered and the door closed. He wiped his face with his handkerchief before going to his own apartment.

  The instant he closed the door, Miriam came running to him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “Oh, Kev, I’m so excited. It was just on the early evening news. And I saw them talking to you as you were coming out of the courtroom! Your parents called just a minute ago. They saw it, too! And my parents. We’ll go out; we’ll celebrate. I’ve already made us a reservation at Renzo’s. You’ll love it. Norma and Jean said that’s where they and their husbands always go to celebrate by themselves.”

  He just stood there, staring at her.

  “What’s wrong? You look . . . pale.”

  “A terrible thing just happened in the hallway. Helen Scholefield was out there in her nightgown. She had run away from her nurse.”

  “Oh no. What happened?”

  “She said some wild things, but . . .”

  “What kind of things?”

  “About us, about John Milton and Associates.”

  “Oh, Kevin, don’t let it get you down. Not now. Not when we have so much to be happy about,” she pleaded. “You know she’s been very ill, mentally sick.”

  “I don’t know, I . . . how did you get that black and blue mark on your neck?”

  “It’s not a black and blue mark, Kevin.” She turned and looked in the hallway mirror. “I guess I’ll have to add some more body powder.”

  “What do you mean, it’s not a black and blue mark?”

  “It’s a hickey, Kev.” She blushed. “You vampire. Don’t worry about it; it’s nothing. Come on, shower and change. I’m ravishingly hungry.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Kevin? Are you just going to stand here in the hallway all night?”

  “We’ve got to talk, Miriam. I don’t know what’s going on, what’s happening, but I swear I don’t remember doing that to you.”

  “Nothing’s going on, silly. You’ve been distracted by the pressure of this case and worried. It’s understandable. The girls told me something like this would happen to you in the beginning. You’d go around in a daze, forgetting this, forgetting that. They’ve been through it with Ted and Dave, too. It’ll pass once you gain confidence in yourself and grow as an attorney. And what a start, huh? My big New York lawyer,” she added and hugged him. “Now, come on. Let’s get the show on the road.” She started away. “I’ll fix my makeup.”

  He watched her go and then followed slowly. He paused at the living room, thinking once again about the scene with Helen Scholefield in the hallway. Then he went into the living room to look at her painting.

  But it wasn’t hanging there, nor was it on the floor.

  “Miriam.” She didn’t reply. He hurried to the bedroom to find her by her vanity table. “Miriam, what happened to Helen’s painting?”

  “Happened?” She turned from the mirror. “I just couldn’t stand looking at it anymore, Kevin. It was the only depressing note in this apartment. The girls agreed we had been very kind to have kept it up this long.”

  “So where is it? In a closet?”

  “No, it’s gone,” she said, turning to look at herself again.

  “Gone? What do you mean? Gone where? You threw it out?”

  “No. I wouldn’t do that. It’s still a work of art, and, believe it or not, there are people who like that sort of thing. Norma knew a gallery in the Village that would take it on. We thought we’d put it there, and if it got sold we’d surprise Helen with the good news. We thought it might cheer her up.”

  “What gallery?”

  “I don’t know the name of it, Kevin. Norma knows it,” she said, annoyance slipping into her voice. “What are you so concerned about? Both my mother and your mother thought it was a horrible thing to have on our living-room wall.”

  “When did she take it?” he asked insistently.

  Miriam turned back again. “Just shows how observant you’ve been these last few days. Two days ago, Kevin. The painting’s been gone for two days.”

  “It has?”

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Are you going to shower and get dressed already?”

  “What? Oh, yeah . . . yeah.” He started to undress.

  “It’s so exciting, isn’t it? You’ll be in all the newspapers and on television stations throughout the country. I bet Mr. Rothberg’s grateful, huh?”

  “Rothberg?”

  “Rothberg, Kevin. The man you defended?” She laughed. “Talk about
your absentminded professors . . .”

  “No, Miriam. You don’t understand,” he said, approaching her. “I won because a witness made a complete reversal of her original story, and I don’t know why she did. I didn’t know until it happened right there in court. Mr. Milton sent me a note to ask the right questions. He knew she would change. He knew!”

  “So?” She smiled. “That’s why he’s Mr. Milton.”

  “What?”

  “That’s why he’s the boss and you, Ted, and Paul are only associates.”

  He simply stared at her. She sounded like a little girl.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, turning back to the mirror. “Someday you will be just like him. Won’t that be wonderful?” She paused, her eyes growing smaller as if she were gazing into a crystal ball instead of a mirror. “Your own firm . . . Kevin Taylor and Associates. You’ll send an associate around to find new, promising talent just the way Mr. Milton sent Paul to find you, because by then you’ll know who to look for.”

  “Who to look for? Who put such an idea into your head?”

  “No one, silly. Well, Jean and Norma said something like that at lunch the other day. They said that’s what Mr. Milton wants to see happen.” She threw her head back and rattled it off: “Dave Kotein and Associates, Ted McCarthy and Associates, Paul Scholefield and Associates, and Kevin Taylor and Associates. The four of you will cover the city. Mr. Milton will start with new associates, of course, and before you know it, there won’t be a defendant in town who will want to go to any other firm but one of yours.”

  She laughed again and then stood up and turned to him. “Kevin, will you take that shower already?”

  He thought for a moment and then stepped closer to her. “Listen to me, Miriam. Something strange is going on. I don’t know what just yet, but maybe Helen Scholefield isn’t as off the wall as we think.”

  “What?” She retreated from him quickly. “Kevin Wingate Taylor, will you stop this and take your shower. I told you, I’m starving. I’ll wait for you in the living room. I’ll play the piano, but I hope you’ll be out and ready before I do an entire concerto.” She left him standing naked at her vanity table.