I bought some new shoes. Not Gucci, but better than my round-heeled old ones.
I was ready, at least on the outside. The inside would perhaps take more than a tailor to get ready.
*
IT had been a slow morning except for Mrs. Johnson.
If Mrs. Johnson had been a piece of cloth, you would have thrown her away. She was that worn out. A small, thin black woman who looked eighty but was only fifty. She worked nights as part of the local school’s cleaning crew.
She had nine children. Make that eight; one had just died. A boy of seventeen. He had crashed a friend’s car, injuring himself. The police took him to a local hospital. She had seen him there. He looked scraped up a bit, but otherwise all right, except for a fractured kneecap that would require surgery. They wheeled him into the operating room, but he had not come out alive. The doctors told the family he had died of heart failure. He was young, athletic, and although he was often in minor trouble, his mother loved him dearly.
For so young a man death seemed impossible. She wondered if the doctors might have killed him.
Mrs. Johnson was a quiet woman, the stoic kind who usually accepted the harsh realities of fate. But this time she couldn’t accept what she had been told, not without proof.
She offered nothing more than suspicion. The doctors had been very nice, very sympathetic, but she had to know if they had caused her son’s death. It was a question she had to have answered.
It was obvious she wasn’t interested in money. I could see that in her eyes.
“I’ll look into it,” I told her. “I’ll get a copy of the autopsy report. They do an autopsy when someone dies in surgery. Have you seen the report?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“I’ll get that for starters. Then, if that’s questionable, I’ll do some additional investigation.”
She pulled a wallet out of her small purse. It was almost as worn as its owner. She carefully extracted a small packet of bills.
“How much will this cost?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you what, if I find something that suggests a lawsuit and you want to go ahead with it, I’ll handle the case for a percentage of what you might get. But until then, there’ll be no charge.”
“Are you sure?” She sounded suspicious. It was a tough world and Mrs. Johnson was accustomed to having to pay for whatever she got.
“I’m sure.”
I escorted her out of the office and told her I’d get in touch in a few days.
Doing things for free was one perk of a lawyer practicing alone. In a firm, especially a large firm catering to business clients, doing something on the cuff meant a visit from the managing partner, and possible death by strangulation if the amount lost was large.
Sidney Sherman called. He was as cheerful as ever but there was an underlying note of anxiety in his voice.
“I got some copies of Angel Harwell’s school records and some other stuff,” he said. “I’ll fax them to you.”
“I don’t have a fax machine, Sidney.”
“Hey, how about entering this century, Charley. Everybody has a fax.”
“I’m an exception. Send it to me by express mail. You didn’t call just for that. What’s up?”
“Did you get a copy of the prenuptial agreement from Robin Harwell?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“Well, we can get one, but it’s going to cost.”
“How much?”
“A couple thousand.”
“What the hell are you going to do, bribe somebody?”
He sighed. “Charley, you really don’t want an answer to that, do you? I mean, not in this age of electronic technology, and especially over a phone.”
“I told you I’m not agreeing to anything illegal, Sidney.” I said that automatically, just in case someone was listening. “What’s the problem down there?”
“The Florida lawyer. Harrison Harwell’s divorce lawyer. He’s pissed. I suppose he could see the yellow brick road stretching before him when this millionaire walked in and gave him the biggest divorce case of his career. Instant riches. Then the guy died. I think he’s taking it personally. He won’t give up the files, or even let anyone have a peek.”
“Is the money for him?”
“No.” The word was snapped out quietly, without explanation. Obviously Sidney’s people had found someone in the lawyer’s office who knew how to use a copy machine, but only for pay, and lots of it.
“Maybe if it would help if I contacted the lawyer,” I said.
“I doubt it. This guy has dug in his heels. Nothing is going to be shown unless there’s a court order. He’s adamant about it.”
“Maybe I should keep after Robin Harwell to get it.”
“This, ah, arrangement we have down there includes the court pleadings that were going to be filed. It might be wise to know what’s in them, Charley. You don’t want any nasty surprises at trial.”
“You have the money I gave you,” I said. “It’s up to you how to spend it. I must insist that nothing illegal or unethical be done.”
“Nice point,” he said, chuckling. “Okay, Charley, I’ll go ahead.”
He paused, then spoke again. “I suppose you want my people to continue digging into Angel’s background?”
“Absolutely. And her late father’s, too.”
“The meter’s running, you know.”
“I know. Keep at it anyway.”
“It’s your funeral.”
“I hope not.”
*
MY list of things to do was growing, not only in the Harwell case, but generally.
Suddenly I had been thrust into a busy law practice. Sidney was right, I had to get the proper tools to do the job.
I had called a temporary secretarial service and discovered that their girls no longer typed, at least not on typewriters. The world had turned and everything was done on word-processing machines now. The ladies had been trained for a variety of machines, none of which I was familiar with. All the computer terms sounded to me like an entirely different language.
If I was going to have a secretary I would have to update my equipment. And get a fax machine.
Pickeral Point had no place that rents business equipment so I went to Port Huron.
The man I talked to had apparently been trained as a used-car salesman. He was all teeth and good cheer. He pretended to have great knowledge of computers, but I soon discovered he knew very little. However, we cut a deal. I rented a computer, complete with every software program necessary to run an office; a printer, which he said was so good that I could print a newspaper or a book on it if I wanted; plus a fax machine and a copier. My new best friend gave me a deal he said he wouldn’t even give his mother. I got everything for six months at a price that would have ransomed two or three kings, along with the opportunity to buy the equipment at the end of the six-month lease for a figure my friend said would get him arrested if it got out. It would have, but for unarmed robbery.
He had seen me on television so he took my check without protest and loaded everything into my car. When he saw the car I think he had second thoughts about the check, but by that time it was too late.
I took everything back to my office. I found out that I couldn’t begin to make the computer work, although it buzzed with authority and little lights went on. The same thing happened with the printer. The little how-to books supplied defied human understanding. But the fax machine apparently worked.
I sent a fax note to my new friend in Port Huron as a test and he sent one back with a list of other things I could rent at equally wonderful prices. He knew a sucker when he saw one. My friends at the telephone company informed me they would install a fax line for a reasonable charge. Until then my present arrangement would do nicely. I could turn on the fax when I needed it. I flipped the little button that returned my line to normal telephone operation.
At last, I was in business.
Now I could offer someone a job withou
t shame. Well, at least not too much shame. Everything else in the office was a bit shabby. The new equipment looked very much out of place.
I didn’t look out of place, however, and that bothered me just a little.
*
As he was required to do by law, Mark Evola had sent me a list of the witnesses the prosecution planned to call in the Harwell case.
I was over visiting a new client at the jail, a man who had punched up his wife when he had come home unexpectedly. She had greeted him naked, which he said was unusual, and he had wondered why until he caught a glimpse of her equally naked lover diving out the bedroom window. The fists flew then. I expected the wife would probably drop the charge eventually, given the circumstances.
After the jail I dropped by Evola’s office a short walk away.
As usual, I admired Evola’s ladies and would have been happy to sit in the reception area and ogle but Evola came out at once. Also, as usual, Evola fussed over me like a returning hero, his standard greeting for everyone except people he had indicted.
“Sit down, Charley! Hey, I’m excited about trying this thing, aren’t you?” It was as if we were going on a camping trip together.
“I take it then that you won’t drop the charges?”
He laughed, his nice professional politician laugh, too long and too loud. “You are a funny man. I like someone with a good sense of humor.”
He sat behind his desk, grinning at me.
I took the list of witnesses from my briefcase.
“I got the list of your witnesses in the Harwell case here, Mark. Some I know. Some I don’t. I’d like to go over them with you if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. I’m here to serve.”
“Morgan and Maguire. Them I know.”
He nodded. “Our crack homicide team. They talked to the witnesses and Angel.”
“As did you.”
The grin got wider. “In their presence. Also, they can testify to their investigation at the scene of the murder.”
“Who is Ned Bentley?”
“A uniformed officer. Bentley and Ralph Harris, who is also on the list, are Pickeral Point policemen. Alex Cramer and John Joffrey, who are there too, are Kerry County deputies. They all answered the run that night.” He leaned back in his chair. “You know how it goes, Charley, we have to list everyone who was there. Those cops talked to the family and servants and saw the body.”
“Did any of them talk to Angel?”
He nodded. “Bentley and Harris. They went to her room and found her hiding.”
“Hiding, my ass. She was on her bed.”
“Covered in her dead father’s blood, Charley.” The grin became even broader. “Shocking, eh?”
“Come on, Mark, don’t get cute. I presume they asked her about the blood?”
“That, and the dead man with a knife sticking in him. They inquired about little things like that.”
“And?”
“She said she did it and would do it again if she had the chance.” Then he laughed. “Not really. She was putting on her madwoman act at that point. Little Ophelia, driven insane by grief.”
“Did they read her her rights?”
“Hey, they might be Pickeral Point cops but even they know enough to do that.”
“I see Dennis Bernard listed here, and his wife, along with some of the other Harwell servants. What’s the purpose of that?”
“It’s the law, Charley. I have to list everyone who was present when it happened. The old res gestae rule. A prosecutor can’t pick and choose. I have to include everything that happened. They were there, so I have to call them, or at least list them. Of course, Bernard and his wife also identified the body as being Harrison Harwell, so they will have to testify to that.”
“I see Robin Harwell listed. Did she make the identification too?”
He shook his head. “Actually, we didn’t use her for that. We didn’t need her, considering we had the Bernards to do the job. I always hate to show a butchered corpse to a new widow. They seem to get so upset.”
“If she isn’t going to be an identification witness, why do you have her listed?”
“Res gestae again. She was there so I have to show her as a witness. Of course, I realize she’s in a delicate position since we’re trying to nail her stepdaughter for murder, but those are the rules. Look, Charley, I’ll be frank. Mrs. Harwell didn’t say anything we feel is essential to the case. I’ll let you waive her appearance if you want. I’m a reasonable guy. I’ll do the same for most of the servants too, although I want to keep a couple in just to show how the house was and who was there before the murder.”
Theresa Hernandez was also listed. I didn’t want her on the stand. “Whatever,” I said casually. “Probably the Bernards would fulfill anything you need for that purpose. Unless something comes up between then and now, I’ll waive the rest of the servants.”
“All except Theresa Hernandez,” he said, smiling. He knew.
“What’s she going to testify to?”
He shrugged. “Nothing much. She’s no one you should worry about.”
I pretended I didn’t know any better. If she showed up, she might be as deadly to my case as a cobra bite.
“I see listed my favorite pathologist, Ernesto Rey.”
“He will testify to the cause of death, Charley. I have to show that or I don’t have a case. You were awfully mean to him at the examination. He’s not a bad little guy. Let him get on and get off. His testimony will just be routine anyway.”
Rey was one of the keys to my defense of suicide. Asking me to let up on him would be like asking a hungry cat to give up a fish.
It was my turn to shrug. “I’ve taken my best shot with him anyway. I’ll ask a few questions just to let the jury know I’m awake, but other than that Rey should have no problems with me.”
He nodded as if he believed me. He didn’t.
“Who is Bently Jenkins?”
“He’s new up here. An evidence technician. He’ll testify to the blood on the knife. Things like that.”
“And the blood on my client’s clothing?”
He shrugged. “Oh yeah, that too.” He said it as if it wasn’t important. We both knew better.
“Herbert Ames?”
Evola chuckled. “Otherwise known as Dirty Herbert. He was the deputy who filmed your lovely client making her lovely confession. It’s routine to list him, as you know. Odd duck. The cops say he shoots private porno as a hobby, although that’s only a rumor. I don’t know about that, but he always does a nice professional job for us. His official title is evidence technician.”
“I want to talk to him.”
“Why? All he did was run the camera.”
“Several times.”
Evola sighed. “I thought that was all behind us.”
“We still have the Walker hearing on the admissibility of Angel’s statement. I may call him myself then.”
He looked disappointed in me, as if I had just confessed to drowning small animals.
“I don’t see the point.”
He saw the point perfectly. Dirty Herbert could testify to the several versions of the alleged confession. He might even say why the other tape had been erased.
“Humor me, Mark. It’s that or I get the court to order it.”
“It might be a problem. He’s on vacation.”
“Isn’t it funny how cops always seem to take vacations when defense attorneys want to talk to them? It’s five weeks until trial. How long do you guys give for vacation? Or has he got you on one of his porno flicks?”
Evola’s smile was broad but not quite as quick. “Shame on you, Charley. Okay, if you want him I’ll get him for you. How about a couple days before the Walker hearing? He’ll be back by then.”
“Whatever. But if I don’t get to talk to him I’ll raise holy hell, Mark.”
“So would I if I were in your boots. I’ll have him for you, Charley. Don’t fret about it.”
It was one of
those promises. Evola wasn’t going to give up an inch, not if it was important.
“Who is Milo Zeck?”
“Who?”
“Milo Zeck.”
He looked up at the ceiling as if trying to recall the name, then he looked at me. “Oh yeah, him. He’s a cop.”
“Here?”
“All cops look alike to me, Charley.”
“Come on, Mark. Who is he?”
The leer was the kind you see on cartoon characters just before they smash their enemy into bits.
“A cop,” he said. “A Florida cop.”
“Just passing through and wanted the experience of testifying in a Michigan murder case?”
He laughed. “Close. But a little more than that.”
“Quit playing games. Who is this guy and how are you going to use him?”
Evola looked at me. I thought I saw pity. “He’s a detective down there. Your little Angel got her pretty little ass into some trouble a while back. He’ll testify to that.”
“Jesus, how can he? Arc we tossing out the rules of evidence here? You can’t prove a crime by showing another crime. You know that.”
“There are exceptions,” he said. “You can use it to show a common scheme, plan, or design, for instance.”
“That’s absurd in this case.”
He was no longer smiling. “Is it? Angel tried to kill daddy once before. She missed that time. She succeeded up here. We can show intent, Charley. We can show a plan to kill dear old dad. That’s how we will offer Detective Zeck’s testimony.”
It was almost impossible to appear calm, but I tried. “Is this a joke?”
Evola shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“I demand to talk to this cop, to take his statement.”
“Feel free. You can hop down to Florida or you can wait until he gets up here. If you like, I’ll have him flown in a day early just for you. It will cost the county extra, but, like I said, I’m a reasonable guy.”
“What do you mean, she tried to kill her father before?”
Evola shook his head slowly. “Morgan and Maguire talked to the guy. She tried to kill papa before. That’s about all I know.”
Shadow of A Doubt Page 26
