Shadow of A Doubt

by William J. Coughlin

  The betting would be on a Monday or Tuesday verdict. Longer might mean a hung jury and a mistrial. Quicker would mean they had no major problems with the decision. That could be very bad for the defense. A quick verdict usually meant a victory for the prosecution.

  I was about to call the court at eight o’clock and tell them they could reach me at home, but the phone rang as I was reaching for it.

  It was the court clerk. They had a verdict.

  It was very quick. Too quick. That didn’t bode well for Angel.

  I called and spoke again to Bernard. He said Angel and Robin would leave for court right away.

  If the verdict was guilty ... I couldn’t allow myself to think about what would happen then. I suppose I should have been thinking of Angel. But I really was thinking of myself.

  *

  I GOT there quickly.

  But when I arrived the media people had already jammed themselves into every available courtroom seat. I don’t know how they got there so fast, but they did. They appeared as eager and as tense as a fight crowd awaiting the main event. The sense of suspense was almost physical.

  Evola was sitting there with Morgan and Maguire. If he was eager or excited, he didn’t show it. His face was calm, but his jaw was rigid, the only visible indication of his anxiety.

  Angel hadn’t yet arrived. We all waited for her.

  Evola caught my eye as I sat opposite him at the counsel table.

  There was no smile. “Whatever happens, Sloan, your ass is grass.”

  “I’ll keep that good thought,” I replied.

  Noise in the courtroom behind us indicated that Angel had arrived. She came in followed by Robin, the security men, and Nate Golden.

  Robin Harwell looked worried. Nate Golden looked worried. Angel Harwell appeared entirely unconcerned.

  She nodded to me, but said nothing. A court officer escorted her to the empty prisoners’ box on the opposite side of the courtroom from the jury box.

  I walked over. It is customary for a lawyer to stand next to his client when the verdict is announced.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She gazed at me impassively, then said, “I’m fine.” If she felt the slightest fear or any other emotion, it wasn’t evident. She could have been waiting for a bus.

  “They didn’t take long,” I said, to make conversation. She didn’t reply.

  The judge came out, took his accustomed place, and nodded to the court officer. The jury trooped out, following the court officer in single file. They formed a semicircle in front of the judge’s bench.

  The judge remained standing.

  The clerk voiced the traditional question. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict? And if so, who will speak for you?”

  The first juror in the semicircle, a woman, said in an unnaturally loud voice, “We have reached a verdict, and I will speak.”

  “What is your verdict?” the judge asked.

  It was so quiet, it was as if time had stopped.

  And then she spoke.

  “We find the defendant not guilty.”

  *

  THE courtroom erupted. No cheering, no boos, just noise. None of the spectators really cared about the result. They were just excited about getting the story.

  Angel was formally discharged by the judge and before I could say anything except warn her not to talk to anyone, she was engulfed in a tidal wave of her security people and reporters.

  I got caught in my own wave. I was facing a wall of screaming voices, opened mouths. Some hand behind shoved me forward, others pulled. It was like being caught in a riot.

  I was jostled along until I ended up at a stand in the hall where the news services had set up banks of microphones in front of a small podium. The television lights were blinding and I squinted out at the bank of cameras set back of the mob of newspeople. It was a madhouse. I hoped the security men had been able to spirit Angel away.

  As I tried to adjust my eyes to the lights I wondered if the trial would have received such frantic attention if it had happened at any other time of the year. August was usually a lousy month for news. People went on vacations and the world slowed. They damn near closed up Paris every August. But if you had to put on a news show or get out a newspaper you just couldn’t shrug and say nothing happened. You had to find something or get another job.

  Which was why all these people were shouting at me. Nothing else interesting was happening. We were the show du jour.

  I held up one hand and smiled. “One at a time please,” I said as calmly as I could.

  It didn’t help. They continued to try to outshout each other. One deep bass voice rose above the others like a clap of thunder.

  “Did the verdict surprise you, Charley?” he yelled.

  “This was a complicated case,” I said. “There are people who criticize the American criminal justice system.” I tried looking as pontifical as I possibly could. “And, admittedly, there are things that could stand some fine tuning. However, while our system is not absolutely perfect, it does the job. In my opinion, the verdict here tonight clearly demonstrates that our system still works. That didn’t surprise me.”

  I didn’t pause or I would have been interrupted.

  “Harrison Harwell’s tragic death was suicide, not murder. I believe the verdict of not guilty validates that position.” I said it as if I meant it. I had once. But I wasn’t so sure anymore. “That is not to say that this wasn’t a difficult case for everyone concerned.”

  I went on quickly. “I want to thank each member of the jury. They listened carefully to all the testimony and they did their job with diligence and intelligence.” That was true enough. “And I want to thank Judge Brown, who was both wise and impartial.” That was stretching things a bit, but I still had to face Brown’s wrath, and although the victory would rob him of the ability to do me any significant harm, I thought a few kind words might save me from anything more serious than a nasty scolding.

  “Are you happy with the outcome?” some idiot yelled.

  Everybody laughed.

  I nodded solemnly. “I think you could safely say that.”

  “Did you really think you would win?” one of the disembodied voices demanded.

  “I prayed that we would. I was convinced that Angel Harwell was innocent. I had trust in our system of justice.”

  “Is that why you pulled all that, stuff?”

  I tried to peer into the lights to see who had asked the question.

  “Hey, Charley!” Another voice spoke. “The prosecutor said you’re unethical, that you cheated to win. Is that true?”

  “I put in the very best case I could,” I said evenly. “Everything I did was fair and ethical.”

  I was surprised at the laughter.

  “Ethical, like in having the widow take the Fifth Amendment, Charley?” someone called out, the tone sly and deriding. “Or how about the brainwashing doctors? Charley, you did everything but admit to the killing yourself.”

  It was no time to show anger, although I felt it. I tried to smile. “I believe in a vigorous defense, if that’s what you mean.”

  I didn’t like the laughter. It wasn’t nice responsive laughter. It was more of a disbelieving snicker. It was the kind of sound people might have made if Jesse James got up and said he had never robbed a bank.

  “What’s Angel going to do now?” a woman called out.

  “She’ll get on with her life. This has all been a horrible nightmare for her.”

  “Is she really nuts, Charley, or was that just another one of your special effects?”

  Laughter again.

  “Angel Harwell had, like many of us, some emotional difficulty during a very stormy and sad adolescence. From her father’s tragic death through this trial, she has been in a crucible that could break anyone, but she has survived.” I tried to look mildly offended. “There have been no tricks, by the way.”

  More laughter.

  “Evola says he�
�s going to complain to the bar association about you. He called you a shyster,” someone snapped. “Aren’t you afraid they might jerk your license?”

  “No.” I smiled to show confidence. Actually, I was pretty sure of that answer. Winning can cure many ills, including charges of incompetence. Nothing succeeds like success. If I had lost, they would have absolutely nailed me, but winning was my shield, it was my proof of competence.

  But I didn’t like the implication of their questions, or the telltale laughter. Their perception would show up on television and be reported in detail in the papers. If I came out with a reputation as an unprincipled courtroom trickster, it might be good for getting business — anyone who is guilty of anything wants a lawyer who can beat the rap, fool the jury, buy the judge — but it can be fatal in court. Judges and other lawyers shun someone with that reputation as they might a leper. And eventually, that reputation invites defeat and disgrace.

  I had just won a great courtroom victory. I had done it fairly and ethically, but that didn’t count. I was being tagged by the world’s press as an unscrupulous trickster.

  I could just imagine what Evola would say when he followed me for his turn before the microphones.

  “Now that you’re king of the hill are you going to move back to Detroit, Charley?”

  The question was followed by snickers.

  I shook my head. “No. Look, this case is over. I’m going back to doing what I did before, just practicing law, nothing more. I’m just a small-town lawyer.”

  They erupted into explosive laughter. Maybe I should have gone into standup comedy.

  I stepped away from the microphones and pushed my way through the newspeople, being careful to keep smiling. I heard Evola’s voice as he started his news conference. I couldn’t hear his words, but I recognized his tone.

  Outrage.

  *

  I MADE it out to the parking lot alone. The media were now focused on Mark Evola.

  As I climbed into my car I jumped back. Someone was seated in the passenger’s side.

  “Jesus, don’t you ever lock your car, Charley?”

  I recognized the voice before I could see her in the dim light.

  “Who would want to steal it?” I said to Mary Beth Needham.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you, Charley, but I wanted to have the chance to talk to you alone for a minute. I thought your car was probably my best bet.” Her cigarette glowed in the dark as she inhaled.

  “Actually, I should be very angry with you,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Winning that case may have ruined my chance for a best seller. People love to read the juicy details when there has been a conviction. An acquittal, unless it proves someone else did it, isn’t very sexy. And a suicide, if that’s what it was, is just sad. People can get sad on their own, they don’t have to buy books to do it.”

  I laughed. “Sorry.”

  She blew some smoke at me. “Well, despite my own little disappointment, I did want you to know I thought you did a splendid job.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How do you feel, Charley? I mean, how do you really feel?”

  “Elated doesn’t quite catch it.”

  “I’ve done quite a bit of research about you,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “You’re good with juries.”

  “It’s the system, not me.”

  “Whatever, you’re back on top of the world.”

  I laughed. “Did you ever see the movie White Heat with James Cagney?”

  “I probably did.”

  “You remind me of Cagney’s exit line. He’s on top of a huge gasoline tank and surrounded by cops. He’s important once more, the top gangster. He’s crazy but he’s ecstatic. He yells ‘Top of the world, Ma,’ just before he fires his pistol into the tank and blows everything up. I feel a little like that. Top of the world, Ma.”

  She studied me in the dim light. “I don’t know if I’d want to equate success with self-destruction. But to each his own.”

  She reached over and kissed me on the cheek and then slipped out the car.

  “Good-bye, Charley,” she called out as she walked away. “If I ever kill anybody you’ll be the first person I’ll call.”

  28

  THERE WAS ONLY ONE TELEVISION TRUCK IN FRONT of the Harwell place. The crew waved to me as if I were an old friend.

  I wondered if the two guards would let me through. There were no welcoming smiles but I was waved on in.

  Dennis Bernard met me at the door.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Sloan.”

  “Thanks, Bernard.”

  There seemed to be a lot of activity. Members of the household staff were busily scurrying about.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re packing up,” he said, smiling. “Everyone is going back to Florida tonight.”

  “Pretty sudden, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t reply, just smiled and then indicated that I should follow him, once again leading me toward the atrium.

  They were both there, alone, sitting in the same two chairs drawn up together. Robin looked tired but Angel was as fresh and relaxed as if nothing had happened.

  “Well, hail the conquering hero.” Robin raised her glass in salute.

  Angel merely nodded.

  “Get Mr. Sloan a drink, Bernard.” Robin paused. “No liquor, just orange juice or something. Right, Charley?”

  “I’ll pass, thanks.” I remembered the taste of vodka and how wonderful it made me feel, at least for a while. Maybe I would drink, later. But I had other things to do first.

  I sat in a chair opposite them. “Bernard says you’re going back to Florida tonight.”

  “Yes.” Robin nodded. “I told the realtor to wait a week and then put this place up for sale. He thinks we may get a million, although the market is soft. But these river-front places, he said, are still hot.”

  “You’ve had it appraised by a realtor?”

  Robin nodded. “Last week.”

  “So this is it then, no more Pickeral Point?”

  Angel’s laugh was more of a snort.

  Robin smiled. “We bid fond adieu as of tonight. Both of us need a vacation, Charley. We were thinking of a cruise, maybe Alaska. It’s not too cold yet. It should be quite wonderful this time of year.”

  “Robin, could I talk to Angel in private? Just for a few minutes.”

  Robin looked concerned. She glanced at Angel. I could sense she hoped that Angel would object.

  Angel shrugged. “Why not?”

  Robin nodded. “I have a dozen things I should be doing anyway.”

  She got up and ran her hand over Angel’s head, stroking her gently. She smiled at me and left.

  Angel sipped her drink. “Well? What is it, Charley? Money?”

  “I’ll send a final bill.”

  She smiled that peculiar little Mona Lisa smile. “Well then, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Several things, Angel. First, I’m sorry you didn’t trust me enough to tell me in the beginning about the sexual abuse by your father.”

  The little smile faded. “What difference would it have made?”

  “If I had known, there might have been a chance to get the prosecutor to drop the charge, or failing that, knock it down to at least manslaughter.”

  “He would have been sympathetic then, is that what you’re saying? Everyone understands child abuse, don’t they, Charley?”

  I nodded. “Yes. That’s why you should have told me. I presume that’s what was deleted from those treatment records. Your father arranged that, didn’t he?”

  She nodded. “He arranged to have the records altered. Anyway, it’s done now, everything is water over the dam.”

  “You still should have told me.”

  “Maybe I should have. What else did you want to discuss?”

  “May I be frank?”

  The little Mona Lisa smile came back. “Please.”

 
“Angel, suppose your father’s death wasn’t a suicide?”

  “So?”

  “If you didn’t kill him, then who did?”

  She shrugged. “That’s rather irrelevant now, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe not. I’m thinking about your safety.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Because if your father was murdered and you didn’t do it, I hate to say it, but the logical candidate is Robin.”

  “I suppose this all comes out of that Fifth Amendment business in court. She was trying to draw suspicion to herself. That doesn’t mean she did anything, Charley. She only refused to testify to try and help me.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no.”

  “Charley, relax. Robin didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know that, for certain?”

  “I would think that would be obvious.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I did it, Charley.”

  The little Mona Lisa smile remained.

  “I wouldn’t make jokes like that, Angel.”

  “What a sweet, trusting man you are, Charley. Robin said you were but I really didn’t believe her completely. I don’t think most lawyers are, do you? Do you want a drink now, Charley? You look a little pale.”

  “Cm’on, Angel. This is too serious for this kind of thing.”

  “It wasn’t planned, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She sighed and sipped from her glass. “I didn’t go to his study with the idea of hurting him. Things just got out of hand. We were screaming at each other, the sword was hanging there. I grabbed it and stabbed him. It sort of just happened.”

  ‘If you thought he was going to try to rape you, you had a right to defend yourself.”

  “Rape?”

  “You testified he had raped you before.”

  Angel laughed. It was an odd sound, humorless, like small, silver bells, only they were bells that sounded slightly out of sync.

  “Oh, Charley. He never touched me. Not sexually. He would have died first.”

  “But you testified —”

  “Frankly, I lied. Not a pretty thing to do perhaps, but human. It saved my neck. Look, I read. So many people have been abused as children. I wasn’t. But even those who haven’t been have empathy for anyone who was. That jury was no different. That’s why I said what I did.”