McHugh’s case might even be reheard by another panel, but he would lose. Anything else would look bad.
They might even end up bringing criminal charges against me, just to show that they took this matter very seriously.
For a minute I thought about calling up Judge Bishop and telling him I’d changed my mind, I would wear the wire, I would make a case on Judge Palmer.
But I didn’t.
Honor is a funny thing. Maybe even fatal.
I just turned again and watched the river.
I KEPT ON WATCHING, PUTTING MY MIND in a kind of neutral, and time passed. I almost forgot about my date with Sue Gillis.
I didn’t feel like dinner, and I didn’t feel like talking. But I went anyway.
When she opened her apartment door, I saw that she was dressed to kill, wearing a short black dinner dress, her hair and accessories perfect. She looked like a princess ready to go to the ball.
Apparently I didn’t look like a prince.
“Charley, what’s wrong? You look like you just lost your best friend.”
She stood aside and allowed me in.
I made a feeble attempt at a smile. “It’s been a difficult day.”
“If you were anyone else,” she said, “I’d offer you a drink.”
“How about an orange juice, or soda, if you have it.”
“Sit down.”
She went to the kitchen and returned with a tall glass full of juice and ice cubes. I closed my eyes and sipped, remembering something stronger.
“What happened?” she asked.
“It’s a long story. Boring, too.”
“Try me. I’m not easily bored.”
I shook my head. “It would ruin your dinner, I think.”
She studied me for a minute. “You really don’t want to go out to dinner, do you?”
“Sure. We have to eat.”
“I’m not hungry, Charley.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No. If we get hungry, we can send out for a pizza.”
“You’re all dressed up, Sue. You look terrific, by the way.”
“Thanks. Wait a minute, okay?”
“Sure.”
She went into her bedroom and closed the door. I walked over to the windows and looked out on the golf course. I could see a distant cart and several golfers. I thought of The Bishop. I wondered if he was on some course now.
In a few minutes Sue came back wearing a robe; the party clothes were gone.
“I wanted to get comfortable,” she said.
“You didn’t have to do that, Sue.”
“I know I didn’t.” She waited until I came back and sat down, then she sat opposite me.
“So tell me, Charley. Something’s been bothering you for some time. Is this it?”
I nodded.
“This isn’t something that I’ll have to arrest you for, is it?”
I laughed. “You’ll have to stand in line.”
“Oh, God, Charley, what have you done?”
It made no difference if I told her now. Everything would soon be a matter of public record.
I sipped the juice. “What I’ve done is I’ve been honest. And, this side of skydiving with no parachute, that’s about as dangerous a thing a person can do, as it turns out.”
“Go on, Charley.”
“Do you remember me talking about the McHugh case? The big appeal case I argued?”
“The paralyzed man.”
“That’s him.”
“So?”
I began to tell her the story, starting from the beginning, the first meeting with Mickey Monk, and as I talked it became easier.
She didn’t ask questions, merely nodded her head. I realized I was like a soldier debriefing after a battle. Once I began, it was difficult to shut me up.
She didn’t try.
I described the meeting at Bishop’s house.
“He didn’t tell you the police would be there?”
I shook my head. “To say the least, it was a very big surprise.”
“This Judge Bishop,” she said, “tell me more about him. How come you trust him as much as you obviously do?”
I had finished the juice and she got me another.
“It’s hard to explain. Everyone calls him The Bishop. He looks the part. Over the years, he’s been like the guru to everyone who ever came out of St. Benedict’s law school. If you were in a spot, or needed advice, it seemed natural to go to him.” I sighed. “He’s like everyone’s grandfather, after a fashion.”
“You said he was a classmate of this Judge Palmer?”
“Yeah. And Jeffrey Mallow was a year or two behind them.”
She shook her head slowly.
I raised an eyebrow in silent question.
“Charley, how come you have this reputation as being a smart attorney?”
I laughed. “It’s a question I ask myself often.”
“You were set up, I hope you realize that?”
“What do you mean?”
She looked away from me. “I’m a cop, Charley. I think a pretty good one, too.”
“I agree.”
“What you did was like going to the head fox to try to protect the chickens. Jesus, you said the bunch of you are like—”
“The mafia,” I said. “They call us the St. Benedict mafia.”
“Exactly. So you went to the don to try to turn in his capos.”
“The Bishop isn’t crooked.”
“Probably not. But he’s going to be looking out for his own people.”
“I’m one of those people.”
“Junior grade, Charley. The others are like him, judges, and powerful.”
“I don’t think you understand, Sue.”
“I understand better than you do. The Bishop’s the one who told you to play along, right?”
“Not to do the deal, just to see how far they would carry it out.”
“Sure.”
“C’mon, Sue, I’m not that stupid. I trust The Bishop.”
“Charley, do you know why he had the cops there today?”
“To start the investigation of Mallow and Palmer.”
She shook her head.
“Do you realize why they were so insistent that you wear a wire?”
“To make the case against Mallow, and Palmer, if possible.”
“No.”
“No?”
“They wanted you to wear that wire to set you up, Charley. You’d go to Mallow and he’d deny ever having made any kind of an offer. Think about it. That way, they’d have you on tape, caught in your own lie. Mallow would have been briefed and ready for you. They’d have a nice little case on a crooked lawyer, wrapped up real pretty like a Christmas package with a big, fat bow. You’d have been arrested and charged without a hiccup of publicity, or not much anyway, just another crooked lawyer caught.”
“But that’s paranoid!”
“Is it?”
“I think it is. I know Harry Sabin. He’s as straight as an arrow. He’d have no part of anything like that.”
“He wouldn’t have to know, would he?”
“What?”
“Your friend, The Bishop, would have set everything up like a pie recipe. The attorney general’s man would act like a normal prosecutor making a case. They’d expect that. No, the only people in this thing are your good friends, The Bishop, Palmer, and Mallow.”
“The Bishop’s no crook.”
“You thought that about Palmer, too, you said you did.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Maybe I’m wrong, Charley, but I think what you did was like going to Nixon to tell him about the Watergate burglary.”
“God, I hope you’re wrong.”
“So do I, Charley. So do I.”
We sat silently for a while.
“Should I order out for pizza?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Neither am I.”
She got up and came over and sat
beside me. She smelled good as she put a comforting arm around me.
“Maybe it’ll work out,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“Miracles do happen, Charley.”
I looked at her. “Do you really believe that?”
She didn’t reply.
I laughed. “Well, if a miracle happens, it’d better happen by Friday. I think that’s all the time I have left.”
“Friday’s a long way off,” she said.
She got up and led me to her bed. We lay there in our clothes, not making love, just wrapped in each other’s arms.
As I drifted off to sleep, I remembered thinking that at least this was consoling.
24
I awoke first on Sunday morning. Sue lay next to me, her breathing even and peaceful. I lay there, grateful to be with her. There are some benefits to living alone, but in times of trouble, it’s reassuring to feel the presence of someone else close by.
And trouble was what I was in. I tried not to think of what had happened, but that was impossible. Like remembering an old movie, some scenes from the past few days relentlessly played over and over again in my mind.
To escape my own thoughts I carefully got out of bed, still dressed, and tiptoed into Sue’s kitchen. I found the makings for coffee; her coffee maker was much like my own, so I soon had a good pot brewing, the aroma filling the apartment like pungent perfume.
It was the aroma that woke Sue, who seemed surprised to find me sitting there at her kitchen table until she apparently remembered we’d spent the night together.
She was not a morning person. Her usual peppy personality didn’t appear until she was halfway through her second cup of coffee. Then, as a good hostess, she made us both a huge breakfast of eggs and bacon and a ton of toast.
Since we hadn’t eaten dinner, we both fell on the food like wolves.
“My sister’s coming over today,” she said. “I’m taking her out to lunch. You’re welcome to come, Charley, if you like.”
It was one of those polite invitations, made with a certain lack of sincerity. I suspect she didn’t want to have to explain me to her sister.
“I’ll take a pass,” I said. “I have a million things to do at the office today, but thanks for inviting me.”
She nodded.
What I’d said wasn’t true, it was just a nice politic explanation that satisfied both of us.
After breakfast, we read the Sunday paper like an old married couple, exchanging sections and comments on what we read.
It had an old-shoe feeling about it.
When I’d finished the paper, I kissed her on the cheek. “I had better be going. Your sister will be here soon.”
“If I can help, Charley, in any way, just say the word,” she said, squeezing my hand.
“A ticket to Brazil, maybe, if I don’t think of something else.”
“You will,” she said, but she didn’t sound all that confident.
I went back to my own place, showered, shaved, and changed clothes. The light on my answering machine was blinking. I avoided it for a while, then decided I couldn’t put it off any longer.
I hit the message button and they came marching forward like little recorded soldiers. None of them had to do with The Bishop, Palmer, or anything connected with my present situation. None of them were urgent. All of them would keep.
The messages had just finished, the button had gone back to an unblinking red light when the phone rang.
I debated letting it ring, but then decided to pick it up.
“Mr. Sloan?” a man’s voice asked.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Sloan, you may not remember me. My name is Ray Panar. You were our lawyer when we bought our house last year.”
At first I didn’t remember, and then it clicked. He was a young guy with a pudgy wife and two howling little kids.
“I remember you, Mr. Panar. What’s up?”
“I need your help.”
“In what way?”
“I’ve been arrested.”
“Are you in jail now?”
“Oh, no. They let me out on a hundred-dollar cash bond last night. My trial comes up tomorrow morning. I’m calling from a gas station near my house.”
“What’s the charge?”
“I’m ashamed to say.”
“I have to know.”
He paused, then spoke in a whisper. “Accosting and soliciting.”
“Where were you arrested? A men’s room?”
“Hey! I’m not that kind of person. The police say I asked a woman for sex in a bar.”
“If that’s a crime, the jails will soon be full.”
“They said I offered her money. She turned out to be a policewoman.”
“If true, that’s a misdemeanor, Mr. Panar. Have you ever been arrested or convicted before?”
“Never. Not even a traffic ticket.”
“A first offense is usually just a fine. You don’t have too much to worry about.”
“But I do! They confiscated my car! I told my wife I had been in a minor accident but if they take my car . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Okay. Can you come to my office this afternoon?”
“I can come now. I told my wife I was just going out for cigarettes. I’m using her car. I can’t be away too long. She’s mad as it is about me coming in so late last night.”
“I’ll meet you at my office in five minutes. You remember where it is?”
“Yeah, right by the river.”
“Five minutes,” I said.
HE WAS WAITING FOR ME when I got there. The wife’s car was an ancient rusting station wagon. He was as I remembered him, a small compact man, beginning to bald, which made him look older than his thirty or so years. He was, I recalled, a tool and the maker, and although he made good money, his single income didn’t stretch very far. He had watched every penny when he had gone over the accounting at the real estate closing.
Ray Panar was dressed in wrinkled slacks and an old pullover.
We shook hands, and I led him up the outside stairs to my office.
He sat opposite me across the desk, his jaw tense with worry.
“Can I smoke?” he asked.
“Sure.” I shoved an ashtray over to him.
His hands shook as he lit a cigarette.
“What’s the usual fee for this sort of thing?” he asked, nervously expelling smoke.
“Depends. If it’s just a judge, trial is usually five hundred dollars. If it’s a jury, it runs more. Usually, this kind of thing isn’t a jury matter.”
His eyes widened at the amount. “I don’t have five hundred on me.”
“Well, it’s customary for a fee in a criminal case to be paid before the case is heard. Can you have it in the morning?”
He nodded. “Do you take checks?”
“Sure.”
He seemed relieved. “I can just cover that then.”
“Suppose we start from the beginning, Mr. Panar. Tell me what happened last night. Don’t leave anything out, it might be important legally.”
He nodded and inhaled deeply.
I was glad to have my mind occupied by something besides my own brand of troubles. As a diversion, Panar’s would do nicely.
“Well, none of this should have happened,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t intend for anything like this. I got off work and had a few beers with some of the people I work with. I usually do of a Saturday night when I’ve put in a day of overtime.”
“Go on.”
“If I had just stopped there, it would have been all right, but I decided to have a few more beers on my own. You know, kind of get away from things for a while.”
“Where did you go?”
“A couple of places. You know the Glisten Inn?”
It was a run-down old restaurant that employed rundown old go-go dancers on weekends. I had represented the run-down old owner several times in brushes with the law.
“I know the place,” I said.
&
nbsp; He nodded, coloring slightly. “I don’t usually go to places like that, but, like I say, I just wanted to get away from things for a while.”
He tried to smile. “Do you have children, Mr. Sloan? Young children?”
“I have a grown daughter.”
“Well then, you probably remember how hectic things can get around a house with little kids running around. The wife most times is angry about this or that. It’s always something. Anyway, I was going home, but I just didn’t want to go home just then. You know what I mean?”
I nodded. My daughter had been raised by her mother after the divorce. I remember only the good things about a little girl, but then memory can be handily selective.
“Was this policewoman at the Glisten Inn?”
He shook his head. “No. I had a couple of more beers there. They have dancers there, you know.”
“I know.”
“I left there and decided to have just one more beer before going home. Do you know that little bar up by Morad Road, the Sand’s Point?”
“I’ve driven past it. It looks like a dump from the outside.”
“It is. I was never there before. There were only a couple of people in the place even though it was a Saturday night.”
“One of them was the policewoman?”
He nodded. “You couldn’t help but notice her. She was very pretty, sitting up there at one end of the bar, sort of sexy like. Well, very sexy like, actually. I sat at the other end of the bar and had another beer.”
“Go on.”
As he talked, he became more embarrassed, his cheeks pinking up like underdone pork chops.
“Anyway, she kept smiling at me and I had the bartender buy her a drink. I had a couple of hundred in cash on me. Where I work Friday’s payday. She motioned for me to come and sit by her, and I did.”
“Who spoke first?”
He frowned. “I don’t remember. Maybe she did, or I did. I don’t have much experience in that sort of thing.” The pink got pinker. “This was, well, the first time, if you get my drift.”
“I do. Go on.”
“She said I was a good-looking fellow and that I was probably more of a man than my wife could handle.”
“And that led to just how much of a man you were, I presume?”
“Yeah, it went like that. I was a little tipsy to be frank about it and I was sort of having a good time. Anyway, she says she can help me out, you know, with my sexual problems.”
Death Penalty Page 29
