by Parnell Hall
Kemper shifted in his seat. “I read it in a book.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “Yeah. I was sure you had.” Steve shook his head. “Tell me something, will you? The hero in the book you read, the book about the half a dollar—did you like him?”
Kemper stared at him. “What?”
“Was he sympathetic, a nice guy, someone you’d really root for? I mean, you really wanted him to win, right?”
Kemper frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
“That’s what’s wrong here. If you were the hero of that book, it never would have gotten published. The editor would have thrown it back in the author’s face. Because you’re not sympathetic. You’re not the romantic hero. You’re a self-centered egotistical son of a bitch, who’s playing around with a younger, richer woman who happens to be the stepsister of his wife. And then you get involved in a murder, but that doesn’t faze you, because you ripped some idea out of a storybook to hire some poor fucking lawyer to get you out of this mess. Well, I’ve got news for you. There ain’t a hell of a lot I can do. Sheila Benton told you I was good, well good for her. She didn’t get acquitted in court. She got acquitted ’cause there was a break in the case and it had nothing to do with what went on in that courtroom. I had something to do with it, yeah, but that was just luck. I wouldn’t count on it happening here. The problem is, you’re spoiled by books and TV, you think everything has a happy ending. I know what you expect from me. You want a courtroom confession. I’m gonna cross-examine the witnesses, and someone’s gonna break down on the witness stand and say, ‘I did it,’ and you and Marilyn will live happily ever after.
“Well, I got news for you, it doesn’t happen that way. I can’t get you a courtroom confession. I can’t solve this fucking crime. All I can do is make a showing in court and try to make the jury, one, like you and two, believe you. And we got a big problem there. Because I don’t like you, and I don’t believe you. So how the hell am I gonna make twelve other people do it?”
Kemper started to flare up again, but it just wasn’t in him anymore. His face contorted, and he wilted in his chair. He looked as if he were about to cry. For the first time, Steve almost felt sorry for him.
Kemper controlled himself and looked up at Winslow. “You’re saying you won’t be my attorney?”
Steve Winslow chuckled. “Now there, Mr. Kemper, you bring up an interesting point. Am I your attorney? You’re damn right I am. I happen to be withholding evidence from the police on the grounds that I’m protecting the confidence of a client. You’re the client. So like it or not, I’m stuck with you. So let’s cut out the bullshit, and get down to brass tacks.”
33.
FITZPATRICK REGARDED STEVE WINSLOW WITH superior disdain. “I fail to see what we have to talk about.”
“That’s because you haven’t had time to think things over. When you do, you’ll see that we have a lot to talk about. I’m afraid I don’t have time for your thought process to catch up with you, so I’m going to fill you in.”
“Your arrogance is amazing.”
“Isn’t it? When I find myself painted into a corner, I see no reason to be polite.”
“You threw me out of your office. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you out of mine?”
“I can give you plenty of reasons. You haven’t thought this over yet, but when you do you’re going to find out you’re painted into a corner too.”
“I fail to see it.”
“Only one of your many failings, Fitzpatrick. Remember when you came to my office in the spirit of cooperation?—we have similar interests, we could help each other?—well, it was bullshit then, but it happens to be true now.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I know you don’t. So I’m going to spell it out for you. Then you can throw me out of your office, and we’ll be even, and you’ll feel you’ve had a good day.”
“You’re trying my patience, Winslow. Why don’t you cut the commercial and get on with it.”
“Fine. Here’s the situation. You and I have to sit here and figure out which way the cat’s gonna jump. The cat is Dirkson. He’s gonna have Douglas Kemper indicted for murder. Now, is he gonna have him indicted as a codefendant in this action, or is he gonna try him separately later on?”
“He’ll try him separately, of course.”
“Of course. I heard Marilyn Harding’s indictment... acting alone, or in concert with others, did feloniously cause ...” etc., etc. Dirkson doesn’t need Douglas Kemper as a codefendant. He has the criminal conspiracy element already in the charge. He can show Marilyn Harding and Douglas Kemper were acting in concert. That’s why he’s not concerned that the witness Millburn says she heard a man arguing with Bradshaw. As far as Dirkson’s concerned, he couldn’t care less whether it was Marilyn Harding or Douglas Kemper who struck the actual blow. Both of them were being blackmailed together. He’s got criminal conspiracy, he’s trying Marilyn on the charge, and some of it’s gonna stick.
“And the thing is, Dirkson doesn’t even care how much, because as soon as he nails her on anything, he’s gonna turn around and try her for killing her father. And when he does that, if he’s got any conviction at all in this case, she is gonna have the chance of the proverbial snowball in hell.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“All right, I will. Your client hasn’t talked. Mine has.”
Fitzpatrick seemed interested for the first time. “He’s told his story?”
“Yes, he has.”
“And?”
“And it doesn’t help us a bit. Kemper would like to make a case for Marilyn being innocent without actually implicating himself. Marilyn, if she were willing to talk, would probably do the same for him.” Steve shrugged. “Big deal. In the first place, nobody’s gonna believe either one of them. Which leaves you with the basic toss-up situation. One of them must have done it. Pick a client, any client. She’s your client, and he’s mine. You could probably make a fairly strong argument for the fact he must have done it, and I could probably make a fairly strong argument for the fact she must have done it. But the thing is, we’d be slitting our own throats. Because of the criminal conspiracy bit.”
“That’s elemental. So you’re saying because of that we should work together. Well, I don’t buy it.”
Steve grinned. “I know you don’t. That because that’s not your plan. You don’t want to push it on Kemper. You want to prove some third party committed the crime. And I happen to be the third party. The problem is, it won’t work.”
“Is that so?” Fitzpatrick grinned. “You’re an attorney, Winslow. Think about it. I don’t have to prove you killed Bradshaw. All I have to do is raise reasonable doubt. You’ve been in court. You heard what happened. You tell me. Do I have reasonable doubt?”
Steve shook his head. “You did, but you don’t now. I told you, you haven’t thought it over, Fitzpatrick. You may be a good attorney, but you’re a bit of a slow take. I’m Douglas Kemper’s attorney. Anything I’ve done reflects on him. I was acting for my client. You want to put me at the scene of the crime, it doesn’t implicate me anymore, it implicates him. And if he and Marilyn were acting in concert, it implicates her. So all this good work you’ve done creating reasonable doubt just went down the tubes. Worse than that, it’s all backfiring in your face, ’cause the mud you throw at me sticks to her.”
Fitzpatrick frowned.
“Now look,” Steve said. “We are in a mess. I say we, and I mean we. It’s you and me, kid. Semper fidelis. Now if you still wanna throw me out of your office, feel free. But if not, let’s sit down, put our heads together, and see what we can do to get out of this mess.”
34.
MARILYN HARDING HAD BEEN CRYING. This time, she had done nothing to conceal the fact, not that it would have done her any good. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks were caked with tears.
She was sitting in a chair in Fitzpatrick’s office. Fitzpatrick had lead her in and sat her down
. She had come docilely, mechanically, without life or spirit. Now she sat, staring blankly ahead of her, as if she’d lost all will of her own, as if she were an automaton, just waiting to be told what to do next.
“Marilyn,” Fitzpatrick said. “This is Steve Winslow. Douglas Kemper’s lawyer. The lawyer who spoke with you at your house. I’ve just had a long talk with him, and I think he can help us. Frankly, we need help.”
Marilyn gave no sign of comprehension.
Fitzpatrick leaned forward. “Do you hear what I’m saying? Do you understand?”
Marilyn’s head nodded slightly. She said, softly, “Yes.”
“Good,” Fitzpatrick said. “Mr. Winslow has just had a talk with Douglas Kemper. Now he needs to have a talk with you. I’m going to leave the two of you alone now. I want you to listen to him carefully and hear what he has to say.”
Fitzpatrick didn’t push it by waiting for another response. He just nodded to Steve Winslow and eased himself out the door.
Steve stood looking down at Marilyn Harding. This was it. This was his shot. He had to get her talking now, if he was going to do any good at all.
The prospects didn’t look good. Despite Marilyn’s outward appearance of defeat, her jawline was still set firmly, her face was still hard, stubborn, defiant. Steve Winslow read it all in that set jaw. How could he get her talking? What could he say?
Steve Winslow pulled up a chair, sat down, stretched, yawned, crossed his legs, leaned back, and said, “Douglas Kemper’s a jerk.”
Marilyn Harding’s head snapped up. She stared at him, defiantly.
“Yeah, I know,” Steve said. “I shouldn’t be saying things like that about my own client. But what the hell. You gotta call a spade a spade. The man’s a complete jerk. You know what he’s done?”
Marilyn Harding just glared at him.
Steve Winslow sat calmly and waited.
Finally, Marilyn said, “What?”
Bingo, Steve thought. He’d done it. He got her to say one word. Not a particularly illuminating one by any stretch of the imagination, but still a word. The next ones would come easier.
“He’s talked,” Steve said. “He’s told his story. Don’t worry. Not to the press, not to the public. Just to me. Believe me, it’s going no further. I promise you that. There isn’t a lawyer alive that would let that story go any further.”
There was another pause, then Marilyn said, “Why?”
“If you heard it, you’d know. But you haven’t heard it, have you? No. Douglas hasn’t had a chance to lay that one on you. No, he’s had his own problems. Right now he’s facing a charge of perjury, but that’s the least of it. When I left him a little while ago, back in the lockup, his wife Phyllis was there posting his bail. Some woman, huh? Cold, practical, determined. Gonna get her husband out of the cooler. Stand by her man.” Winslow shook his head. “Poor Douglas. If I were him, I’d rather stay in jail. The talk I had with him was nothing. Imagine the interrogation he’s going through now.”
Marilyn’s lower lip trembled. She controlled it.
Steve Winslow sat, said nothing.
Marilyn looked at him. “His story.”
“What?” Steve said.
“His story. He told you his story.”
Steve shook his head. “Yeah. Bad news.”
Marilyn glared at him. “Damn it, what’s his story?”
“Oh,” Steve said. “Well, first of all, you have to remind yourself none of this is getting out. I’ve said it before, but it’s worth saying again, because I don’t want to have to scrape you off the ceiling. None of this is getting out. This is just what the young man has admitted to me, his lawyer, in a confidential communication. All right?”
“Yes, yes,” Marilyn said, impatiently. “What is it?”
“Well, he admits the affair. Blames no one, has no regrets. You two were victims of fate, etc., etc. Says Bradshaw made a blackmail approach to you, you paid him off, he found out, was horrified, and bought the bills back for twelve grand. Only Bradshaw switched bills on him, which is why the bills found on the body turned out to be yours.” Winslow shrugged. “No big deal. You knew all that. The cops don’t, but they can make a lot of inferences. Fortunately, inferences don’t stand up in court.
“Now, here’s the bad part. Day of the murder. You called Kemper at work, hysterical, ’cause Bradshaw made another blackmail demand. He’s to meet you at the coffee shop at four o’clock. He doesn’t show. You leave without him.
“Now, what he claims, and I stress the word claims, is he got to the coffee shop just after five and missed you, so he beat it down to Bradshaw’s, double parked, ran in, and found Bradshaw dead on the floor.”
Marilyn looked at him. She was a poker player, betraying nothing. “That’s it?”
“No, it’s worse. He came out the front door, got in his car, started to pull out, and just as he was turning the corner he saw you come down the street and enter the building. He beat it around the block to catch up with you, but got caught in traffic and got back just in time to see you leave the building, hop in a car and pull out. At which point he would have stopped you, had he not noticed you were being followed by detectives.”
Marilyn said nothing. She sat looking at him. Her face was white.
“You see why I can’t let him tell that story,” Steve said. “In the first place, no one on God’s green earth is going to believe it. It’s a lie, and a clumsy lie at that. He’s trying to protect you by proving that when you got to Bradshaw’s apartment, Bradshaw was already dead. Nice try, but it won’t work. It may be inadmissible in court, but the fact is, in the eyes of the jury, you and Douglas Kemper were lovers. That means any alibi he tries to give you isn’t worth a damn. He claims he got to Bradshaw’s first. Out of twelve jurors, we’d be damn lucky if half of them believed that. Of the few that did, none of them are going to believe that Bradshaw was already dead. Not with the next door neighbor testifying to an altercation. One doesn’t have an altercation with a dead man. Anyone who believes Kemper got there first is gonna believe he had a fight with Bradshaw and killed him. Which doesn’t help you in the least. Because of the theory that you and Douglas Kemper were lovers, you’re a coconspirator, which makes you equally guilty.”
Marilyn bit her lip.
“That’s the story, and I’m not going to let him tell it, and I guess you can see why.”
Marilyn said nothing.
“Now,” Steve said, “no one’s gonna let you tell your story either, Fitzpatrick or I, but we need to hear it.”
She still said nothing.
“Look,” Steve said. “There’s no reason for you not to talk now. The cat’s out of the bag. At least as far as we’re concerned. You can’t hurt Douglas, and you can’t hurt yourself. There’s no reason to sit on your hands. There are some things we gotta know. I happen to know Douglas Kemper’s story is bullshit. Now let’s talk about what really happened. You got there first, didn’t you?”
Marilyn set her jaw.
“Didn’t you?” Steve persisted.
“I’m not going to talk about it,” Marilyn said.
“All right, then I will,” Steve said. “If you got there first, there are only two possibilities: Bradshaw was already dead, or you killed him. I know that for a fact. How do I know that for a fact? I know that because Douglas Kemper arrived right after you, not before you like he said, but after. And he went in there and he found Bradshaw dead. And that’s why he’s in such a panic, and that’s why he’s telling this bullshit story. It’s a story no second grader would believe, but he has to say something, and you’ll forgive me but he’s not that bright.
“No, the way I see it, you got there first and Bradshaw was already dead. And the ironic thing is you. You buy Kemper’s story. You’re probably the only person in the world who’d buy it, but you do. The reason is, you got there and found Bradshaw dead, and you immediately figured Kemper killed him. That’s what you thought, and that’s what you still think, and that’s why you
’re refusing to talk. You buy Kemper’s story that he got there first. You don’t buy the part that he found him dead. If you did there’d be no reason for you not to talk. You figure Kemper got there first and killed him. You’re taking the rap to protect him, just like he’s taking the rap to protect you. Very noble, very romantic, and very stupid. Kemper didn’t get there first. Unless you killed Bradshaw, there’s no reason for you to keep quiet.”
Marilyn still said nothing.
Steve sighed. Yeah. He’d really got her to open up, hadn’t he? “All right,” he said. “Here’s the situation. I’m joining the defense team. The only way for me to get Kemper out is to get the two of you out. So I’m hoppin’ on board. Fitzpatrick isn’t too happy about it, but he realizes he has little choice.
“You don’t have much choice either, but it’s still your decision. You have any objections to me working on your behalf?”
Marilyn looked at him a few moments. “No,” she said.
Steve nodded and stood up. “Fine,” he said. “See you in court.”
35.
JUDGE GRAVES WAS ATTEMPTING TO maintain his air of judicial impartiality. Even so, he couldn’t help betraying his skepticism as he peered down from his bench at the defense table.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” he said. “Would you mind repeating that again?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Fitzpatrick said. “I merely wanted to inform the court that Miss Harding has secured additional representation. Mr. Winslow here has joined the defense as associate counsel.”
Judge Graves frowned. He looked again at the defense table, where Steve Winslow, in a white shirt, blue tie, corduroy jacket and jeans, made such an incongruous picture standing next to Fitzpatrick in his three-piece suit. “That is Mr. Steve Winslow?” he said.
“That’s right.”
“The same Steve Winslow who came forward yesterday as counsel for Douglas Kemper?”
