Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune

by Jeffrey Archer

  “Yes, I can,” said Nat, “and now that I’ve met your mother, I’d like you to meet mine, because I am equally proud of her.” Su Ling laughed.

  “Why do you laugh, little flower?” asked Nat.

  “In my country, for a man to meet a woman’s mother is to admit to a relationship. If the man then asks you to meet his mother, it means betrothal. If he then does not marry the girl, she will be a spinster for the rest of her life. However, I will take that risk, because Tom asked me to marry him yesterday when you were running away.

  Nat bent down, kissed her on the lips and then placed both his feet gently on top of hers. She smiled. “I love you too,” she said.

  20

  “WHAT DO YOU make of it?” asked Jimmy.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Fletcher, who glanced over at the attorney general’s table, but none of the state’s team gave any sign of looking either anxious or confident.

  “You could always ask Professor Abrahams for his opinion,” said Annie.

  “Why, is he still around?”

  “I saw him roaming up and down the corridor only a few moments ago.”

  Fletcher left the table, pushed open the little wooden gate dividing the court from the public and strode quickly out of the courtroom into the corridor. He glanced up and down the wide marble expanse, but didn’t spot the professor until the crowds near the rotunda staircase parted to reveal a distinguished-looking man seated in the corner, head down, writing notes on a legal pad. Court officials and members of the public rushed past him, unaware of his presence. Fletcher walked apprehensively across to join him and watched as the old man continued making notes. He didn’t feel he could interrupt, so he waited until the professor eventually looked up.

  “Ah, Davenport,” he said, tapping the bench beside him. “Take a seat. You have an inquiring look on your face, so how may I assist you?”

  Fletcher sat beside him. “I only wanted to ask your opinion on why the jury has been out for so long. Should I read anything into it?”

  The professor checked his watch. “Just over five hours,” he said. “No, I wouldn’t consider that long for a capital charge. Juries like to let you know that they’ve taken their responsibility seriously, unless of course it’s cut and dried, and this case certainly wasn’t.”

  “Do you have any feel for what the outcome might be?” asked Fletcher anxiously.

  “You can never second-guess a jury, Mr. Davenport; twelve people chosen at random, with little in common, though I must say, with a couple of exceptions, they looked a fair-minded lot. So what’s your next question?”

  “I don’t know, sir, what is my next question?”

  “What should I do if the verdict goes against me?” He paused. “An eventuality you must always prepare for.” Fletcher nodded. “Answer? You immediately ask the judge for leave to appeal.” The professor tore off one of the sheets of yellow paper and handed it across to his pupil. “I hope you will not consider it presumptuous of me, but I have jotted down a simple form of words for every eventuality.”

  “Including guilty?” said Fletcher.

  “No need to be that pessimistic yet. First we must consider the possibility of a hung jury. I observed in the center of the back row a juror who never once looked at our client while she was on the witness stand. But I noticed that you also spotted the lady on the far end of the front row who lowered her eyes when you held up the scorched palm of Mrs. Kirsten’s right hand.”

  “What do I do if it is a hung jury?”

  “Nothing. The judge, although not the brightest legal mind currently sitting on the appellate bench, is meticulous and fair when it comes to points of law, so he will ask the jury if they are able to return a majority verdict.”

  “Which in this state is ten to two.”

  “As it is in forty-three other states,” the professor reminded him.

  “But if they are unable to agree on a majority verdict?”

  “The judge is left with no choice but to dismiss the jury and ask the attorney general if he wishes to call for a retrial, and before you ask, I can’t second-guess how Mr. Stamp will react to that eventuality.”

  “You seem to have made a lot of notes,” Fletcher said, looking down at line after line of neatly written script.

  “Yes, I intend to refer to this case next term when I give my lecture on the legal difference between manslaughter and homicide. It will be for my third-year students, so you should not be too embarrassed.”

  “Should I have accepted the attorney general’s deal of manslaughter, and settled for three years?”

  “I suspect we will find out the answer to that question in the not-too-distant future.”

  “Did I make a lot of mistakes?” asked Fletcher.

  “A few,” said the professor turning the pages of his pad.

  “What was the biggest one?”

  “Your only glaring error, in my opinion, was not calling a doctor to describe in graphic detail—something doctors always enjoy doing—how the bruises on Mrs. Kirsten’s arms and legs might have been inflicted. Juries admire doctors. They assume that they are honest people, and in the main they are. But like every other group, if you ask them the right question—and it is after all the lawyers who select the questions—they are as prone to exaggeration as the rest of us.” Fletcher felt guilty that he had missed such an obvious gambit, and only wished he had taken Annie’s advice and sought the professor’s counsel earlier.

  “Don’t worry, the state still has one or two hurdles to cross, because the judge is certain to grant us a stay of execution.”

  “Us?” said Fletcher.

  “Yes,” said the professor quietly, “although I have not appeared in court for many years, and may well be a little rusty, I was hoping that you might allow me to assist you on this occasion.”

  “You would serve as my co-counsel?” said Fletcher in disbelief.

  “Yes, Davenport, I would,” said the professor, “because you did convince me of one thing. Your client should not be spending the rest of her life in jail.”

  “Jury’s coming back,” shouted a voice that echoed down the corridor.

  “Good luck, Davenport,” added the professor. “And may I say before I hear the result, that for a second-year student, your defense was a remarkable tour de force.”

  Nat could sense how nervous Su Ling was the closer they got to Cromwell. “Are you sure your mother will approve of the way I’m dressed?” she asked, pulling her skirt down even farther.

  Nat looked across to admire the simple yellow suit that Su Ling had selected, that just hinted how graceful her figure was. “My mother will approve, and my father won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

  Su Ling squeezed his leg. “How will your father react when he finds not that I’m Korean?”

  “I shall remind him of your Irish father,” said Nat. “In any case, he’s spent his whole life dealing with figures, so it will take him only a few minutes to realize how bright you are.”

  “It’s not too late to turn back,” said Su Ling. “We could always visit them next Sunday.”

  “It is too late,” said Nat. “In any case, haven’t you considered how nervous my parents might be? After all, I have already told them that I’m desperately in love with you.”

  “Yes, but my mother adored you.”

  “And mine will adore you.” Su Ling remained silent until Nat told her that they were approaching the outskirts of Cromwell.

  “But I don’t know what to say.”

  “Su Ling, it’s not an examination that you have to pass.”

  “Yes, it is, that’s exactly what it is.”

  “This is the town where I was born,” said Nat, trying to relax her as they drove down the main street. “When I was a child, I thought it was a great metropolis. But to be fair, I also used to think Hartford was the capital of the world.”

  “How long before we get there?” she asked.

  Nat glanced out of the window. “I’d say ab
out ten minutes. But please don’t expect anything too grand, we only live in a small house.”

  “My mother and I live above the shop,” said Su Ling.

  Nat laughed, “And so did Harry Truman.”

  “And look where that got him,” she replied.

  Nat turned the car into Cedar Avenue. “We’re the third house on the right.”

  “Could we drive around the block a few times?” said Su Ling, “I need to think about what I’m going to say.”

  “No,” said Nat firmly, “try to remember how the professor of statistics at Harvard reacted when he first met you.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t want to marry his son.”

  “I feel sure he would have agreed to that if he’d thought it might have convinced you to join his team.” Su Ling laughed for the first time in over an hour, just as Nat brought the car to a halt outside the house. He went quickly around to Su Ling’s side and opened the door for her. She stepped out and lost one of her shoes in the gutter.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said as she slipped it back on. “I’m sorry.”

  Nat laughed and took her in his arms.

  “No, no,” said Su Ling, “your mother might see us.”

  “I hope she does,” said Nat. He smiled and took her by the hand as they walked up the short driveway.

  The door was opened long before they’d reached it, and Susan ran out to greet them. She immediately took Su Ling in her arms and said, “Nat didn’t exaggerate. You are quite beautiful.”

  Fletcher walked slowly back down the corridor toward the court room, surprised to find that the professor remained by his side. When they reached the swing doors, the young counselor assumed his mentor would return to his place a couple of rows behind Annie and Jimmy, but he continued walking toward the front of the court room and took the vacant seat next to Fletcher’s. Annie and Jimmy could barely conceal their surprise. The court usher announced, “All rise. His Honor Judge Abernathy presiding.”

  Once he was seated, the judge looked toward the attorney general and acknowledged him, then turned his attention to the defense team, and for the second time during the trial, surprise registered on his face.

  “I see you have acquired an assistant, Mr. Davenport. Is his name to be entered on the register before I recall the jury?”

  Fletcher turned to the professor, who rose from his place and said, “That would be my wish, your honor.”

  “Name?” asked the judge, as if he had never seen him before.

  “Karl Abrahams, your honor.”

  “Are you qualified to appear in my court?” asked the judge solemnly.

  “I believe I am, sir,” said Abrahams, “I first became a member of the Connecticut bar in 1937, though I have never had the privilege of appearing before your honor.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Abrahams. If the attorney general has no objection, I will enter your name on my register as Mr. Davenport’s co-counsel.”

  The attorney general rose, gave the professor a slight bow, and said, “It is a privilege to be in the same court as Mr. Davenport’s assistant.”

  “Then I think we should waste no more time in recalling the jury,” said the judge.

  Fletcher examined the faces of the seven men and five women as they filed back to their places. The professor had suggested that Fletcher check to see if any jury members looked directly at their client, which would possibly indicate a verdict of not guilty. He thought two or three of them did, but he couldn’t be sure.

  The foreman rose. “Have you reached a verdict in this case?” the judge asked.

  “No, your honor, we have been unable to do so,” the foreman replied.

  Fletcher could feel the sweat on the palms of his hands even more intensely than when he had first stood to address the jury. The judge tried a second time. “Are you able to return a majority verdict?”

  “No, we are not, your honor,” replied the foreman.

  “Do you feel, given more time, you might eventually reach a majority verdict?”

  “I don’t think so, your honor. We have been equally divided for the past three hours.”

  “Then I have no choice but to declare a mistrial, and dismiss the jury. On behalf of the state, I thank you for your service.” He turned his attention to the attorney general, and as he did so Mr. Abrahams rose to his feet.

  “I wonder, your honor, if I might seek your guidance on a small matter of protocol.”

  The judge looked puzzled, as did the attorney general. “I can’t wait to hear your small matter of protocol, Mr. Abrahams.”

  “Allow me first to inquire of your honor, if I am correct in thinking that should there be a retrial, the defense team must be announced within fourteen days?”

  “That would be the normal practice, Mr. Abrahams.”

  “Then may I assist the court by making it clear that should that situation arise, Mr. Davenport and I will continue to represent the defendant.”

  “I am obliged for your small point of protocol,” said the judge, no longer puzzled.

  “So I must now ask you, Mr. Stamp,” said the judge, turning his attention back to the attorney general, “if it is your intention to apply for a retrial of this case.”

  The court’s attention swung to the state’s lawyers, all five of whom were in a huddle, holding an animated conversation. Judge Abernathy made no attempt to hurry them, and it was some time before Mr. Stamp rose from his place. “We do not believe, your honor, that it is in the state’s best interest to reopen this case.”

  Cheering broke out in the well of the court as the professor tore a sheet from his yellow pad and pushed it across to his pupil. Fletcher glanced down at it, rose from his place and read it, word for word. “You honor, in the circumstances, I would ask for the immediate release of my client.” He looked down at the professor’s next sentence and continued to read, “And may I say how grateful I am for the gracious and professional manner in which Mr. Stamp and his team have conducted the case for the prosecution.”

  The judge nodded, and Mr. Stamp rose again. “May I in turn congratulate the defense counsel and his assistant on their first case before your honor, and wish Mr. Davenport every success in what I feel certain will be a promising career.”

  Fletcher beamed at Annie, as Professor Abrahams rose from his place. “Objection, your honor.”

  Everyone turned to face the professor. “I wouldn’t have thought it was that certain,” he said. “It is my belief that a lot of work still needs to be done before that promise will be realized.”

  “Sustained,” said Judge Abernathy.

  “My mother taught me two languages up until the age of nine and by then I was just about ready to be mainstreamed into the Storrs school system.”

  “That’s where I started my academic life,” said Susan.

  “But I discovered from an early age that I was more at ease with numbers than words.” Michael Cartwright nodded his understanding. “And I was most fortunate to have a math teacher whose hobby was statistics, and who was also fascinated by the role the computer might play in the future.”

  “We’re beginning to rely a lot on them in the insurance business,” said Michael as he refilled his pipe.

  “How big is your firm’s computer, Mr. Cartwright?” asked Su Ling.

  “About the size of this room.”

  “The next generation of students will work with computers no larger than the lids of their desks, and the generation after that will be able to hold them in the palm of their hand.”

  “Do you really believe that’s possible?” asked Susan, transfixed.

  “The technology is moving at such a pace, and the demand will be so high, that the price must fall quickly. Once that happens, computers will become like the phone and the television were in the forties and fifties, as more people purchase them, the cheaper and smaller they will be.”

  “But surely some computers will still need to be large?” suggested Michael. “After all, my company has over forty t
housand customers.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Su Ling. “The computer that sent the first man to the moon was larger than this house, but we will live to see a space capsule land on Mars controlled by a computer no larger than this kitchen table.”

  “No larger than the kitchen table?” repeated Susan, trying to grasp the concept.

  “In California, Silicon Valley has become the new hotbed of technology. Already IBM and Hewlett Packard are finding that their latest models can be out of date in a matter of months, and once the Japanese are fully up to speed, it might even be weeks.”

  “Then how can firms like mine be expected to keep up?” asked Michael.

  “You’ll simply have to replace your computer just as often as you change your car, and in the not-too-distant future, you’ll be able to carry in your inside pocket detailed information on every customer you represent.”

  “But I repeat,” said Michael, “our company currently has forty-two thousand clients.”

  “It won’t matter if you have four hundred thousand, Mr. Cartwright, a handheld computer will still be able to do the same job.”

  “But think of the consequences,” said Susan.

  “They are very exciting, Mrs. Cartwright,” said Su Ling. She paused and blushed, “I apologize, I’ve been talking far too much.”

  “No, no,” said Susan, “it’s fascinating, but I was hoping to ask you about Korea, a country I’ve always wanted to visit. If it’s not a silly question, are you more like the Chinese or the Japanese?”

  “Neither,” replied Su Ling. “We are as different as a Russian is from an Italian. The Korean nation was originally a tribal one and probably first existed as early as the second century …”

  “And to think I told them that you were shy,” Nat remarked as he slipped in beside her later that night.

  “I’m very sorry,” said Su Ling. “I broke your mother’s golden rule.”