Now the investigator was reporting on the follow-up to her bizarre evening. “I’ve got a lot of gossip, but nothing hard,” Rendi said, spreading out her notes. “I found this woman named Chrissy Kachinski. She used to date Campbell—at least she says she did. Seems to be telling the truth. Nothing unusual. Slutty type. A couple of one-night stands with Campbell here in Boston. One weekend on Martha’s Vineyard. Nothing kinky. She says he seemed bored by the sex. They left early. He was upset.”
“Anything more?”
“Not from Chrissy. She told me about another woman he went out with named Darlene Walters. A Boston financial type. Worked as a bond analyst with First Boston. Chrissy got a call from her after she saw her out with Campbell one night at the Ritz. Warned Chrissy about Campbell’s violent side. Chrissy thought Darlene was just jealous, because she never saw that side of Campbell, but she kept Darlene’s name and number just in case.”
“So, did you follow up with Darlene?”
“I tried, only she didn’t want to talk to me.”
“Dead end?”
“Abe, you know there are no dead ends with Rendi Renaad.”
“So what did you find out?”
“I spoke to several of Darlene’s friends. Mostly they wouldn’t talk. One woman named Margie told me something quite interesting that Darlene had confided in her.”
“What?”
“It seems that Campbell couldn’t get it up with her. Darlene really liked Campbell, but he didn’t just leave early, like he did with Chrissy.”
“What did he do?”
“I’m not sure. Margie didn’t know the details. Or else she wasn’t prepared to get down and dirty with me. All she would tell me was that it was very unpleasant for Darlene. She had some black-and-blue marks on her legs, and she cried when she talked about it.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing specific. It certainly didn’t make your client look good.”
“Pretty vague. Maybe Darlene likes a little bit of rough stuff and it got out of hand. Not pretty, but I can handle it if the state finds out.
“Justin, how about you?” Abe continued. “What have you got from the computer stuff you’ve been working on?”
“My stuff is also a bit vague and circumstantial. I’m afraid that an ugly little picture is beginning to emerge.”
“Paint it for us,” Abe said.
“Okay. As I’ve already told you, I suspect, though I can’t prove, that Campbell may have punched up the Dowling sexual harassment cases sometime before he claims he ever met her. Whenever he punched it up, we know—and this we know for sure—that he didn’t just search for her name. He searched for all names and cases under a broader category involving false sexual allegations.”
“So, my friend, what’s the explanation?”
“I can think of several, none of them good.”
“How bad?” Abe asked with a worried look.
“Bad is the best I’ve got,” Justin replied. “From there it gets worse.”
“That good, huh?” Rendi interjected.
“That good.”
Abe quoted Shakespeare: “‘The worse is not, so long as we can say, “This is the worst.”’” Then he shook his head. “You guys are perennial pessimists.”
“Okay.” Justin took up the challenge. “Possibility one, Campbell lied about when he first met Dowling. He actually met her before March tenth, made the Boston date, and then punched up the story, like he told us.”
“Could be,” Abe said. “But why would Campbell lie about that date? Dowling would probably be able to prove—by her friends, office mates—when she first met him. And what the hell difference would it make if he had met her earlier? That one’s not so bad. Okay, what’s next in your list of possible disasters?”
“I guess we’re up to possibility two—‘worse.’ Well, worse is if Campbell is telling the truth about when he first met Dowling.”
“Why?”
“Because then—if I’m right about when he punched up her case—then it would seem that he may have punched up her case before he really met her.”
“What do you mean, ‘really met’ her?”
“Well, it’s possible that he had seen her before—at a party or something. Maybe she didn’t even remember him, yet he remembered her. Maybe a friend told him about her, and they hadn’t actually met—yet. He punched up her story in order to check her out, and then he met her again, and they made a date.”
“Okay. That sounds plausible. And it’s also not that terrible from a jury’s point of view.”
“Remember, Abe, he didn’t punch up information only about her. His search was for a broader category.”
“What’s your explanation, then, Justin?”
“It seems pretty obvious. Campbell probably cross-checks that category periodically, to make sure that none of the women he wants to date are the kind who go around falsely accusing people. Remember what he told you about how much he values his reputation as a gentleman.”
Rendi nodded. “That does sound logical—”
“My God,” Abe broke in, “have things gotten so bad out there that guys have to check their dates out in advance to head off false accusations of rape?”
Rendi ignored Abe’s question as she continued to explore the thought she had begun. “Logical—but not certain,” she said slowly.
“What do you mean?” Justin asked.
“There is another possible explanation.”
“Better than mine?”
“No,” Rendi replied somberly, “much worse.”
“Okay, we’re up to possibility three—worser,” Abe said, and winced.
Rendi got up and started pacing. “What if this is what happened. It’s completely speculative, I admit. And it probably didn’t happen this way. What if—just what if—before Campbell ever even heard of Dowling, he placed a computer search for recent New York cases in which women had filed false complaints of sexual misconduct. And then he deliberately picked these women to go out with?”
“What, are you crazy?” Justin asked her. “Why would a man intentionally go out with women who he knew had falsely charged men with sexually abusing them? Those women are poison ivy to most men. They won’t go near them. No one wants to be charged with sexual harassment or rape, especially a jock.”
“That’s right,” Rendi said. “For most men these women are poison—because most men aren’t rapists.” Then, after pausing as if to reconsider whether to take her point farther, Rendi slowly continued. “What if a guy deliberately set out to rape a woman, and wanted to get away with it? Who might he pick as the least likely type of woman to be believed?” She quickly answered her own question. “A woman who once before had filed a false complaint and who had been exposed as a liar. A woman like Jennifer Dowling.”
“Rendi, that’s the most paranoid thing I’ve ever heard,” Abe said angrily. “You sound like that radical feminist Gloria McDermot. I really expect more from you—”
“I’m not so sure that Rendi’s off base,” Justin interrupted. “It’s certainly possible—though I also admit it’s rank speculation—that Campbell made a calculated decision to date Jennifer because he planned in advance to rape her, and he knew she wouldn’t be believed if she cried rape.”
“My God, Justin, now you’re joining Rendi’s paranoia. That dog just won’t hunt. It doesn’t make any sense. Think about what you’re suggesting.”
“Could be true, Abe. Just could be. Maybe Campbell understood the story of the little boy who falsely cried ‘Wolf!’ and he applied it to a grown-up woman who had falsely cried harassment.”
“Let’s don’t jump to any ridiculous conclusions,” Abe cautioned. “You’re both reading an awful lot into a couple of computer printouts and an incomplete field investigation. It’s highly circumstantial at best, and Campbell may have a good explanation for the whole thing. We’re letting our fantasies run away with us.”
“You’re probably right,” Justin agreed. “Rememb
er that Campbell and Dowling met by chance near her office building. That doesn’t fit in with your theory, Rendi, does it?”
“Not all chance meetings are really chance,” Rendi shot back. “I arrange ‘chance’ meetings with my investigative subjects all the time. It’s not all that hard to do.”
“Stop this now,” Abe insisted. “We’re Campbell’s defense team. Let’s stop thinking like prosecutors, and start thinking like defense lawyers. I’m going to defend this man—and win.”
Chapter Fifteen
CAMBRIDGE—SATURDAY, APRIL 15
At law school Justin had been active in the Federalist Society, a conservative group that prided itself on being politically incorrect on issues of race, sex, and politics. He took courses mostly from the right wing professors, steering clear of teachers like Haskel Levine and others who had been Abe’s favorites a generation earlier. Justin had written a term paper on how feminism was dangerous to liberty. Though he was always polite to women personally, his political views, especially about rape, sometimes provoked his women friends into displays of rage.
“Big deal,” he had once infuriated Rendi by saying. “Rape is not like a broken bone or even a cracked tooth. It doesn’t cause any real damage. There’s nothing to heal, except some bruised feelings.” Rendi had almost given him a cracked tooth following that display of male insensitivity. Instead she’d given him a lecture about how it felt to be violated to one’s core. Justin had pretended to listen, but it had just sounded like feminist rhetoric to him even when coming with the passion that accompanied all of Rendi’s lectures.
The Campbell case was subtly changing Justin. As his suspicions about Joe Campbell mounted, his compassion for Jennifer Dowling increased. What if Campbell had really exploited her vulnerable past? It was only a theory. What if it were true? He felt a growing kinship with Jennifer Dowling, since, like her, he had originally been taken in by the smooth-talking basketball star. Sure Abe was right: Justin had to act like a defense lawyer. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think and feel like a human being.
Justin and Abe sat over lunch at the Bombay Restaurant across the street from the Kennedy School near Harvard Square, the usual venue for their weekly strategy session. “You can’t defend Campbell as though there weren’t something fishy—as though you didn’t know more than what he told you.”
“I can’t just act on your suspicions, either,” Abe replied, taking a bite of his tandoori chicken. “He’s our client, and I have a legal and ethical responsibility toward him.”
“He lied to you, and more than once.”
“All my clients lie to me, and more than once.”
“This guy is bad.”
“Most of my clients are bad. I think it was Mark Twain who once said, ‘If there were no bad people, there would be no good lawyers.’”
“Abe, my gut tells me Campbell is guilty.”
“That’s your opinion, and you have the right to hold it and to express it to me—in private. I don’t necessarily share your opinion.”
“That’s because you have DLBS.”
“What the hell is DLBS?”
“Defense lawyer’s blind spot. That’s what we called it when I interned at the DA’s office.”
“Listen, every good defense attorney develops a nose for guilt over time. We’re not easily fooled by our clients.”
“Oh, yeah? What about the Patrick case?”
In the case Justin was referring to, Abe had been appointed to represent an indigent black man named Orlando Patrick, who was accused of killing a cabdriver during a holdup. Orlando’s brother, Marcel, testified that he was the real killer. The jury believed him and acquitted Orlando. Marcel was then charged with murder, and Orlando testified that he had killed the cab-driver. The second jury acquitted Marcel. There was a terrible public outcry, especially when it became clear that neither brother could be retried for the murder because of double jeopardy.
“That case was unusual,” Abe said defensively. “Those Patrick brothers were the best damn liars I ever met. To this day I still don’t know which of them was telling the truth.”
“How about neither of them.” Justin sighed. “Abe, you represent so many obviously guilty defendants that you become desperate to believe that you’re representing the occasional innocent—so you can justify what we’re doing for a living.”
“Who taught you that nonsense, Justin?”
“You did. I can see it in your desperation to believe Campbell is innocent. How many times have you heard defense lawyers mouth the platitude about how it’s better for ten guilty men to go free than for even one innocent defendant to be wrongly convicted?”
“Oh, about once a day. And it’s not a platitude. I assumed that you believed in it.”
“I do believe in it. There’s no greater exhilaration for a defense lawyer than representing an innocent defendant.”
“Except when you lose. It’s even worse losing for someone you know is innocent.”
“Even when you lose, you know you’re doing God’s work if your client is innocent. I envy Mike Tyson’s lawyers, despite the fact they lost. They knew he was innocent. In fact, in many respects, the Campbell case is the exact opposite—the mirror image—of Tyson.”
“How so?” Abe asked.
“Lots of people thought Tyson was guilty because of his media reputation, his rough edges, and his direct way. Yet we both think he was really innocent. With Campbell, everybody seems to think he’s innocent because of his charm and polish. And because he’s white. I think he’s guilty as hell.”
“I’m glad everyone thinks Joe is innocent,” Abe said. “That can’t hurt in front of the jury. In this game, there’s only one bottom line—winning—whether the client is black or white, innocent or guilty.”
“Still, it feels a lot better expending all that energy when the guy is innocent.
“It sure does, and that’s the attitude I’m approaching the Campbell case with.”
“Tell me, Abe, how does it feel when you get a guilty guy off?”
“It’s a terrible feeling, especially when it’s a horrible crime like murder or rape. It’s even worse when you lose a case for an innocent client, because it’s your job to win.
“Even for the guilty?”
“Yes, even for the guilty. It’s not part of your job to enjoy it—that’s why I never go to victory parties for guilty clients.”
“God, it must feel just terrible to see a murderer or rapist go free because you outsmarted the prosecution.”
“You’ll experience it some time yourself, Justin.”
“I can’t wait,” Justin said cynically.
“You’re right about one thing—that for the principle of ‘better ten guilty go free’ to have any meaning to a defense attorney, we have to actually meet that one innocent defendant every so often. I still believe Campbell is that one innocent.”
“Sure you do, Abe, because if you can’t find the one innocent, you have to make him up.”
“Not so. Any good lawyer worth his salt does a better job if he truly believes his client is innocent.”
“I understand that. That’s precisely my point. You really do believe that your client is innocent, if there is any plausible basis for that belief. Then when evidence of guilt begins to emerge, you develop that blind spot. You just don’t see it, even if it’s right in front of your eyes. I’m amazed that with your experience you still don’t see through Campbell’s charm.”
“Campbell’s charm has nothing to do with it, Justin. He may have charmed Emma. I’m looking at the evidence. Your evidence. It just doesn’t persuade me. It does shake me a little bit, and I appreciate that. Without hard proof what would you have me do?”
“You should drop him like you did Kraus,” Justin offered.
For an instant, Abe’s mind flashed on an image of the goose-stepping Henry Kraus, a neo-Nazi “Uberführer” who had been arrested at Downtown Crossing in Boston for demanding that blacks be sent back to Africa, and tha
t Jews be sent back to Russia. Abe had agreed to represent Kraus on the First Amendment issue. Kraus then went on TV and announced that he had picked Abraham Ringel to represent him only because he wanted “a sharp Jewish lawyer,” Abe immediately left the case, announcing that he would never allow a Nazi to select him for anything because he was a Jew. His decision had caused quite a stir, especially when Kraus sued him for breach of contract.
Abe had won the case after an undercover agent working for the Anti-Defamation League testified that Kraus had deliberately orchestrated the entire episode in order to show that Jewish lawyers couldn’t be trusted.
“You dropped that Nazi son of a bitch before you even knew it was a setup,” Justin reminded him.
“Yeah, but when I dropped Kraus, nobody thought I was doing it because I believed he was guilty. I went out of my way publicly to defend his right to make racist and anti-Semitic speeches. I just didn’t want to be his lawyer. This case is different. If I dump Campbell without any explanation, everyone will believe that I learned something that led me to conclude Campbell is guilty. I couldn’t do that even if it were true—which it isn’t.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re stuck with Campbell,” Justin said plaintively. “I really don’t want to hear that.”
“I am stuck with Campbell,” Abe concluded. “Even if I agreed with you that he was guilty—which I don’t. Better ten guilty men go free—”
“I know the rule,” Justin interrupted. “Somehow it feels so different when we’re the ones who are freeing the guilty rapist.”
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