“First of all, we’re not. And second of all, we have no other option,” Abe said.
“Yes, we do. You’ve gotta confront Campbell with what we’ve learned—all the computer stuff—his reputation. The whole schmear. Campbell has the right to know what we know about him. Some clients just don’t want to be represented by lawyers who are aware of the skeletons in their closets.”
“What do you think I should tell him, Justin?”
“Everything we’ve got, the whole messy ball of wax. And tell him how we found it.”
“You really do want him to fire us.”
“It’s his decision, and he’s entitled to know exactly what we think of him, and precisely what we are, and are not, prepared to do for him.”
Abe thought about this for a moment. “I think you’re right about that. We should give him a chance to explain what you and Rendi have conjured up. And I’m not going to sugar-coat anything.”
“Sounds like you’ve got to confront him before the trial,” Justin said.
“It sure does.”
“Want me to hold your hand?” Justin asked.
“Not on this one. This time, it’s going to be one on one, with no referee.”
Chapter Sixteen
BOSTON—TUESDAY, APRIL 18
In preparation for Abe’s meeting with Campbell, Justin went back to the computer room and Rendi headed back out to the field. Abe needed documentation—hard evidence—to support everything he was going to throw at Campbell, even if it took some time to gather it. Abe knew that Campbell’s intuitive ability to psych out his opponent would serve him well in this confrontation. Abe prided himself, as well, on being an intuitive lawyer. His advantage lay, as it always did, in superior preparation. Abe did not want to ask any question to which he did not have the answer—and the proof to back it up.
Justin’s computer research had uncovered that Campbell had been married as a senior in college to a smart and beautiful classmate named Annie Higgins. Captain of the Northeastern University ski team and a standout slalom competitor, she was herself a star athlete. The marriage had lasted five years, though they had separated after two.
Rendi got right on the lead and managed to locate Annie Higgins, who was working as a buyer for Filene’s. Higgins made it clear she didn’t want to talk about Campbell. “That part of my life is behind me.” When Rendi persisted, she agreed to meet for a quick dinner—with no promises. They met at Biba’s, a trendy restaurant overlooking the Boston Common, which had some quiet corner tables.
“My husband was a good man,” Annie Higgins said as soon as she was seated.
Rendi observed the other woman. She was clean-cut, pretty in a peaches-and-cream way. She looked a little like Jennifer Dowling: early thirties, tastefully dressed.
“How long have you been divorced?”
“Couple of years. Joe was generous. He even put me through school.”
“Sounds like he felt responsible for your breakup.”
Annie looked out the picture window in the direction of the duck pond made famous by the children’s book Make Way for Ducklings. Tears began to well up in her eyes. “It’s not really his fault,” she said defensively. “He was fine before all those groupies got to him. He used to love to take me on the swan boats while we dated.”
Rendi had the feeling that if she scratched just beneath the surface, Higgins would talk—maybe even wanted to—now that they’d met. This woman wanted her story told. “What do you mean, it’s not his fault?”
“The sex between us was great in college, before we got married—even afterward for a few months. Then when he got into the NBA, he started to fool around a little on the road.”
“That must have hurt you.”
“In the beginning. And then you kind of get used to it. The wives all talk about it. It goes with the turf. In those days, no one worried about diseases. I could deal with the occasional one-night road stand. We all could.”
“Then what was the problem?”
“The problem was that after a while, it got worse.”
“More groupies?”
“No, that wasn’t the problem. Sure, there were more groupies. I’m sure that contributed to the problem. Sex became boring to Joe. It was no challenge when he was home with me, it was still good—at least in the beginning. I could still, you know, satisfy him.”
“So what changed that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was the groupies. Maybe it was something else. All I know is that after a while, when he got home, he couldn’t, you know, perform. He would be limp. I tried to be understanding, to help him. We even went to a marriage counselor for a couple of sessions, but he was embarrassed talking about it.”
“About what?”
“About his impotency.”
“Was he impotent with everybody, with the groupies, too?”
“That’s what he told me. And that’s what he told the therapist. Now I know it wasn’t true.”
“How do you know?”
“I once found a letter from some slut in Phoenix—and I mean this girl was the worst kind of trash—which described their lovemaking. It had the ring of truth. It sounded like the Joe Campbell I loved in college. Why he would want to make it with that kind of woman is beyond me.”
“So what did you do?”
“I should have left him right there and then. The handwriting was on the wall. I stayed a few more months, and they were the worst.”
“In what way?”
“This is really embarrassing, Miss Renaad. Can we talk in absolute confidence?”
“Yes, we can. This is just between us girls. We’re trying to help Joe Campbell and other women.”
“All right, let me tell you what happened. God, I’ve never told anybody about this.”
“Good, keep talking. You’ll feel better.”
“Joe really tried to make it good between us. Some guys might just have given up on the sex or just kept going out with the sluts. To his credit, Joe put a lot of effort into solving his, you know, his problem.”
“Why do you think he went through the effort, since he was able to satisfy himself with the groupies?”
“You have to understand Joe,” Annie said. “He hates to think of himself as a low-class jock who only makes it with dumb sluts. He came out of a low-class background, and he prides himself on having overcome that. He wants very badly to be able to love intelligent, accomplished women. Only he can’t. At least not without some weird stuff.”
“What kind of weird stuff?”
“He tried to make it more exciting for himself.”
“In what way?”
“This is really difficult to talk about,” Annie said, her voice choked with emotion.
“Please keep trying. It’s important.” Rendi placed an arm around Annie’s shoulder.
“All right. Let me just say it. He started to play games with me. He made me pretend that I didn’t want to have sex with him. I would say no, at first in a kind of joking way, but that didn’t work. So he made me say it and act like I really meant it. That turned him on, and we had good sex.”
“So did that solve the problem?”
“For a while it did. Then it stopped working. He couldn’t arouse himself if he knew that I really wanted to have sex with him. So he started to have sex with me when I really didn’t want to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I didn’t like having sex during my period. He knew that, and he made me do it, while I was menstruating. Then he would wake me up in the middle of the night, especially after a long day, and force himself on me.”
“You mean he raped you?”
“No, it wasn’t rape. We were married.”
“A marriage license is not a license to rape,” Rendi insisted, becoming a bit strident.
“I know. I know,” Annie said defensively. “But I sort of went along with it. I wanted him to become aroused, even if I didn’t enjoy the sex. It was a kind of bargain with the devil. It wasn�
��t rape. At least not in my book.”
“But is that why you left him?”
“No. I left him because it got even worse. During our last few weeks together, he could only get aroused when he really hurt me. He would tie me up—force me—I had bruises. The last time he held me down so hard I almost lost consciousness. So he slapped me and then he…” Annie couldn’t go on. She was sobbing uncontrollably.
“That was rape,” Rendi said quietly as she reached out to touch the other woman’s hand.
“It really wasn’t his fault,” Annie insisted. “Those groupies—the lifestyle—screwed him up. That wasn’t the real Joe.”
“That may be the real Joe now,” Rendi said as she signaled the waiter for the check.
Chapter Seventeen
NEWARK—MONDAY, APRIL 24
While Abe was preparing for his confrontation with Campbell, Justin had to tend to some unfinished business with Nancy Rosen in Newark.
This time they met in her office. Out of the blue Nancy had called Justin, inviting him down for a chat.
Nancy’s “office” was actually a storefront on Springfield Avenue, tucked between a rib joint and a Jehovah’s Witnesses “temple.”
“My law store used to be Cohen’s haberdashery,” Nancy said proudly, pointing to a framed photo on her wall of the old store with a Jewish man standing in front.
“Things change,” Nancy mused. “The Jews used to be the haberdashers, the workers, even the petty thieves.” Pointing to a small newsstand across the street, she told Justin that the Silver-stein gang used to run numbers from that stand in the 1950s. “Now the African Americans own the stores, along with some Koreans. We have to remember our roots.”
Justin was not particularly interested in Nancy’s nostalgia trip. He had traveled to Newark for one specific purpose. “Why did you call me, after refusing to return my calls?”
“Because I realized that you were right,” Nancy said. “I can’t just play by the rules and let Odell die. I’ve got to do something. After all, how can a lawyer who defends civil disobedience refuse to engage in it herself?”
“That sounds like something Haskel Levine would say.”
“It is. I called him. Luckily, he was having a good day.”
“You’re kidding! You called Haskel?”
“Why? You think Abe’s his only former student who values his advice?”
“Thank God, Nancy. You’re doing the right thing. What made you call Haskel?”
“A number of things. First, I did further checking on that Leo Frank case—the one that I told you about last time we met. I discovered that the sanctimonious old lawyer who wouldn’t break the rules actually bent them a bit in an effort to save Frank’s life.”
“What did he do?” Justin asked.
“It’s not completely clear, but he apparently did something. In his autobiography, which I managed to dig up, he implies that he somehow let the governor know that Frank was innocent.” After pulling out an old volume, Nancy read a cryptic sentence: “Without ever having revealed to Governor Slayton the facts which were revealed to me in confidence, I have reason to believe that, in some way, these facts got to him.”
“Coy old son of a bitch,” Justin said. “He sounds like he’s part of my WASP roots. So what did the governor do?”
“He commuted Frank’s death sentence to life, but he couldn’t explain why he was doing it, and there was an outraged reaction from the people.”
“So what happened?”
“A group of upstanding citizens marched on the prison, grabbed Frank, and lynched him.”
“Wow, what a story. And that’s what made you change your mind?”
“I can’t let him die,” Nancy said. “I read in the advance sheets that your emergency appeal was denied.”
“Yeah, the appellate court chastised Judge Cox for his antics, but agreed with his bottom line.”
“And Charlie’s taking his pills?”
“Yes, he is, and they’re beginning to work.”
“So he will soon be competent to be executed?”
“Yes, he will. And what are you going to do to stop it?” Justin asked. “Can you tell me who killed Williams?”
“No, I can’t tell you. I’m going to try to make a deal with the prosecutor.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I’ll offer him the name of the killer in exchange for total immunity for my client. I won’t give him my client’s name until he agrees to the immunity.”
“Do you think Duncan will go for that? He’s a real hard-ass prosecutor. As far as he’s concerned, the guilty guy is already on death row.”
“Duncan knows me, Justin, and deep down he’s gonna believe me when I tell him my own client did it.”
“Won’t he be able to figure out which of your clients is the guilty person? You have some pretty notorious clients.”
“That’s the beauty of my plan. This guy is not one of my notorious clients. He’s a one-shot client. Walked in off the street on the day of the Williams shooting, before they fingered Odell. He thought they might go after him. No one even knows that I represent him. I haven’t seen him in months. Once they picked up your guy, he disappeared into the woodwork. Calls me once a month to check in.”
“Could the cops find him if they knew who he was?”
“Probably. He’s keeping a low profile, but they could probably find him if they really wanted him badly. Hasn’t gone underground or anything. Without his name, nobody would think of him. He looks a bit like Odell when he smiles, but to most of the cops, all thin twenty-seven-year-old blacks look alike. You won’t believe it when you hear the motive. Nothing political.”
“Nancy, I really appreciate this,” Justin said, placing his arm on her shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I hope you’re right. And I pray that it works.”
“I thought you were an atheist.”
“At a time like this I can use all the help I can get,” Nancy said with a worried smile.
Chapter Eighteen
CAMBRIDGE—MONDAY, MAY 15
Nancy Rosen’s plan failed miserably. The prosecutor, Kevin Duncan, not only refused to grant her client immunity, he also accused Nancy, Abe, and Justin of concocting a false story in order to save Odell’s life.
“There is no Rosen client,” Duncan told a journalist. “Ringel and Rosen are two radicals who are making this whole thing up in a misguided attempt to save Odell. Remember, this is the same Ringel who told Odell to stop taking his medicine. He’ll stop at nothing.”
Justin and Nancy were back to square one, and there were no good moves on the horizon.
Charlie O. had been restored to competency, all appeals were exhausted, and the execution date was now three weeks away. All that stood between Odell and the injection was Nancy Rosen and her anonymous client.
Justin called Nancy to discuss what else they could do. “Are you willing to give me the name now?”
“Not yet.”
“What do you mean, ‘yet’? Will you give it to me in time to save Charlie? I don’t want Charlie to end up like Leo Frank—dead! It’s just three weeks.”
“I know that, Justin. I told you I won’t let him die, and I keep my word.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I can’t tell you yet,” Nancy said. “You’ll know soon enough.”
NEWARK—MONDAY, MAY 22
A week later Abe got an angry call from Duncan. “Mr. Ringel, Nancy Rosen has told us that a client of hers named Rodney Owens killed Monty Williams, and that she can prove it. Can you come to my office tomorrow to discuss this development? And please bring your associate, John Justin Aldrich.”
“How about this afternoon?” Abe asked, flipping through his pocket flight guide. “Is four o’clock okay?”
“Four will be fine.”
“Why do you want my associate?”
“Because Ms. Rosen told us that she has been dealing with Mr. Aldrich on this matter.”
On the way to the airport, Justin called Nancy on his cellular phone. “How come you told the prosecutor and not me?”
“Because I needed a few days’ lead time. Let me tell you what we’re up against. Is it safe to talk on this phone?”
“Yeah. We bought one of those cellulars with a security system—for just this reason. Go ahead.”
“I reached my client Owens,” Nancy continued, “and urged him to turn himself in.”
“What did he say.”
“He refused, as I thought he would.”
“So? What did you do then?”
“I told Owens that I was mailing the prosecutor a letter that afternoon, disclosing that he was the killer, what his motive was, and what he had told me when he came to my office on the day of the Williams shooting. He told me things that only the killer would know. I made a file memo.”
“What did Owens say?”
“He went crazy. Threatened to kill me. Threatened to have me disbarred.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that I had made up my mind, and that I was calling to give him a day or two lead time to do what he had to do before the prosecutor got the letter.”
“Oh, my God, Nancy, you told Owens to skip town?”
“Not in so many words. But that was the message.”
“So what happened?”
“Owens skipped town. The prosecutor got my letter, looked for Owens, was told that he had left in a hurry the day before. No one can find him. I think I know where he may be.”
“What did the prosecutor do?”
“You won’t believe this, Justin. He threatened me, with obstruction of justice and disbarment.”
“I do believe it. You really put your bar certificate at risk for Charlie.”
“What else could I do? I have to save Odell. And I had to give my client a fighting chance. They wouldn’t give him immunity, so I gave him a chance to give himself immunity by disappearing. Not perfect, but the best I could think of. Hell of a lot better than what that old lawyer did in the Leo Frank case. Your client is not going to die.”
The Advocate's Devil Page 14
