“Give it more than your best, my boy. You never know what’ll tip the scales in your favor when it’s time for them to make a selection. Better to win it, and win it brilliantly. Believe me, you’ll leave that Schneider fellow in your dust, if you do.”
“I’ve had a twenty-year career. Is this one case going to make such a difference?”
“It sounds shocking, but it just might. It’s all such a show now, you know, especially political appointments. Everything’s slanted for the media, and the papers don’t care who you are or what you’ve done in the past. It’s all ‘what have you done for me lately.’”
“I’ve done a lot of work for the Party…”
“Much appreciated, you can be sure, Robert. But so has Schneider. All things being equal, and they really are between you two, you don’t want to have them make their pick just after you’ve blown a murder case. Everyone loves a winner, especially politicians.”
Bratt looked down at his drink, unhappy that the Small case could have any kind of role to play in his future. He wondered if he could muster up enough enthusiasm to win it, especially with the sorry excuses for alibi witnesses he’d met so far. He gulped down a bit too much of his drink, burning his throat as he did so and setting off a series of jagged coughs.
Shit, he thought, as his eyes watered and Madsen came forward to vigorously slap his back. This trial’s like some sort of a curse on me.
His coughing finally began to subside and Maria appeared seemingly out of thin air, a glass of water for him in her hand. He reached for it gratefully and drank slowly, cooling his throat and being careful not to choke again.
“Of course, Bobby, you’ve got to do more than worry about your own image,” Madsen continued. “Any, how shall I put this delicately, ‘family scandals’ could damage your chances.”
Bratt honestly had no idea what he meant. “Family scandals?”
“Dear boy, I’m referring to Jeannie’s arrest. It’s put your name on the radio all day long.”
The memory of Jeannie in court that morning came rushing back to Bratt’s mind, accompanied with not a little feeling of shame at his having replaced it with thoughts of his career ambitions.
“Of course, it’s not a big deal for you now,” Madsen said. “Just a little embarrassment you can laugh off at the office. But the Committee might not like it in a candidate for the bench. Naturally, if she were to be acquitted, all a big mistake, something like that, then they probably wouldn’t hold it against you.”
Great, now I’m supposed to worry about how her arrest affects my future, instead of hers, Bratt thought. I wonder what she would think of that.
“Well, there’s no way she’ll have her trial before the Committee makes its choice,” he said. “The court dates are months away, if not longer, so there’s not much I can do.”
“No, no, I guess not. Hmm.” Madsen pondered the situation for a minute before speaking again.
“Nothing to be done about it, I suppose. If you’re ever quoted on it you just say that you’re behind her one hundred percent, you’ve always been very proud of her, that sort of thing.”
That’s a relief, Bratt thought, relaxing the neck muscles that had involuntarily tensed. For a while there I thought he was going to suggest I disown her.
Madsen took no notice of Bratt’s discomfort. He returned to the bar and began refilling Bratt’s glass.
“Here,” he said, “try not to choke on this one.”
Bratt took the glass, but only looked into it.
“I’ll be more careful, sir.”
Madsen stood over him and allowed himself another emotional display by squeezing Bratt’s shoulder.
“You know Bobby, I can’t tell you how happy I am for you. And proud, too.”
Bratt looked up and tried to smile appreciatively, squeezing the older man’s hand in thanks.
Madsen came around and sat on the sofa across from him
“I only hope you won’t miss your clients too much,” he teased. “You realize you won’t be dealing with any more of those upstanding citizens like your double-murderer.”
“No sir, I guess I won’t,” Bratt answered in a slightly surprised tone. He hadn’t really thought about that part of the equation. He would no longer be at the beck and call of people like Marlon Small. Murderers and rapists would no longer be calling him at all hours of the night.
Better than that, he’d no longer have to twist and torture the truth each day in order to get a guilty client off. Whatever second thoughts he’d had about his work lately, being named a judge could solve his problems.
Funny, he thought. Until about a week ago, it never occurred to me that what I was doing was so terrible. From the perspective of a future judge, though, nothing would be better than washing my hands of my criminal clientele once and for all. And Jeannie would sure be happy about that.
Bratt swished the amber liquid around in the glass, almost forgetting about Madsen’s presence as he became wrapped up in his thoughts. Getting named to the bench had been something he’d hoped for, even if only as a vague future ambition, for a long time now. But he had never imagined that reconciling with his daughter would be a major side benefit.
Still, as much as he had wanted this, something was holding him back from the elation he should have felt at the news.
This is what I’ve wanted for the longest time, he told himself, but the timing isn’t very good at all. I’ve got to worry about looking good in a trial I regret taking on, and even “winning it brilliantly,” as if just winning it weren’t going to be hard enough. Plus, Jeannie’s life has suddenly become other people’s business. She’s not going to be too happy about that. Even the best news comes with strings attached.
Early the next afternoon Bratt and Kouri were back at the R.D.P. detention center. He had told nobody about his visit with Madsen the night before, although he knew he’d have to speak to his partner about it sooner, rather than later.
As he sat in the interview room, Bratt wondered if the seat on the Superior Court was really going to hinge on winning the Small trial. If so, what could he do to turn this losing case into a winner?
“I don’t think he’s going to like what you have to tell him,” Kouri said, breaking the silence.
Bratt’s mind had been drifting, and he didn’t catch Kouri’s meaning.
“Small,” Kouri went on. “He seemed to have put a lot of faith in those two friends of his, and he won’t be happy when you tell him that neither one is going to testify.”
“Well, he insists he was with a lot of people in that park, so he’s going to have to find a few others who can testify, and fast.”
“I know, barely two weeks until the trial.”
“Faster than that even. Lynn Sévigny was supposed to give in her list of alibi witnesses before she got sick. I gotta meet Parent this afternoon to beg for more time.”
They were interrupted by the noise of metal sliding on metal, as the door on the prisoner’s side opened and Marlon Small walked in. He was dressed in the same clothes as the last time they had met, and Bratt hoped he was at least familiar with the prison laundry.
Small gave no words of greeting, but sat with his usual surly expression. Bratt assumed that Parker and Clayton had informed him of how their interviews had gone.
“Marlon, I’m afraid those two witnesses you gave us were less than overwhelming.”
Small sat staring at them through the smudged glass partition, as if he was waiting for Bratt to explain himself, but Bratt had decided that the ball was in his client’s court.
Finally, Small spoke up. “They’re a bit light in the brains department. That ain’t their fault.”
“I don’t begrudge them their lack of brains,” Bratt said, “just their lack of honesty.”
“What’s your problem with their honesty?”
“Well, they seem to have misplaced it on the way to my office.”
Small’s expression became even surlier than before.
&n
bsp; “I don’t like the way you say that, like you think you’re funny. My friends ain’t lyin’.”
Bratt paused before answering. He knew that antagonizing his client wasn’t going to do either one of them any good, however much he may have enjoyed it. He’d have to keep his tongue in check and show Small that he was just trying to be objective for the good of their case.
“OK, sorry for the sarcasm. The problem is you’ve got one witness who gets confused by the simplest questions, and another one who’s a born liar. I’m a defense attorney and it’s second nature for me to give everybody the benefit of the doubt, but that was almost impossible to do here. If I think your buddies are bullshitting, what do you think a jury is going to think?”
“No sweat. I’ll just call ’em and get ’em to straighten out their stories.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Talk to them again, they’ll have all their answers right. The jury’ll believe them, you’ll see.”
Bratt felt frustrated with where this conversation was headed. He had no doubt that both witnesses were lying about being with Small on the night of the shooting. It wasn’t enough for them to just “straighten out their stories” because then he would still know how dishonest they really were, even if the jury somehow believed them. And it was his knowing that made all the difference in the world, whether Small understood this or not. More than anything, he just wanted Parker and Clayton to disappear from view, so he could start fresh with new witnesses. As for where Small got those other witnesses, that was a problem in itself. But it wasn’t Bratt’s problem.
“You just don’t get it, do you,” he said, beginning to feel irritated
Small jumped up and slammed the glass partition with his open hand. “No, you don’t get it! I was in the park that night! Ask anybody an’ they’ll tell you. I didn’t go to no damn apartment in Burgundy, an’ I didn’t shoot no one! So don’t tell me I don’t get it! It’s my ass sittin’ in a fuckin’ jail-cell for the past eight months an’ I’m looking for someone who’s going to get me out! Do you get that?”
Bratt said nothing, trying to keep his cool. At the same time he wondered about Small’s dramatic glass-slamming routine, which he had just seen for the second time in as many meetings. He thought that Small, in his own way, might be as good a performer as he was.
“Why don’t you just sit back down and chill, Marlon,” Bratt said, folding his arms and waiting for Small to take his seat. As he watched Small make a show of regaining his composure, Bratt found himself questioning his own motivations. Was he more concerned that the witnesses might lie on the stand or that they might get caught in those lies, despite Small’s certainty that they could get away with it? Winning this case was going to be hard enough and, if Madsen were to be believed, winning this case had just become the most important thing in Bratt’s life.
“It happens to be my job to get your ass out of that jail cell,” he said, “and it’s a job I usually do pretty well. But it’s not going to happen just because you say everyone knows you were in the park that night, not when the only two witnesses you give me are liars and everyone who hears them will know it the moment they open their mouths.”
Bratt paused to clear his throat. He pulled at a frayed string that had once held a button to his silk shirtsleeve and wondered where he had lost the button and why he hadn’t noticed its absence until now. Small sat quietly, waiting for him to go on with his little speech, his dislike for his attorney obvious in his face.
A quick glance by Bratt to his side showed him that Kouri was also watching him and he knew he had to choose his words carefully. He was aware that there was a fine line between telling his client he needed better witnesses and asking for better liars. Over the years he had convinced himself that he had never knowingly crossed that line, although his definition of “knowingly” had gotten narrower with the passage of time and the growing imperative to win.
He hated Small for making him walk that line again, and he hated himself for closing his eyes as he gingerly took the first steps. But what choice did he have? The need to win guided what he had to say.
“You have to understand that I don’t do this job for you,” he said, “I do it because I like to win. It just so happens that when I win, you win. I couldn’t care less where you were that night, whether you shot those guys or not. That simply isn’t part of my job.”
From the corner of his eye Bratt saw Kouri’s body stiffen. Leave me the hell alone, he thought, directing the thought both at Kouri and at his own conscience.
“You couldn’t pay me enough to care,” he continued. “But you also can’t pay me enough to lie for you in court, nor to call witnesses that I know are going to perjure themselves, like your two buddies.”
He paused again, to see if there was any light of understanding in Small’s eyes. Almost, but not quite yet, so he went on.
“If you want a jury to believe you were in the park, then you can start by coming up with some other witnesses who can convince me first.”
Small’s expression softened almost imperceptibly as he nodded, looking Bratt straight in the eyes, finally letting Bratt see what he was looking for.
“No problem, Mr. Bratt,” he spoke slowly. “I know what you want. I’ll get the word out right away. I know who else was with me that night. I’ll get you their names and phone numbers later this week.”
“I’m going to need them as fast as possible,” Bratt said, suddenly feeling like a junkie desperately waiting for his next fix. At the same time, he assiduously kept his eyes away from Kouri, who continued to sit motionless at his side.
“No problem, Mr. Bratt,” Small said again, and Bratt marveled at the tone of respect his client had suddenly begun using with him. “And no bullshitters this time.”
In the car later, driving with Kouri back to the office, Bratt did his best to look and act casual. He could feel Kouri’s eyes constantly on him, as if the junior lawyer were waiting for some sort of sign from on high, but he had no words of explanation or of wisdom to give him. He had said and done what was required in order to give them the best, if not the only, chance to win this case, mostly in the hope that it would be the last case he would ever have to plead. He had carefully chosen his words and could defend each one of them if he ever had to. How Small interpreted them and what he did about them was not his problem.
They parked in a lot a block away from the office, and trudged through the snow in silence. At one point Bratt’s foot slipped on some ice hidden under a thin layer of snow and he lost his balance. Instantly, Kouri reached out and grabbed his arm before he fell. At that moment their eyes met, and he saw that Kouri’s questions still lingered. Bratt mumbled his thanks and pulled his eyes and arm away, continuing along the frozen path.
He began to wish that Kouri would just ask what he was obviously dying to and get done with it. At least then he could defend himself and set the record straight. But he couldn’t broach the subject himself, because that would look like he was just trying to assuage his own guilty conscience.
Not much chance of that being the case, he told himself, and tried to push all thoughts of the subject out of his mind.
His appointment with Parent that afternoon was at 3:00 and he headed straight to the courthouse while Kouri went on up to their office. At five to the hour Bratt was standing in front of a receptionist as she advised Parent of his arrival before buzzing him in. He wondered what he was going to say when the prosecutor asked to see the names of the proposed alibi witnesses. “I think my client is interviewing actors for the roles as we speak,” was one possible answer, although perhaps dangerously close to the truth.
He walked through the maze of corridors of the Crown offices, following the numbered signs and arrows on the walls until he arrived at Parent’s office. As associate chief prosecutor for nearly twenty years Parent had a much larger office than most of the other Crown attorneys. Despite his family connections Parent had never accepted the judge’s robes tha
t had been waved at him from time to time, preferring the moral certitude of his sworn oath to prosecute the hell out of every petty thief and jaywalker that had the misfortune to cross his path.
Bratt knocked lightly on the open door and stepped in. Parent sat behind his large melamine desk, on a standard-issue gray-cloth civil servant’s chair. Across from him and with his back still to Bratt sat Sergeant-Detective Philippe St. Jean, and next to him, turning in her seat to face the door, was Nancy Morin.
Bratt stared at her from just inside the doorway, unsure how to act. Parent, to Bratt’s relief, broke the ice by speaking first.
“Hello, Robert. Come on in. You know Philippe St. Jean. And, of course, this is S-D Morin, whom you’ve become intimately familiar with recently, I believe.”
Bratt was stunned, suddenly certain that she had already revealed their affair. Nancy must have recognized the expression on his face, because she smiled at him reassuringly as she said to Parent, “After the past two months in court I’m sure he hoped it was the last he’d seen of me.”
“Nonsense,” said Parent. “How could any man get tired of the presence of such a lovely lady? Now, sit down, Robert, and please shut the door.”
The prosecutor pulled a yellow legal pad closer and pushed his thick glasses up higher on his long, thin nose, peering through them at Bratt.
“Well, Robert, I’ve been waiting expectantly for this moment ever since I heard you took over for Lynn Sévigny. What do you have for us?”
Bratt didn’t answer right away. He still hadn’t decided what to say about the alibi witnesses and Nancy’s presence had thrown him for a loop. He turned his head and stared at her again, asking himself, What the hell is she doing here?
Parent answered this question as if Bratt had asked it out loud.
“Miss Morin is going to assist me during the trial, Robert. You probably weren’t aware she was being temporarily assigned to homicide, since Philippe is taking his retirement. Well-deserved, I might add.”
“Oh, I see,” Bratt replied, although he clearly didn’t see at all.
The Guilty Page 14