(1969) The Seven Minutes

by Irving Wallace

  ‘Not that Faye has anything to do with our - our business meeting. It’s just that, well, if things were the way they were, and I were seen dining with you, it might have been misunderstood. I mean, women are very possessive - I’m no different - and I wouldn’t want to be caught up in anything nasty or bitchy.’

  ‘When you speak of Faye, use past tense.’ .

  ‘Well… if you say so.’

  ‘In fact, let’s not speak of her at all. Let’s talk about us. I’m hungry, which means I’m feeling better. What about you?’

  ‘Hungry.’

  ‘I don’t know your tastes yet, Maggie. French, Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Vegetarian?’

  ‘Italian.’

  ‘Perfect. What about a really good place ? Ever been to La Scala in Beverly Hills?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Is it dress-up?’

  ‘You’ll do fine.’

  ‘I don’t mean me. I mean you. Even without a shirt* shouldn’t you were a necktie?’

  He looked down at his bare chest, and they both laughed. ‘I’ve got a clean shirt in the closet,’ he said. ‘I’ll just be a jiffy.’

  Although the two dining areas in La Scala Restaurant were confined, and the booths and tables seemed crowded together, the diners forming couples and groups at the various places did not intrude upon each other’s privacy. Such was the atmosphere and ambience of the restaurant that a man and a woman dining together, although surrounded by other diners, could enjoy a feeling of intimacy and at the same time feel separate from these others.

  Seated close to Maggie Russell at a wall table in the rear, Mike Barrett appreciated this intimacy that did not depend on isolation. The codeine had done its work, and the two drinks before dinner had helped. The demi-sized bottle of chianti wine that had come after the minestrone soup and with the fettuccine had been all but emptied. He felt no pain.

  During the meal, in response to Maggie’s questioning, Barrett had repeated, at greater length, what he had already told Abe

  Zelkin an hour ago. A wide-eyed Maggie Russell had listened attentively to his recital of Leroux’s being whisked away from Antibes, of the plain-clothesmen appearing by coincidence at Quandt’s filth factory, of the Jadway letters begin spirited off by an impostor, of Isabel Vogler’s curious amnesia and change of heart in Van Nuys.

  Now, having completed his recital, Barrett caught the last of the buttered flat noodles on his fork and devoured them.

  Maggie set down her wine glass. ‘It’s unbelievable,’ she said. ‘It’s the kind of thing you see or read about in mysteries, but you know they are make-believe. Even when you learn about those electronic devices in the news, it’s hard to accept the reality of human beings like us stealing into someone else’s office or home and secreting those instruments, and some person somewhere overhearing conversations that are supposed to be private. It’s hard to believe that it really happens.’

  ‘Well, it happened.’

  ‘It’s not only immoral, but dirty, just as dirty as some voyeur sneaking up to a private bedroom window at night to watch a couple making love on their bed.’

  ‘Your voyeur does it for his own sexual gratification. Yerkes is a member of the Anything Goes Club, and he does it for power.’

  Power can be sexual gratification, too,’ said Maggie. ‘If you ever saw Luther Yerkes, you’d believe that’s the only kind of sexual gratification he is capable of enjoying. He gives me goose pimples. And he’s most obvious when he thinks he’s being subtle. You should see the way he twists Uncle Frank around his finger. You wouldn’t believe it, the way Uncle Frank accepts everything Yerkes says, even thinking he’s initiated things Yerkes has suggested to him.’

  ‘Frank Griffith has to believe everything that Yerkes advises. After all, in your uncle’s world the values and standards he lives by have reached their fullest flowering in the person of a Yerkes. To the merely rich, Luther Yerkes is a maharajah.’

  ‘But you don’t think it was Yerkes who brought off Isabel Vogler?’

  ‘No,’ said Barrett. The highest power wasn’t needed for that operation. It was strictly Frank Griffith, I’m almost certain.’

  ‘And you don’t think the District Attorney was a part of this?’

  ‘I really don’t think so. Maybe I tend to be a boy scout, as my ex told me last night when our parting was such unsweet sorrow. No, I don’t think Elmo Duncan is the instigator of what’s happened. He may know it is happening and with silence give consent, and thus be an accessory after the fact. Yet I’m sure he’s not the instigator, only the beneficiary. When Elmo Duncan unloads his big guns come Monday, most of the world will credit him with pounding us to smithereens. Nobody’ll know that it is Yerkes who’s running the supply line, with assists from Willard Osborn

  and Frank Griffith and God knows whom else. I’ll confess our defenses are damn weak - especially after all the sabotage - to stand up against a formidable lineup like that one.’

  Impulsively, Maggie reached out and covered Barrett’s hand with her own. ‘Mike, don’t include me in that lineup, even if I am a relative of Frank Griffith’s.’

  ‘You’re not a blood relative. You’re not anything remotely like Griffith.’

  He wanted to take her soft hand, hold it, but she had already removed it. She said, ‘I’m not, and blood or no, neither is his own son like him. I’ve told you before that I felt I shouldn’t see you, because I can’t be disloyal to people I’m living with or with whom I’m associated. I’ve thought about that, and now I can give you a fuller picture of what I honestly feel. It’s not the Griffith family as a whole I’m protective about. It’s only Jerry, Jerry alone. He’s the one I’m loyal to. Aunt Ethel - well, she’s helpless and I’m sorry for Uncle Frank - after the way he has behaved, the way he is still behaving, I care for him less and less. That’s not quite true, either. To care for a person less means you’ve had to care for them somewhat at some time. I’ve never cared for him in any way. I’ve tolerated him, survived him, and in my feline way I’ve protected Jerry from him. I don’t give a damn about Frank Griffith. I’m sure he’s a self-righteous bastard, everything Isabel Vogler first said he was, doubled and redoubled in spades.’

  ‘Maggie, there’s no need for you -‘

  ‘Let me get it off my chest while I can. Just take one thing. Yerkes wants Duncan to use Jerry as a witness against your book. That’s become a bad thing. And, while Jerry won’t discuss the night he tried to kill himself, he is constantly telling me he’ll try it again before he’ll go on the witness stand. He’s petrified by the very thought of it. Jerry isn’t capable of resisting his father any longer, so he speaks only to me and to the psychoanalyst about his fear. But it’s not as if Uncle Frank doesn’t know what he’s doing to the boy. He’s heard from Dr Trimble what an ordeal public exposure in a courtroom would be for Jerry. Nevertheless, Uncle Frank remains adamant. Goddammit, he keeps saying, his son is going to be a man, stand up there like a man and speak out to the world about what your book did to him. Uncle Frank’s pretense is that he is demanding this of Jerry to help the boy save himself from the rape charge. But I think all Uncle Frank is doing this for, consciously or unconsciously, is to save his own face and image by diverting everyone’s mind from his personal responsibility for Jerry’s behavior. I think it’s a selfish act, not a fatherly act. He’s sacrificing his son to save himself. And I simply can’t let it happen.’

  ‘What can you do about it, Maggie?’

  ‘Maybe not much. Maybe a lot. Jerry doesn’t have to appear as a witness if he doesn’t want to, does he?’

  Barrett shook his head. ‘No. Oh, Duncan could subpoena him.

  But he wouldn’t risk it if Jerry promised to be an uncooperative witness-, no, it is up to Jerry whether he appears or not.’

  ‘It’s not up to Jerry. It’s up to his father. And it’s up to me to see that his father doesn’t push him into this - and over the brink of sanity. I’ve been tempted to take Jerry’s part a dozen times in these past d
ays. I’ve been afraid, I admit. Afraid maybe of endangering my own security. But what you’ve told me about Uncle Frank’s manipulation of Isabel Vogler makes me furious. I’m almost ready to speak up come what may. I hope I can get drunk enough one night to do it. How much time have I got ?’

  ‘Probably until the middle of next week.’

  ‘I’ll do it yet.’

  ‘Do you think anything you say can possibly make Frank Griffith change his mind ?’

  ‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘Telling him that Jerry has tried to commit suicide might.’

  ‘You think you could tell your uncle that ?’ Barrett did not conceal his doubt.

  ‘I think so. I’m not sure. I’m only sure that if Uncle Frank is told about it, and knows his pressure may drive Jerry to another attempt, that might make him stop. The possibilities of a scandal like that might outweigh whatever is driving him to put his son on the stand.’

  ‘Maggie, even though you’d be doing this for Jerry - and I’d profit from it as well by not having Jerry as a witness against us -I would think it over carefully before having it out with Frank Griffith.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, win or lose, you’d make your own position in the Griffith household untenable. And I’m not sure you’re ready to leave there. You yourself told me you needed them. That’s why you’re there.’

  ‘Well, I’m not so sure I need that kind of horrible incubator any longer. I may be ready to risk flying on my own. I’m here in public with you, am I not? That’s a step. A small defiance. A shred of courage.’

  ‘I wondered.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Why you took the risk.’

  ‘You asked me,’ she said simply. She brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. ‘I like you, that’s why mostly.’

  ‘And I care for you, Maggie. That must be very apparent to you.’

  ‘Oh, that. You’re on the rebound.’

  ‘I was attracted to you before the rebound.’

  “The polygamous male,’ she said. But she had smiled. ‘I won’t hide this. I’m glad you’re through with that other female. Or are you?’

  ‘Am I glad or through? Both. Yes, especially glad that I’m

  through. It’s finished and done.’

  She toyed with a ring on her index finger. There’s another reason I’m here. Despite what it may have done to Jerry - and, as you say, we can’t be sure that’s all of it - I’m for Jadway and I’m for The Seven Minutes. I’ve told you so before. I wanted to stand up with you in public and be counted.’

  That instant he wanted to say, Maggie, I love you. He said, “That’s wonderful of you.’

  ‘Now that you’ve lost Mrs Vogler, I wish I could find someone else to help you prove the book alone shouldn’t be blamed for Jerry’s deed. But there is no one else who can tell the truth -except … myself. And - and I could go far, but not that far, not as far as the witness stand. You understand.’

  ‘I wouldn’t allow you to be a defense witness even if you wanted to be one.’

  ‘I find it unbearable, the crude things I hear and read against Jadway’s book. I keep thinking of the heroine, Cathleen, and the real woman, Jadway’s mistress, the one they say inspired Cathleen -‘

  ‘Cassie McGraw.’

  ‘How I envy her having been so liberated about loving, her having been so freed as to experience total love. Most women go their entire lives, to the very grave, without knowing even a small bit of love or being able to accept or appreciate what little love they do get.’

  ‘What about you, Maggie?’ Barrett asked quietly. ‘Could you feel toward a man the way Cassie did - or let’s say the way Cathleen did in the story?’

  Maggie looked away. ‘I don’t know. When I think of Cathleen in that book, I sometimes think maybe I could be like that. I mean, that I have it all locked inside me, and I could find myself opening up and giving someone, the right partner, all of me, everything of me, and, in turn, being able to accept and embrace the love given to me. I hope one day I can have my own seven minutes.’

  ‘If you want such love enough, you’ll have it one day,’ he said seriously.

  She gave an embarrassed shrug. ‘We’ll see…. And do you see what time it is? If you’re going to be in shape for Monday, you should have been in bed an hour ago, especially considering what’s happened to you. I hope you’ll be sensible and rest tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m afraid not tomorrow, or any day until the trial’s done. We’ve got an Italian painter, da Vecchi, who claims to have known Jadway and done a portrait of him, coming in from Florence tomorrow. And a half-dozen other witnesses to interrogate further.’

  ‘Well, try to get some rest.’

  Barrett stood up and pulled back the table to make room for her to rise. ‘And you think twice before tangling with Frank Griffith,’ he said.

  ‘Only if he sees the light before,’ she said. ‘Maybe I’ll work on Dr Trimble first. God, I am a coward. But something will be done.’

  Barrett scooped up his change and then caught up with Maggie as she reached the aisle between the bar and the exit. There he took her arm, and as he did so he saw that she had recognized someone at the bar.

  From the middle of the crowded bar, a young man with curly rumpled hair that was badly in need of a barber, but wearing an expensive silk suit, was waving to Maggie energetically. ‘Hiya, Miss Russell!’ he called out.

  She raised her gloved hand tentatively. ‘Hi,’ she said without enthusiasm.

  Then she pivoted quickly and hastened down the steps and outside. Once again Barrett had to catch up with her.

  On the sidewalk in front of La Scala, Barrett inspected her. She was gnawing her lower lip, and her face had gone pale.

  ‘Who was that ?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Irwin Blair,’ she said. ‘He’s a public-relations man. He’s in the Luther Yerkes stable, doing some of the publicity on Duncan.’ She smiled weakly. ‘Wherever Yerkes is, you can be sure Frank Griffith is not far away.’

  ‘I’m damn sorry about that, Maggie. I shouldn’t have brought you here.’ He frowned. ‘Is this going to mean trouble for you?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’ This time her smile was full and it was real. She took his hand. ‘Whatever happens, it was worth it.’

  It was late, and Elmo Duncan had begun to think that this was a helluva way to spend a Friday night.

  Worse, tomorrow would be busier, and Sunday would be no day of rest. All weekend, from dawn to late at night, Duncan would be meeting in the Hall of Justice with his staff, his investigators, Leroux, and other prosecution witnesses. Finally, with the coming of Monday morning, the roulette wheel would spin and he would be laying his career and his future on the table.

  Yet, even though he was now weary to the very marrow of his bones, Elmo Duncan knew that when the gavel fell on Monday morning and the trial opened he would be refreshed and strong. It had always been thus in his past experience. Time and again he had come into the courtroom suffering fatigue of mind and body, but, once the trial began, it seemed that some hidden reservoir began to feed him from its store of energy, and he was revitalized and revived. One part of this came, he supposed, from having an audience. Spectators, the press, the faceless audience beyond the boundaries of the courtroom always stimulated him, and he might never possess a larger audience than on Monday morning and in the days to follow. Another part of the rejuvenation process sprang from the excitement of challenge, to which he always responded as if his self-preservation, the lives of himself and his family, were at

  stake. He liked an opponent he could see and hate, and he would cast this enemy as a murderer who was out to destroy him, so that he was forced to kill to prevent being killed. Lately he had begun to regard Michael Barrett, the defense attorney, as such an enemy. A third part of Duncan’s renewed vigor derived from a dedication to his cause. He had to believe that his prosecution was just, that his fight was holy, and that if he did not succeed then the great ma
ss of people who depended upon him would be swept away by the barbarians. Rarely before had he believed so absolutely in a cause he represented. He knew that the fiendish hordes of lust and decadence had to be stopped (it was as if he were the guardian to the gates of Rome as the ravaging Numidian cavalry of the Carthaginian army approached) if civilization, meaning law and order and morality, were to be preserved.

  Yet, most of all, what set Duncan’s adrenal glands secreting, what sparked him to life in a courtroom, was the confidence that he was better prepared and better armed than his enemy. And never in his life had he been as confident as he was tonight. Key skirmishes had been won before the final battle had even begun, and the enemy’s ranks had been seriously weakened, if not decimated. Conversely, his own ranks had been powerfully strengthened. There had been serious defections from the other side. By what means he did not know or wish to know. He could guess, but he would not seek confirmation. Luther Yerkes was the keeper of the magic. All was fair in love and war, and this was war, this was war for survival. In the ledger that he posted in his head, the enemy had no star witness. While he, Elmo Duncan, had not one but two. He had Christian Leroux and he had Jerry Griffith, and this was an excess of riches.

  Yet, despite these reassurances that he would be ready and effective on Monday, this was still late Friday night and he was exhausted.

  His mind had wandered, but hearing Jerry Griffith mentioned once more across the coffee table, Elmo Duncan tried to give the other two in the deep armchairs his undivided attention. There was Luther Yerkes, resplendent as ever in his blue-tinted glasses and his ascot and smoking jacket, patting bis hairpiece, then gesticulating with one tiny feminine hand at Frank Griffith. There was Griffith, in the other armchair, his beefy countenance absorbed and his athlete’s body straining against the side of the chair to catch every word his superior was addressing to him. To Duncan’s knowledge, this was the first time that Griffith had been invited to attend a conference in Yerkes’ beach house in Malibu colony.

  Earlier, the other two regulars had been present. The jumpy publicity man, Irwin Blair, had been here, but only briefly. He had already done the hardest of his work, developing citywide, statewide, nationwide, and, finally, worldwide interest in the forthcoming trial. Once the trial was under way, the publicity would be self—