Fugitive

by Phillip Margolin

  Kate tried to remember who had been with Marsh. Werner Rollins had testified that he’d joined Marsh and Gary Hass after he’d decked the guard with whom he’d been fighting. Epps said that he had moved back so he could protect Marsh. Rollins had testified that he saw Marsh fire the shot that killed Arnold Pope Jr.

  If Epps and Rollins had lied to the police so they could cut deals, any of the other men standing with Marsh could have fired the shot.

  CHAPTER 26

  Amanda had returned to New York a few times since graduating from law school at NYU, and she had mixed feelings about the city. Manhattan was a wonderful place to visit. It had the best restaurants, great shopping, terrific museums, cutting-edge art, the theater, and a buzz in the air that let you know that big things were happening. But you didn’t go to the theater or eat at a four-star restaurant every night when you lived in the city. At heart, Amanda was an Oregon girl. After the initial excitement of a visit wore off, she would miss Portland with its easygoing pace, snow-capped mountains, and gentle, green hills. This, however, was her first day in New York in some time, and she found herself intrigued by the bustling crowds and longing for a real pastrami sandwich when the limo that had picked her up at the airport whisked her past the Carnegie Deli on the way to her meeting with her client.

  World News was hiding Charlie Marsh in a corporate condo near Columbus Circle. The driver phoned ahead to alert Dennis Levy that Amanda was on her way. As she rode up in the elevator, Amanda wondered if the real Charlie Marsh would be anything like the Charlie Marsh of her imagination: a swashbuckling bandit who had dramatically cast away his penchant for violence so he could bring enlightenment to mankind. Many people who had been won over by his vivid transformation from evildoer to saint never believed he was guilty of the congressman’s murder. Amanda had been enthralled by his autobiography, but she’d learned enough about the failings of career criminals from her father to maintain a healthy skepticism about the guru’s claims.

  The door to the World News condo opened as soon as Amanda knocked. A skinny kid, who looked like he was barely out of adolescence, peeked through a gap in the door and anxiously scanned the corridor beyond Amanda’s shoulder as if he was expecting a SWAT team to charge in behind her.

  “Miss Jaffe?” he asked nervously.

  Amanda nodded. “And you must be Dennis Levy.”

  “Come on in,” Levy said, stepping back enough so Amanda could slip sideways into a large living room with an amazing view of Central Park. Several locks snapped shut behind her. A moment later, Amanda felt the freezing cold air that was blowing through the apartment like a hurricane.

  “What’s with the air-conditioning?” she asked Levy as she fought an impulse to wrap her arms across her chest.

  The reporter, who was bundled up in a heavy sweater, jerked his head toward a slender, blond-haired man in a dark blue warm-up suit, who was perched on the edge of a sofa, channel-surfing on a huge flat-screen TV.

  “He says he hates heat and anything else that reminds him of Africa.”

  Amanda’s idea of what Marsh would look like was based on his author photo on the back of The Light Within You and dim memories of the fugitive on television shows. Marsh looked nothing like the confident, dynamic spokesman for self-awareness she remembered. He was emaciated and his skin had the leathery look common to people who spend too much time in the sun with too little sun block.

  “Charlie, your lawyer’s here,” Levy said.

  When Marsh heard his name, his head swiveled toward Amanda but his body and the remote stayed pointed at the television.

  “I can’t get over all these channels,” Charlie said. “Did you know you can get porn in your own home for free in high definition?”

  “Yes, Mr. Marsh, I’m well aware of that,” Amanda said, smiling involuntarily. Her client’s wide-eyed awe reminded her that he had been in exile for twelve years.

  Marsh turned off the set and stood up. “How come I didn’t get your father?”

  Amanda took no offense. “He represented Mrs. Pope, your codefendant. It would be a conflict of interest if he represented you, too.”

  Marsh inspected Amanda. “You look young. Do you have enough experience to handle a case this big?”

  “Do you think a major publication like World News, with all its resources, would ask me to represent you if they didn’t think I was up to the job?” she answered calmly.

  “Yeah, point taken. But you can consult with your father, right? I mean, he can be involved in the case even if he can’t be my lawyer?”

  “I always consult with my father when I have a complex case. And he consults with me when he has one. So you don’t have to worry. You’ll be getting two lawyers for the price of one.”

  “Okay. Just checking. Don’t get upset. It’s my life on the line here.”

  “I’m well aware of that. Look, Mr. Marsh, you’re the client and what you say goes. If you aren’t comfortable with me as your attorney you’re perfectly free to hire someone else.”

  “No, no, that’s okay. I’m sure you’re good. I was just hoping I could get your dad because he got Sally off. But you’re okay, too.”

  “Now that that’s out of the way, there’s a lot to discuss, so we should get started. Where’s a good place to talk?”

  “We can do it right here,” Dennis Levy said. Amanda heard the eagerness in his voice and decided that she couldn’t put off setting guidelines for the reporter.

  “Mr. Levy, it won’t be possible for you to sit in on my conferences with Mr. Marsh.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to worry, I’m on Charlie’s side. And don’t forget, the more authentic the book I’m writing, the better it will sell, so everyone benefits.”

  “That may be, but Mr. Marsh will lose the right to assert his attorney-client privilege if a third person is present during our conversations. That means the DA can compel you to tell a jury everything Mr. Marsh thought he was telling me in confidence. I can’t permit that.”

  “You don’t understand. This is going to be a huge story. We’re talking prizewinning journalism here. And you’re going to get more publicity from this than you can handle, so why don’t you cut me a little slack?” Levy smiled conspiratorially. “Who’ll know what went on in this apartment if no one talks?”

  “I’d know,” Amanda said, “and I wouldn’t lie if I was asked whether you sat in on our conferences. You’re a reporter. I understand your desire to cover a story like this, but Mr. Marsh’s life is at stake, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize it. You may not be present while we talk. Is that understood?”

  Levy’s face had turned bright red during her lecture.

  “Okay, okay, but will you talk to me about things that don’t jeopardize the case?”

  “Of course, and I’ll try to keep you in the loop as much as possible,” she said, to mollify Levy, “but Mr. Marsh is my priority.”

  “Hey, Dennis,” Marsh interjected, “can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, Charlie,” Levy said, eager to please his meal ticket.

  “I’m starving. Can you run out and get me a cheeseburger with bacon? I haven’t had a good burger in twelve years.”

  Levy looked upset at being cast in the role of errand boy but he held his tongue.

  “And fries. I want fries and a Coke.”

  “Okay,” Levy said grudgingly.

  “How about you, Amanda?” Charlie asked. “Is it okay if I call you Amanda?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then you can call me Charlie. So, how about it? Are you hungry?”

  “I’ve been craving a hot pastrami sandwich on rye ever since I drove by the Carnegie Deli.”

  “Done. You got that order, Dennis?”

  “LEVY’S A REAL pain in the ass,” Charlie said as soon as the front door closed behind the reporter.

  “He’s just excited about his story.”

  Marsh cocked an eyebrow. “You haven’t been trapped with him twenty-four-seven for the past few days.
”

  “Point taken,” Amanda said as she walked over to a table that stood next to one of the picture windows overlooking the park. Marsh took a seat on one side and Amanda took a pen and a legal pad out of her attaché case.

  “So, what’s going to happen to me when I land in Oregon?” Marsh asked. He was trying to act cool but his body language told Amanda a different story.

  “I’ve cut a deal with Karl Burdett, the DA.”

  “Didn’t he prosecute Sally?”

  Amanda nodded. “And he’s still the DA. Karl has promised me he won’t arrest you when you land. You’ll be able to surrender voluntarily at the bail hearing.”

  “Okay, that’s good. And I’ve got the dough to post bail.”

  “There isn’t an automatic right to bail in a murder case, Charlie. The judge can order you held without bail if Burdett convinces him that there’s very good evidence that you murdered Congressman Pope.”

  “But I didn’t. I’m innocent.”

  “Then why did you run?”

  “Delmar grabbed me as soon as the shooting started and dragged me to the limo. He was doing his bodyguard thing. We peeled out and he started driving all over the place to lose anyone who was pursuing us. When we finally stopped we were miles away from the country club and I’d had time to think. I’m an ex-con; Pope hit me because I was screwing his wife; and I ran from the scene of the crime. How’s that going to look? Guilty, guilty, guilty was the only answer I could come up with. I was certain I’d be the fall guy if I turned myself in, especially after they arrested Sally. So I went to Canada, got myself some false ID, and took a tramp steamer to Batanga. The rest is history.”

  “I’m curious, Charlie. You know you’re facing the death penalty, right?”

  Marsh nodded.

  “Then why did you come back? You were safe in Batanga.”

  Marsh laughed. “Amanda, I’d be safer strapped into an electric chair than I was in that mosquito-infested hellhole.”

  “Why don’t you explain that to me?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.”

  “I get that you had a bad experience over there…”

  Marsh snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “It could be important for the bail hearing. You fled the country once and Burdett will argue that’s evidence that you’ll be a flight risk if the judge sets bail.”

  “Believe me, I am never going back to Africa; not ever. You won’t even catch me watching a Tarzan movie.”

  “The judge isn’t going to take your word that you won’t flee, without an explanation.”

  Marsh spaced out and Amanda let him think. When he looked at her, his jaw was set.

  “I’m going to do this just once, so take good notes and never ask me about Batanga again. But, before I tell you about Batanga, I have something I need you to do for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I brought something with me from Batanga that I want you to hold for me. When we get to Oregon I want you to put it in a safety-deposit box.”

  Amanda frowned. “What exactly is this thing?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “We’re not talking drugs here, are we?”

  “No. You won’t be breaking any laws, but you will be doing something important for a lot of innocent people. I can’t say any more. Will you do it?”

  Amanda hesitated. She needed to gain Marsh’s trust if she was going to be an effective advocate for him. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to aid and abet a criminal enterprise.

  “You swear you’re not asking me to commit a crime?” she asked, knowing full well how ridiculous it was to ask that question of a criminal who had earned his living as a con man.

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Give me the item.”

  Charlie went into his bedroom and returned shortly with a box wrapped in brown paper and bound with twine. Amanda put it into her large handbag.

  “You ready to talk about Africa?” she asked when the box was out of sight.

  Charlie sighed. “Let’s get this over.”

  For the next hour, Marsh told his lawyer about his years in exile, concluding with an account of his hairbreadth escape from the makeshift airfield.

  “Jesus, Charlie, you’re lucky to be alive.”

  “I want you to keep me that way.”

  “I’m definitely going to try my best, but tell me, if you didn’t kill Pope, who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Everyone says the shot was fired near you and the gun was found where you were standing.”

  “Look, Amanda, it was dark, what with Werner and Delmar fighting and Pope screaming at me and the citizens shrieking, it was like being in the middle of a three-ring circus.”

  “So you’re saying that you don’t have any idea who killed Arnold Pope?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  AMANDA WAS DOG-TIRED by the time she checked into her hotel. Her cross-country trip and the lengthy interview with Charlie had been exhausting, and Dennis Levy hadn’t made her job any easier. He’d tried to eavesdrop on their conference several times and she’d used a lot of energy fending off his constant attempts to convince her that there would be no real problem if he had better access to her client.

  Amanda took a hot shower to banish the chill that the arctic conditions in Charlie’s condo had seeded into her bones. There was a message from Martha Brice, who wanted an update. Amanda gave it to her while luxuriating on her bed, wrapped in one of the terry-cloth robes that the hotel provided. She was tempted to call Mike Greene just so she could talk about something other than the case, but she remembered the three-hour time difference between New York and Oregon and realized he’d probably be in court. Instead, she called Karl Burdett to tell him that Marsh would fly back on Wednesday. Burdett agreed to set the bail hearing for Thursday. Amanda had feared that the DA would renege on his promise and she breathed a sigh of relief when she hung up the phone. After the call to Burdett, she phoned her office to see if there was anything that required her attention and spoke briefly with Kate Ross.

  When she finished her conversation with Kate, Amanda was a little more relaxed and ready to think about her first impressions of Charlie Marsh. He was definitely not faking his relief at escaping from Batanga. His years there sounded like hell. Amanda couldn’t imagine the horror he’d felt when he saw his butchered lover in Baptiste’s torture chamber.

  Marsh also seemed needy and unsure of himself. He had tried to put on a brave front but Amanda could tell he was scared; a perfectly rational reaction, given his situation. Getting Charlie bail wasn’t going to be easy. Neither was keeping him off of death row.

  What worried Amanda most was whether Charlie was anxious because he had murdered Arnold Pope Jr. In the American legal system, the state was the only party with a burden at trial. It had to convince the jury beyond a reasonable doubt that a defendant was guilty as charged. A defendant never had a burden of proving anything, so a defense attorney didn’t need to know whether her client had committed the crime with which he was charged. That didn’t mean that Amanda wasn’t as curious about her client’s culpability as she was about the contents of the box he’d given her. Charlie’s protestations of innocence were convincing, but he was a con man, and con men made their living by lying with a straight face.

  CHAPTER 27

  The knot in Frank Jaffe’s gut tightened as he drew closer to Sally Pope’s estate. The more he wanted to see her, the more he didn’t. When Frank promised Amanda that he’d meet with Sally, he honestly thought he could handle seeing her again. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  Sally lived in the middle of farm country. Here and there, cattle, sheep, and horses grazed in fenced pastures and a barn or a farmhouse appeared. There were low hills and cultivated squares of yellow and green given over to crops or dark brown patches where the fields had been churned to reclaim the soil for planting.

  Frank had arranged the meeting through Jimmy Pa
vel, the attorney who handled Sally’s legal affairs. A few hours after Frank phoned, Pavel called with directions to the estate and a time for the meeting. While he waited for the call, Frank looked up Sally on the Internet. There were numerous references to her before, during, and immediately after the trial. The search results tailed off drastically after she moved to Europe but there were references that linked her to Liam O’Connell, an Irish author who’d been short-listed for the Booker Prizeb and was a minor celebrity in the U.K. There were very few hits since she’d returned to the States.

  A low stone wall marked the boundaries of the estate. It broke to permit access to the grounds along a dirt road that wound through a thicket of trees. After a short distance, the woods gave way to an expanse of well-tended lawn and a view of a white, antebellum plantation home that looked down on new arrivals from its perch on top of a gentle rise. An image flashed through Frank’s mind, of hoop-skirted southern belles fanning themselves in the summer heat while their beaus sipped mint juleps on the veranda.

  The drive curved in front of a columned portico. Frank parked and got out. A white-and-honey-colored collie trotted toward him, wagging its tail lazily. Frank leaned over to pet the dog, then rang the doorbell. After his Gone with the Wind moment, Frank was disappointed when the woman who answered the door was wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt. She had straight black hair, an engaging smile, and a heavy Italian accent.

  “You must be Mr. Jaffe.”

  Frank nodded.

  “I’m Gina, Mrs. Pope’s personal assistant. She’s expecting you. She’s around back. Follow the path. You can’t miss her.”

  Frank followed a trail of irregularly shaped slabs of gray slate around the side of the three-story house. The collie trotted along beside him. Frank heard a splash and laughter and saw three teenage boys playing in a large swimming pool. They were bronzed from hours in the summer sun. Two of the boys had mops of shaggy black hair. Chlorine and sunlight had turned the tallest boy’s hair a shiny, copper blond. There was a diving board at the deep end and the boys were taking turns doing silly dives. The blond boy paused at the end of the board. He was lean and muscular. After a few bounces he pushed off and rose gracefully. At the point where a competitive diver would have tucked and somersaulted, he flailed his arms in crazy circles and belly-flopped, creating a tidal wave that soaked his friends. The boys laughed and Frank smiled.