“It’s fun to get dressed up every so often, though I feel a lot more comfortable in my usual clothes.”
“Does anyone know you’re out with me?” Campbell asked, reaching over to touch Emma’s hand.
“No, I would never tell my father. He’d freak.” Emma giggled, not volunteering that she had shared the secret with Zoe.
“Good. We can tell him about us if and when we become an ‘us.’”
During dinner Joe was a perfect gentleman, thoughtful, funny, complimentary, and commanding. Emma asked him to order for her. He selected porterhouse steak, roasted potatoes, sautéed okra, and a 1989 Pomerol, of which they each had only one glass. Both were anticipating a long, sensual night.
After cheesecake for dessert, Emma excused herself to use the ladies’ room. In it she saw a pay phone and decided to call Zoe and report on the progress of the evening.
Zoe’s line was busy, so she decided to redo her makeup and then try again. Checking her watch, Emma saw that it was eight-thirty, just a little more than three hours left on her birthday. A few minutes later she dialed again. This time she got Zoe’s answering machine and left a message: “Wow, Zoe. Am I having a great time! We went to a film festival at the Museum of Modern Art. Then we decided to go to Peter Luger’s for dinner over in Brooklyn. Joe felt like steak, not Italian. Now I’m in the ladies’ room and we’re about to leave for his hotel. He still won’t tell me where. But he said it would be romantic. Near Central Park. I can’t wait. I promise I’ll tell you everything. Everything. See you soon.”
Emma hastened back to the table.
While Emma was crossing the Brooklyn Bridge on her way back into Manhattan, Abe was sitting in police headquarters, almost in view of the bridge, waiting for the phone to ring with some news of Emma. Finally it rang.
It was Zoe. Her voice was shaking. Emma had called her while she’d been in the shower. She played back Emma’s message. Abe listened to Emma’s giggly voice, wondering if he would ever hear his daughter happy again.
“Mr. Ringel, God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I could have missed her call.”
“That’s okay, Zoe, it’s not your fault.” It seemed to Abe he’d been saying that a lot lately. “I’ve got to go.”
“Please have Emma call me as soon as you get her away from that creep. Please, I won’t sleep a wink.”
“Sure.” If he got her away.
He called Peter Luger’s. Yes, Joe Campbell had been there. Yes, he had been with a woman. They had called a cab—to take him and the young lady he was with to Manhattan. No, they didn’t know where, but they knew the name and number of the cab company.
A call to the cab company turned out to be a dead end. They had sent half a dozen cabs to Peter Luger’s. However, they agreed to send out a message on the car radio.
Abe continued to call the hotels, limiting himself to the dozen or so that bordered Central Park. Still no luck.
Finally, as 10 P.M. approached, Abe decided to go up Central Park South and make the rounds of the hotels. Maybe Joe had used a third name. Maybe the cabbie hadn’t recognized Joe Campbell.
Rothman drove Abe uptown in a squad car while another cop manned the phones. It was 10:15 P.M.
Chapter Forty-one
MANHATTAN—FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1
The St. Moritz had seen better days, yet it was still an old favorite for romantic interludes. Its views of the park were spectacular, and its high-ceilinged rooms still reflected the detail and charm of a bygone age.
Campbell had a cap pulled down over his head and was holding an umbrella that was wet from the light summer shower outside. Despite his height, no one seemed to recognize him as he and Emma walked the short distance between the revolving door and the elevator that would take them to the room he had rented in the name of Jason Crane. No “Mitch White” tonight, Campbell thought. Using his familiar pseudonym wouldn’t be a good idea this time.
He had created a perfect alibi in the event anything went wrong. First, he had reserved the hotel room several days earlier by computer, sending a postal money order to cover the cost of the room. Then, on the way from Peter Luger’s to the St. Moritz, he’d stopped at his apartment for a few minutes, telling Emma he had to get some toiletries. He’d asked her to stay in the cab, which was parked around the corner from the entrance. He had gone past the doorman, making sure to tell him he was turning in for the night. Then he’d gone down to the basement, exited through a side door, which he left ajar, and returned to the cab.
As they rode up in the empty elevator, Joe hoped desperately that tonight would be different. He had been attracted to Emma because she was so unlike the others. Perhaps her innocence—indeed, her virginity—would be enough of a challenge and a turn-on to feed the monster. Maybe tonight would be like his first night with his ex-wife, Annie. That had been wonderful, mutual, gentle, and explosive. Could Emma bring that all back to him?
Maybe.
He put these thoughts out of his mind as he turned the key and opened the door to room 1017. Emma was thrilled as she slipped inside and saw flowers and champagne on the table adjoining the large double bed. The stereo was soon playing Brahms’s Fourth symphony, which Emma had confided was her favorite. This was going to be a night to remember.
Emma’s body swayed sinuously as she walked across the room in the unfamiliar high heels. Touching the flowers, she said, “These are so beautiful.”
Drawn to the sight of her thigh outlined against the delicate fabric of her dress, Joe came up behind her and gently put his arm around her. Then he kissed her passionately.
Emma emitted a low sigh as Joe began to move his hands down her sides. Cupping one soft breast, he recalled the feel of young skin.
He felt the surge of desire emanate from his mind to his groin. It was the first time in years he had felt any arousal in a normal fashion. “Come here,” he murmured.
He drew her to the bed and slipped her expertly out of her dress. “You’ve been shopping at Victoria’s Secret, I see.” He smiled at the sight of the young innocent in a see-through black bra and lace bikini panties. He saw her blush. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re a lovely woman, and I am delighted that of all the men in the world you chose me to celebrate your birthday with.” Carefully he removed her bra. Again he felt the thrill of sexual arousal.
“Now you.” Emma began to unbutton Joe’s shirt.
“Not yet. I want to just enjoy you some more.” The truth was he wanted to see how long he could keep his erection. And just as he thought it, he felt himself recede.
Emma saw the look cross his face and knew he was experiencing what Rendi had warned her about with older guys. She tried to take the pressure off.
“Whew, let’s take a breather.”
“Would you like some champagne?”
“Sure, a little.”
Campbell opened a bottle of French champagne and poured them each a glass. As he was handing Emma hers, some of the champagne dripped on her body. He leaned down and surprised her by licking the wine from her skin. Again he felt a brief rise.
“Why don’t you get undressed?” Emma said, pulling off her underpants.
Joe removed his remaining clothes quickly, but then he went limp again. This time was more humiliating because he was naked.
It wasn’t working. Emma didn’t seem to mind, but Joe was becoming angry and frustrated. The monster was growing ugly. This would not be a reprise of the first night with Annie Higgins. It was beginning to feel like a reprise of more recent nights with other women.
Suddenly Joe moved his body so that his mouth was close to Emma’s ear. Gently he whispered something into her ear. At first Emma did not even hear the words. All she felt was the lovely sensation of his mouth blowing softly into her ear. Then she heard him distinctly—and couldn’t believe what he was saying. But there was absolutely no room for ambiguity.
“Your father had sex with Rendi just before your mother died, and your mother found out about it.”
&nb
sp; “That’s a lie!” Emma screamed.
“No, it’s not. I broke into Rendi’s computer diary, and it’s there in black and white.”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God, why are you doing this?” Emma cried, tears filling her eyes. “Why are you ruining the most important night of my life?”
She got up from the bed, reached for her dress, and headed for the bathroom. Joe followed her and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her toward him.
“Let go of me. I don’t want you to touch me. If you don’t let go, I’ll yell rape.”
“No, you won’t,” Joe said, placing his giant hands around her mouth and nose. As he did so, he felt an enormous surge of sexual energy through his body….
Chapter Forty-two
It was 11 P.M. by the time Abe and Rothman made it uptown to the row of hotels that dotted Central Park South. They started at the Plaza and worked their way west. As they were entering the Park Lane, Abe looked down at his watch: it was 11:15.
As Abe and the detective left the lobby of the Park Lane, a uniformed policeman ran up to them. “Call for Mr. Ringel. It’s being patched through.”
Abe grabbed the police phone and heard Rendi’s voice, breathless, on the other end.
“I’m calling from inside Campbell’s apartment. Damnedest luck—the basement door of his building was ajar.”
“What did you find?”
“A computer printout of parts of my diary—you were right—and a reservation receipt for the St. Moritz in the name of Jason Crane.”
“We’re on our way to the St. Moritz. Meet me there.”
“I’m on my way.”
Abe ran up Central Park South toward the St. Moritz, while Rothman called the hotel and asked for Jason Crane’s room. No answer. Suddenly the quiet night air of Central Park was disturbed by the blast of sirens. Abe, panic-stricken, ran toward the sound. An ambulance, a paramedic truck, and three police cars had formed a circle in front of the main entrance to the St. Moritz, blocking traffic. While Abe focused his eyes on this terrible scene, Rothman came running behind him, screaming, “There’s been a call for an ambulance! Something happened on the tenth floor—I don’t know anything else.”
Abe ran through the phalanx of cops that had quickly encircled the ambulance. Rothman was screaming, “Let him through, let him through!” The two of them approached within a few feet of the waiting ambulance and saw a handful of paramedics pushing a gurney through the hotel lobby. Abe couldn’t tell whether there was any sign of life in the patient. He raced to catch up with the paramedics, still imagining the worst. The awful image of Emma, not breathing, ashen faced and stone dead, focused in his mind’s eye as his daughter’s brief life flashed before him. How unlucky she had been to lose a parent so young. To lose her own life so violently and so early. To have a father who was such an idiot for sticking to the rules.
At that instant Abe felt a tug on his arm. “Not now, Rendi,” he said automatically, trying desperately to get a look at the face on the passing gurney while trying just as hard to avert his eyes from a sight he did not want to see.
Again there was a tug on his arm, this time even more firmly. “Daddy, Daddy,” he heard. The voice was tearful and frightened. Abe was certain he was hallucinating. It sounded like Emma’s voice. Where was it coming from?
Suddenly he saw the face on the gurney out of the corner of his eye. It was a man’s face—Joe Campbell’s face. He heard one of the paramedics say, “He’s in shock.” Then Emma, frightened and tearful, came into full view.
“Daddy, Daddy,” she said. “He tried to rape me. He tried to kill me.”
Abe embraced her. Emma continued to cry, “He was really trying to kill me.”
“I know. I know,” Abe said, hugging his shaking daughter.
“He told me something terrible about you and Rendi, Daddy. He knew it would upset me.”
“That’s the way he does it, Emma. That’s his MO.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Abe wasn’t sure whether she was referring to what Campbell had told her or to what he had known about Campbell. He didn’t try to answer. There would be time for that later. For now he asked, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Before she could even answer, Abe saw an enormous welt and a deep scratch on her mouth and cheek. Her nose was bleeding slightly, and her eye was blackening.
“I’m fine, Daddy. I think I might have hurt Joe. I kicked him very hard in his groin—the way they taught me in model mugging. Then, when he bent over, I kneed him in the face. Then I hit him with a champagne bottle and called downstairs. I thought he was dead. I ran out of the room.”
“You did the right thing, Emma. You saved your life. You had to. You had no choice.”
“Thank God for the model mugging class,” Emma said with the first hint of a smile. “We trained with some really big guys.”
Abe gently embraced Emma.
“All I could think about is how much I wanted to see you safe.”
“All I could think about,” Emma responded, “was how I wanted to spend every birthday for the rest of my life with you, Daddy.”
“Well, we still have about ten minutes until this birthday ends.”
Epilogue
Joe Campbell was arrested in his hospital room at Lenox Hill He was charged with attempted rape and attempted murder.
He suffered permanent injury to his left testicle and severe contusions to his right testicle. The injury to his reputation was, if anything, even more enduring, especially after the mortifying New York Post headline, which became a classic: JOCK STRAPPED. The subhead read “Campbell Arrested, Suspended from Knicks.”
Four months later Campbell was tried for the attempted rape and attempted murder of Emma. His new lawyer, Raul Kramer, raised an insanity defense and subpoenaed Abe to testify about his conversations with Campbell concerning psychiatric treatment. Abe was reluctant to testify about a former client, but since Campbell had waived any lawyer-client privilege by subpoenaing him, he did testify truthfully as to what he had recommended to Campbell. He also testified fully about the computer scheme. Kramer believed that by disclosing these bizarre facts, he would increase Campbell’s chances of being found insane.
The testimony backfired. Jurors later told the press that no one who was capable of calculating so carefully in advance could really be insane. Campbell was sentenced to fifteen years’ imprisonment, eligible for parole in ten years with good behavior.However, he was not tried for the murder of Midge Lester; the prosecutor concluded that the evidence was too circumstantial. Currently Joe Campbell is studying computer programming in Dannemora prison.
Nancy Rosen was finally readmitted to the bar after Abe got several dozen prominent lawyers to sign a petition urging a one-year suspension rather than a permanent disbarment. She is still practicing in Newark, working out in the local gym, and walking a thin line between being a lawyer and a radical.
Late on the eve of Yom Kippur, Haskel Levine died in his sleep. Abe had visited him just hours before his death, on the way home from Kol Nidre services. Haskel was almost completely uncommunicative during this last visit. But he did seem to ask—at least Abe thought he did—how Emma was doing.
Emma was doing very well at Barnard. The assault by Campbell had traumatized her more than she had first realized. What upset her even more was learning that Campbell had told the truth about her father and Rendi. Even after many tearful talks with her father and several months of intense therapy, she was still a long way from getting back to normal, but her class-work was improving and she was even beginning to date. Her current love was a young Russian immigrant, a rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary and a philosophy major at Columbia. “He reminds me of what a young Haskel Levine might have been like,” she told Abe.
One aftermath of the Campbell case was Emma’s immutable decision not to become a lawyer. This came during one dinner, after Abe had tried for several hours to explain why he had not been able to warn her about Joe Campbell.
“There are serious consequences when a lawyer breaks a promise and a rule,” Abe had explained.
Emma’s face showed that she was thinking about the promise and rule that he had broken with respect to Hannah. She didn’t say a word, except to place some of the blame on herself. “If I had broken my promise to Joe Campbell and told you that Iwas going out with him that night, I’ll bet you would have told me the truth about him.”
Abe acknowledged that she was right He did not try to dissuade Emma from pursuing a career in which she did not have to make such tragic choices.
“In the end, the law didn’t save me. I had to save myself,” she told Abe. “Daddy, I want a career in which doing the right thing always helps people—not one where you always have to make tragic choices between people.” Emma is studying child psychology.
Abe’s romance with Rendi underwent a change following the emptying of his nest. They spent alternate nights in passionate pledges of undying love and then cursing each other and swearing to stick to a strictly professional relationship. Yet once purged of the curse of their secret, Abe and Rendi drew inexorably closer. It looked as if they might finally stabilize their roller-coaster relationship.
The American Bar Association is considering a change in its rules of lawyer confidentiality following the publicity surrounding the Campbell case. Under the proposed new rule, a lawyer will be allowed to disclose a confidence from a client if such disclosure is necessary to save an innocent life, even if the client did not say he was planning a future crime. The lawyer must, however, tell the client of this new exception at the beginning of the initial lawyer-client interview.
Critics of the proposed change—which has come to be called the “Ringel rule”—argue that if the new rule is enacted, clients will simply not trust their lawyers with information that the lawyers might eventually have to disclose. One prominent critic, Professor Monte Fireman of Hofstra Law School, has argued that if the Ringel rule had been in effect when Joe Campbell had come to Abe Ringel, Abe would never have learned the information from Campbell that enabled him to try to save his daughter’s life.
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