by A. W. Gray
Caught, Fratemo tried to salvage what she could.
“He did see the weapon, Your Honor, out in the witness’s anteroom, and he identified it. What’s so…?”
She was the picture of innocence. Rudin’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.
“What’s so, Your Honor,” Sharon said, “is that Miss Fratemo is attempting to make an end run around our motion to suppress, If the witness identifies the gun, our motion becomes moot.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Rudin said, scratching his eyebrow.
“How about,” said Fratemo in her best helpful soprano, “if he merely says he’s seen it without making a physical identification?”
“Oh, come on.” Sharon threw a glare in Fratemo’s direction, then appealed to the judge. “Mr. Nussbaum can take the pistol up to the point of embarkation for Texas, Your Honor, which he’s already done. If he’d made the trip to Dallas himself, he could testify that he saw Spencer unpacking the gun at the hotel. But that’s as far as it goes. He can’t core the apple. We’ll forcefully object to any identification of the weapon subsequent to the FBI search.” She caught the look of hesitation on Rudin’s face and narrowed her eyes. “Straight to the appellate court if necessary, sir, before this witness utters another word.”
Rudin sputtered and spewed. “You’d appeal me?” “Right on,” Sharon said.
“I don’t like threats, Counsel,” Rudin snapped. He soft-pedaled his anger, however; not only was the nation watching, Sharon had him and he knew it; an irate lawyer stalking to the appeals court in the midst of a hearing, and then returning minutes later with a reversal, would tarnish Rudin’s star for all the world to see. He said apologetically, “But don’t have him identify the weapon, Miss Fraterno. Anything which occurred after the FBI search, I won’t admit it until after you’ve presented your rebuttal in the morning.”
Fraterno pouted in defeat. “Yes, Your Honor,” she said.
“So your witness may have to return.” Rudin glanced at the TV camera. He bent his hands at the wrists, palms down, and made a shooing motion. “So let’s move along now,” he said.
As the lawyers marched side by side away from the bench, Sharon hissed from the side of her mouth,
“Nice try, Kathleen.”
Fraterno cut her eyes in Sharon’s direction. “You think so, huh?” she whispered with a smile.
Sharon flopped back into her chair as Fraterno moved in behind the podium. Darla flashed Sharon a curious glance. Sharon patted the actress’s arm, and thought that Darla was responding as well as could be expected. The inclination to offer emotional support was something which Sharon had to ignore. She knew what was coming; her attempt to skirt the exclusionary motion defeated, Fratemo would close as quickly as possible. Sharon bent her head and thumbed through photos. Fraterno’s expression was bland and effectively covered her defeat at the bench. She said to Nussbaum, “To capsule, sir.”
Nussbaum rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair, and let his hands dangle loosely over his lap.
“You helped David pack for his flight.”
“Yes.”
“You carried his luggage to the airport, with the gun and the bullets in separate suitcases?”
“That’s right.”
“And the last you saw of the luggage was when the skycap loaded it onto his cart.”
“And rolled it inside the terminal, yes.”
“And during all this activity,” Fraterno said, “no one had the opportunity to remove the gun from the luggage.”
“Not so’s I wouldn’t have seen.”
“Thank you.” Fratemo offered a perfunctory glance toward Milton Breyer, then faced the judge. “I have no further questions of this witness now, Your Honor. But will respectfully notice the court, we intend to recall Mr. Nussbaum tomorrow morning. Prior to any ruling on the defense’s motion to exclude.”
Sharon nodded silently. Unable to come right out and have Nussbaum identify the pistol, Kathleen had done the next best thing by showing that her witness knew more and that the audience would hear from him again. Sharon laid the photos aside and folded her hands.
“All right,” Rudin said. “The witness is excused until nine a.m.”
Fratemo strolled toward the prosecution table as Nussbaum stepped down from the witness box. Sharon stood and said over the whispered hubbub from the gallery, “Your Honor, we have cross to offer.”
Rudin looked mildly amused as Nussbaum halted in his tracks. Rudin said, “Isn’t the proper time for cross after the prosecution has completed examination of the witness? I know things are different down in Texas, but …”
And things in California, Sharon thought, are straight from looney tunes. “In all due respect, Your Honor, no. Miss Fratemo has announced that she has no further questions. Any recalling of the witness amounts to fresh direct examination. This direct is finished, and I submit we’re entitled to cross.” She tried to look apologetic, but thought she failed in the attempt. “Just a few, Your Honor. Five minutes.”
Rudin’s look told her that she’d just qualified as Number One Pain. The judge said irritably, “Make it fast, Counsel. We should be winding this up.”
Which made Sharon wonder if Rudin had an appointment with Cherry Vick, the literary agent. She flashed a grateful smile. “Thank you, Your Honor.” Then, as the judge simmered in place, she approached the podium. She left Mrs. Welton’s pictures at the defense table; she’d made a snap decision not to get into the mysterious stranger as yet, but had a couple of things she wanted to establish here and now.
“I’m Sharon Hays, Mr. Nussbaum,” she began, “representing Darla Cowan. We’ve talked before.”
Nussbaum was in the act of sitting down, having returned to the witness’s chair. “Yeah, I remember.”
“You remember the occasion of the call?”
“Yeah.” Nussbaum’s attitude was hostile, his eyes dead coals. “About your little girl.”
“My daughter, yes. Do you recall the gist of our conversation?”
“You had a kid with Rob Stanley.”
“Another of your clients?”
Milton Breyer was on his feet. “Objection. This isn’t relevant.”
“That’s how I see it,” Rudin growled. He pointed a finger. “We’ll have no self-promotion in my courtroom, Miss Hays.”
Sharon was stunned. No self-promotion? In Rudin’s court? And what, she thought, is self-promoting about admitting to being the unwed mother of Rob Stanley’s child? She fought her anger. “If the court will bear with me,” she said, “the relevance will show itself in just a couple of more questions.”
Rudin leaned back and folded his arms. “See that it does, Counsel.” There was an open threat both in his tone and his expression.
“Thank you.” Sharon turned back to the witness. “Do you represent Rob Stanley, Mr. Nussbaum?”
“Yes.” Nussbaum’s answer sounded like an admission of guilt.
“And in your capacity as Rob Stanley’s agent,” Sharon said, “do you also handle his financial affairs? Pay his bills and whatnot?”
Nussbaum pinched the crease in his trousers. “Sometimes I forget.”
“Forget whose bills you’re paying?” Sharon sounded incredulous.
“Never that. Only, with so much going, occasionally I might let one or two go unpaid awhile. Like in your case.”
There was an audible gasp on Sharon’s left, Kathleen Fratemo. In trying to pre-rationalize that he hadn’t been paying Rob’s child support, Nussbaum had opened the door a crack. Sharon placed her shoulder firmly against the wood and barged on in. “I didn’t ask you, sir, what you forgot occasionally or what you did in my case. I asked you if, in addition to your agent’s duties, you also rode herd on Rob Stanley’s financial affairs.”
Nussbaum was obviously flustered. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
&nbs
p; Sharon discontinued the line of questioning regarding Rob; she’d established what she’d wanted, that Nussbaum’s signature appeared on bank accounts other than David Spencer’s, and now laid the groundwork for her next ten questions or so. “How many of your clients have you as a signatory on their bank accounts, sir?”
“Well … off the top of my head …”
“The top of your head won’t suffice, Mr. Nussbaum. Do you handle financial affairs for all one hundred of your clients?”
Nussbaum waved a hand as if batting a mosquito.
“I wouldn’t have time for all that.”
“Fifty?”
Nussbaum squirmed in place. “I wouldn’t—”
“Twenty?” Sharon tilted her head. “If it’s less than twenty, Sir, I’d think you’d be able to remember that many. Off the top of your head, the bottoms of your feet, off of anything.”
“Objection.” Fratemo was standing. Sharon was certain that Kathleen didn’t know where this line of questioning was going, but sharp-as-a-tack Fratemo would hold down the damage any way she could.
“Sustained.” Rudin scowled with his face angled toward the camera. “No more levity, Miss Hays.”
“Yes, sir.” Sharon gripped the edges of the podium.
“Mr. Nussbaum, let’s go the other way. Do you handle financial affairs for as many as five of your clients?”
Nussbaum shrugged. “Four.”
“Only four. Odd you wouldn’t remember that figure. Are all four of these clients in David Spencer’s category? I believe you said, he was like a son to you. So these other three, Rob Stanley included, do you feel parental instincts toward the other three as well?”
“That was a figure of speech.”
“Oh? Well, David Spencer and Rob Stanley, we’re all familiar with those names. Are these other two persons for whom you write checks, are they novices in the business?”
Nussbaum regarded her with dark liquid eyes.
“I’ll rephrase,” Sharon said. “Are they actors who, say, play the bellman who schleps the star’s baggage up to his room?”
“No one like that,” Nussbaum said.
“Well, then, are they perhaps what you would classify as stars?”
One corner of Nussbaum’s mouth tugged to the side. “You might.”
“Could we say, then, that your fatherly instincts intensify in direct proportion to the size of the client’s bank account?”
“Objection.” Fratemo shot up. “This is badgering, Your Honor.”
“Sustained.” Rudin seemed on the verge of apoplexy. “Miss Hays …”
“I’ll withdraw it, Your Honor.” Sharon glanced at her watch. “I have only one more question, perhaps two.” She smiled at the witness. “These other surrogate children, Mr. Nussbaum. Have you given firearms to all of them?”
Nussbaum bristled. “I don’t see what that—?”
“Your Honor.” Sharon turned to the bench. “I’m simmering down here, but I think that’s a legitimate question.”
“You’ll have to answer, Mr. Nussbaum.” Rudin spoke as if it was an effort to get the words out of his mouth.
“Is Mr. Spencer,” Sharon said, “the only client to whom you gave a firearm? It’s a fairly simple question, sir.”
Nussbaum raised the white flag in surrender. “Just him,” he finally said.
Sharon looked at Darla, who watched her with an expression near hero worship. I’m not deserving of any applause just yet, Sharon thought. A long way from it, in fact. She smiled once more at Curtis Nussbaum. “So, did you feel that Mr. Spencer was the only one of your clients who might’ve needed protection?”
“He went out in public more.”
“Was he more in danger for that reason? Or were there other characteristics of Mr. Spencer’s which could have put him in danger from others? His overall attitude perhaps?”
Nussbaum went on the defensive. “That boy had a tough upbringing.”
“How unfortunate for him. Mr. Nussbaum, during your association with Mr. Spencer, how many times did you furnish bail for him?”
Nussbaum spread his hands as if in supplication. “Time or two.”
“Time or two. Did that include last Friday night in Dallas?”
“He got misunderstood a lot.”
“Seems he did,” Sharon said. “One more thing, sir. Did you feel that arming Mr. Spencer with a weapon was in the best interests of the public in general?”
“I was looking out for him. Nobody else.”
“Obviously.” Sharon closed her legal pad. “And you watched over him so well that David Spencer is the only one of your clients who’s dead at the moment. Isn’t he? Maybe you should think of some different goodwill gifts for your clients in the future. I anticipate we’ll be talking again before this hearing is over, sir.” She turned to the bench. “No further questions, Judge. Just for today, I’m through with this guy.”
Judge Rudin recessed the hearing until tomorrow, and Sharon noted the jurist in animated conversation with Curtis Nussbaum as Darla’s guards came forward to take the actress to jail for the night. Yesterday, Rudin had inquired about an agent for his daughter, but Sharon now wondered if he was hustling Nussbaum in his own behalf. After all, every lawyer, witness, judge, and juror connected with the O.J. trial had secured a book deal, so why should Rudin be any different? And not only was the judge interviewing an agent right there in the courtroom, so was Preston Trigg. As soon as the judge had recessed the hearing, old Pres had lit out as if his pants were on fire, and now jabbered earnestly with Cherry Vick in behind the spectators section. Sharon held up a hand, palm out, in order to halt Darla’s guards in their tracks, then leaned over and said softly to the actress, “You know I had to do that, don’t you?”
“Attack Curt Nussbaum?” Darla seemed totally confused.
Sharon nodded. “We’re seeing a lot of this guy, Darla, in more ways than one. He’s just too damned interested in this case to be an innocent bystander, for one thing, and dollars will get you doughnuts that he, or someone he’s hired, is the anonymous tipper who told the FBI where to look for the gun.”
“You think Curt had something to do with David’s murder?”
Sharon felt a surge of pity and gently touched Darla’s arm. With all of her ability onstage and onscreen, all of her wealth and fame, Darla continued to be frightened and insecure. “First of all, right now,” Sharon said. “Quit thinking of that guy as Good Old Curt Nussbaum. Think of him as an asshole, a rotten s.o.b., whatever, but dismiss any respect you’ve ever had for this man. The prosecutors never would have thought of going to him. He approached them, which means that for some reason he wants to help them convict you. He is not your friend any more than Milton Breyer is your friend.
“Now that that’s off my chest,” Sharon said, “I’ll answer your question. As to whether he could be the killer, I don’t think anything, but I intend to find out. If he knew where the pistol was hidden, he either put it there or had someone else do so. A lot of questions I have, they’ll be answered between now and in the morning. So for now let’s leave it that you don’t love Nussbaum any longer, okay?” She motioned for the guards; who stepped forward. “I can promise nothing, Darla,” Sharon said. “But know this. If you’re still in jail tomorrow night and we haven’t gotten your arrest warrant thrown out or the case dismissed entirely, it won’t be because I haven’t broken my neck trying. Sleep as well as you can tonight. Tomorrow is a big, big day.”
Her eyes misted as the uniforms led Darla out the prisoner’s exit, Darla casting a fearful look over her shoulder as she disappeared from view. Sharon firmed her mouth, walked quickly to the rear and out into the corridor. On the way she passed Cherry Vick and Preston Trigg without a word to either of them. In the hallway she stood near a bench and tugged up the antenna on Darla’s cellular phone. She punched in Aaron Levy’s number.
As she waited for the connection, Preston Trigg came out of the court and walked up to her. Sharon flipped the hinge, disconnecting her call.
Trigg placed hands on hips. “How come you don’t want to cooperate with this woman?” He thumbed over his shoulder.
Sharon looked past him and saw no one. She said, “You mean, Cherry Vick?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll ask you, how’s come you do want to cooperate with her?” Sharon said.
“She’s talking serious dollars, for one thing.” Sharon sighed, folded her arms, and jutted one hip outward. “Go for it, then. Just don’t include me in any plans.”
Trigg frowned. “She wants us both. Why’n hell not?”
“Don’t think I’m playing goody two-shoes. We’re all in it for the money in the long run, Pres. It’s just, I don’t think talking book deals before you’ve fulfilled your obligation to your client is the right thing to do. And even then, I’d have to think long and hard on it. I can’t exactly explain why, but it’s against my nature. I know something about that kind of deal. They’ll want to hire a ghostwriter and then have you pretend you wrote the book yourself. I’d feel like the biggest fake in the world. But if you can live with it …”
“Is it your nature to blow the deal for me? She doesn’t want to talk, just me, she wants us both.”
Or me alone, Sharon thought, but didn’t say so. She hesitated. She needed Preston Trigg, at least for the duration of the proceedings in California. To hell wit it, she finally thought, I can find another lawyer on the same block where I found this one. She said, “I wouldn’t want this to upset our cozy relationship, Pres, but hear me out. As lawyer to lawyer, I think it’s a gray area as to ethics, so let your conscience be your guide. If you can make a book deal, more’s the power. But as someone with a little experience on the showbiz side, I’ll give you the benefit for what it’s worth. If an agent’s out chasing you, she’s hard up. The ones who can do you the most good wait for you to call them. That’s the way it works.” She flipped open the cell phone. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a client to represent. If Ms. Vick puts any more pressure on you, just tell her that Sharon Hays had her own agent to call.”