Heartstone

by Phillip Margolin

  “Thank you for helping, Mr. Shaeffer. When you see Bobby, would you tell him that I tried to see him. Ask him if there is anything we can do.”

  “I’ll call you tonight and tell you what’s going on.”

  George shook his hand and they left. It was difficult for Mark to control his excitement. He had represented a few people charged with serious crimes before, but a murder case was different from all other types of criminal cases. And this murder case was different from all other murder cases.

  And the fee. If she could raise the money, ten thousand dollars would make his first year. It was the type of case that all new practitioners dream of. Maybe even Cindy would be satisfied.

  They had had another fight that morning. Rosedale and Collins, a small firm he had interviewed with just before opening his office, had asked him to join as an associate at a salary that was considerably higher than what he was now making. If he took the job, Cindy could quit work and they could have their baby. Cindy had begged him to take the job, but he had refused. He liked being his own boss and the business was starting to come in. He wasn’t taking home a lot, but he wasn’t worrying about meeting his overhead anymore either. When he had left for work this morning, Cindy had been in tears. He was about to add “as usual,” but stopped himself. That was unfair. He could understand Cindy’s point of view, but, damn it, she had to try and understand his.

  Thinking about the fight upset Mark. Then he thought about Sarah Rhodes. She seemed so different from Cindy. She was thinking of someone other than herself. She was willing to give up a large sum of her own money to help Coolidge. Well, maybe this big fee, if it came through, would help. He didn’t know.

  The county jail had been built with massive, gray stone blocks in an era, before modern architecture, when buildings were constructed to resemble what they were supposed to be. The jail housed men awaiting trial and their fear and uncertainty were visible to all but the most insensitive visitor. The jail made no distinction between the traffic offender who could not make bail and the rapist. They were all housed together, until the courts sent them to the state penitentiary or set them free.

  Because of his special status, Bobby Coolidge had been housed in one of the rare single cells in maximum security. Mark waited for him to be escorted to the special interview room in the basement of the jail. The room was long, narrow and windowless, and sealed by a large steel door. The only furniture in the room was a long table and several wooden chairs. Mark had chosen the chair farthest from the door so that he would have a few seconds for first impressions. He wanted to make sure that he had Coolidge sized up correctly. If Coolidge did not trust him, he might go elsewhere for a lawyer.

  The door to the interview room opened with a metallic clang. A young man in his mid-twenties was standing in the doorway in front of a guard. He was clad in poor-fitting jeans and a blue work shirt with a partially torn breast pocket. There was an air of defeat about him that Mark noticed immediately. His eyes were downcast and never looked directly ahead. He made no move to enter the room, until ordered to by the guard. When he did enter, he did so slowly. His gaze stopped on Mark, but jumped away when Mark attempted to make eye contact. He scanned the room with quick, jerky movements of his head, as if he expected to find something hidden in the recesses.

  For a brief moment, Mark realized the responsibility he would be undertaking if he represented this man. The guard slammed the door shut and Coolidge looked behind him. Mark rose and waited for Coolidge to turn back.

  “My name is Mark Shaeffer. I’m an attorney,” he said, extending his hand. Coolidge looked at him for a moment, then shook hands. There was little life in his handclasp and both men released quickly, a bit embarrassed.

  Mark sat down and indicated a chair. Coolidge sank into it.

  “Sarah asked me to tell you that she tried to get in to see you, but they wouldn’t let her. George Rasmussen was with her.”

  “How…What does she think about this?”

  “She’s standing behind you, Mr. Coolidge. She’ll come to see you on Sunday.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Coolidge said in a tired voice. His hand moved toward his breast pocket and stopped.

  “Do you have a cigarette?”

  “Sorry, I gave them up a year ago. I can ask a guard.”

  Coolidge shook his head.

  “No, that’s okay.”

  He paused before he spoke again.

  “Mr…?”

  “Shaeffer. Mark Shaeffer.”

  “Mr. Shaeffer, before you go any further, I want you to know that I can’t pay a lawyer.”

  “Miss Rhodes is going to take care of that.”

  Coolidge snapped his head from side to side.

  “No. I don’t want her involved in this.”

  “Mr. Coolidge, you are going to have to be practical about this. Innocent or guilty, you are charged with two counts of murder. You need professional help. Miss Rhodes has the money to hire me and you don’t. You can reject her help out of pride, but without an attorney the chances are very good that you will spend the rest of your life in a cage. Do you want that?”

  Coolidge looked down at his shoes and said nothing. When he looked up, Mark knew that there would be no more protests.

  “Okay,” Mark said, “the indictment charges you with killing a woman named Elaine Murray and a man named Richie Walters on or about November 25, 1960. Did you do that?”

  “Absolutely not. No.”

  “Did you know them?”

  “Of course. Everyone knew about that. I went to high school with them.”

  “Why do you think the police arrested you?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. My brother and I were arrested when this first happened, but they let us go. Why would they wait so long to arrest me, if they thought I was guilty?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that yet. All I have seen is the indictment charging you and your brother with the crime.”

  “Billy! He’s arrested too?”

  “I assume so.”

  Bobby ran his hand across his mouth and, for a few seconds, he was lost in thought.

  “Bobby, do any of these names mean anything to you? These are the people listed on the indictment as having been witnesses before the Grand Jury.

  “Roy Schindler, Arnold Shultz, Thelma Pullen, Esther Pegalosi, or Dr. Arthur Hollander.”

  “No. I’ve never heard of any of them.”

  Mark thought for a moment.

  “Bobby, you mentioned that the police arrested you when this first happened. Why did they do that?”

  Bobby shrugged.

  “I don’t know. They asked me a lot of questions about that night. I guess what got us in trouble was we had had a fight and Billy pulled a knife at a party we crashed. And I think they mentioned finding some glasses belonging to a girl we knew in the park near where the Walters kid was killed. But that was it.”

  “Tell me, as best you can remember, what you did on the evening of November 25.”

  “It’s been so long. I don’t know. I know I was with Billy-my brother-and…uh…Roger…Roger Hessey. Then there was the girl whose glasses they found, Esther Freemont.”

  “Wait a second,” Mark interrupted. “Could Esther Freemont be Esther Pegalosi. Did she get married?”

  Bobby shook his head.

  “I don’t know. I went into the Army right after high school and I didn’t keep track of her. We aren’t good friends.”

  Mark made some notes on his yellow pad.

  “Go on.”

  “Okay. We crashed a party this girl was throwing.”

  “What was her name? From now on when you mention people, I want names and addresses, if you can remember them.”

  “I’m not going to be much good on the addresses, but I should be able to give you the names.”

  Coolidge related the incident at the party and the theft of the wine. Mark took down everything as they went along. He was watching Coo
lidge closely while the latter spoke, trying to size him up. Bobby was intelligent and articulate. The type of defendant that would be able to assist him in his investigation. But, was he telling the truth? He had seemed sincere when he denied his guilt. It had been the first time that he had spoken forcefully. Yet, for all his inexperience, Mark had represented enough clients to know that it was very difficult to tell if a person was telling the truth.

  “What happened after you drank the wine?” Mark asked. Coolidge shrugged.

  “I think we cruised downtown for a bit, then took Esther home, then went home ourselves.”

  “You think?”

  “Well, it’s been some time. But that’s how it seems to me.”

  Mark put down his pad and leaned back in his chair.

  “Okay. That’s enough for today. I’m going to go see the district attorney and try to get a lead on some of these witnesses.”

  Mark stood up and Coolidge looked at him. He ran his tongue nervously across his lower lip before he spoke.

  “Mr. Shaeffer, how does it look?”

  “I really can’t tell until I find out what the D.A. has.”

  Bobby looked down at the floor again.

  “Do…do you think you can get me out of here? I mean, isn’t there bail or something?”

  “The court doesn’t have to set bail in a murder case and even if they did, I’m afraid that they would set it so high that you could never make it.”

  “Oh,” Bobby said in a voice that was almost a sigh. “Well, you try for me, will you, because I had a rough time last night. I’ll tell you, I don’t think I can take it, being locked up for long.”

  Eddie Toller entered the attorney’s room of the county jail and spotted his court-appointed attorney reading a newspaper at the rear of the room. Eddie wasn’t anxious to meet this young jerk again. Their only previous meeting had lasted approximately ten minutes following his arraignment. The gawk had handed him his card, told him not to worry, and rushed out. Eddie had even forgotten his name.

  The guy looked reluctant to put the paper down when Eddie reached the interview booth and Eddie said, “Fuck you,” under his breath. He doubted this creep would know what he was talking about, even if he did hear him.

  “Well, Mr. Toller, I’m afraid I have bad news for you,” the attorney said when Eddie was seated.

  “Yeah, well what is that?”

  “I talked with the district attorney in charge of your case and I am afraid, in light of your extensive prior record, that he is unwilling to plea negotiate. Furthermore, he has told me that he will ask for the maximum, twenty years, if you go to trial and are convicted, which I am afraid is highly likely in view of the overwhelming evidence that the state has against you.

  “However, the district attorney did say that he would not recommend a sentence and would leave sentencing entirely up to the judge if you plead to the charge. At this point that seems like our best bet.”

  “To what? Plead to twenty years?”

  “Well, the judge doesn’t have to give you twenty years. You were cooperative with the police when they arrested you. That will weigh in your favor.”

  “Nah. I ain’t pleadin’ to no twenty years. Look, those cops didn’t give me my rights till we got to the station house. Don’t that mean something?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Toller. You see…”

  The attorney babbled on about his rights and how they had not been violated, but Eddie wasn’t listening. Something on the front page of the newspaper the attorney had been reading caught his eyes. It was a picture of a young girl that he thought he had seen before, many years ago. Eddie craned his neck to get a better look at the headline. The paper was folded over so that he could only see half of the page.

  “…do you want to proceed?”

  “Huh?”

  “I asked you how you wanted me to proceed,” the attorney said, obviously annoyed at Eddie’s lack of attention.

  “Well, you’re my attorney. You tell me. Only, I ain’t coppin’ to no twenty years.”

  “Surely you don’t want to go to trial. You were caught inside the building and you confessed, not once, but twice.”

  “Look, who are you working for? Me or the D.A…? If he ain’t gonna deal, I want a trial. This whole thing wasn’t my idea anyway. Gary Barrick planned it out and I ain’t taking the whole thing on my shoulders.”

  The attorney started to rise.

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you think about what I said.”

  “Sure. Say, can I see your paper for a minute?”

  The attorney looked put out, but he handed the paper to Eddie. Eddie unfolded it. The headline read:

  TWO ARRESTED IN MURRAY-WALTERS SLAYINGS. SEVEN-YEAR-OLD MYSTERY BELIEVED SOLVED.

  Eddie scanned the story quickly. Then he concentrated on the picture of the girl. It had to be her. The attorney was getting impatient, so Eddie handed him the paper. He began to smile.

  “Thanks a million,” he said, pumping the attorney’s hand. The attorney looked confused and smiled back, heading for the door. Eddie sat back down to think. For once the breaks were going to go his way. He could feel it. The attorney stopped at the door and cast a puzzled look at Toller. Toller waved at him.

  “So long, asshole,” he thought to himself. “I won’t be needing you anymore.”

  Mark found Esther Pegalosi’s address listed in the phone book, but decided against calling. Esther’s apartment was in an older section of town. The building it was in looked as if it was well maintained. Esther’s name was typed on a paper tag that had been affixed to a metal mailbox. Mark rode up in the old cage elevator he found in the lobby. The elevator ascended slowly and Mark could hear the gears and chains clanking and straining. The car shuddered to a stop on the third-floor landing and Mark stepped into the dark corridor. Esther’s apartment was at the end of the hall. He knocked, then rang the buzzer.

  There was no sound inside and he rang again. This time he could hear the sound of bare feet padding toward the door. There was a snapping sound and Mark guessed that he was being scrutinized through the peephole.

  “Mrs. Pegalosi?” he said.

  “Who is it?”

  “My name is Mark Shaeffer, Mrs. Pegalosi. I’m an attorney and I’d like to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Could I step in for a minute? It’s difficult talking through the door. If you want identification, I can slide one of my cards under the door.”

  Mark heard the snapping of locks and chains and the door opened enough for him to hand in a business card. The woman who took it was attractive in a slutty way. She was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt and her long black hair was unkempt, but the breasts that jiggled under the tee shirt were large enough to attract Mark’s attention and her dark complexion and large brown eyes appealed to him. She scrutinized the card through reading glasses, then started to hand it back.

  “What is it you want?”

  “I was retained to represent Bobby Coolidge, an old friend of yours. He’s in jail charged with a very serious crime. You testified at the Grand Jury and I’m interested in what you said.”

  The woman was obviously alarmed and she looked as if she might shut the door.

  “This will only take a few minutes of your time. I am as interested in finding out what happened as the police. Maybe Mr. Coolidge is guilty…”

  “Yes,” the woman almost shouted. “He did it.”

  “Well, in that case, I certainly want to talk to you so that I will know how to advise my client. Why do you think he’s guilty?”

  “No, I won’t discuss it. They said I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone if I didn’t want to and I’m not.”

  “Who said this, Mrs. Pegalosi?”

  “Roy…Mr. Shindler and Mr. Heider.”

  “Mr. Heider, the district attorney?”

  “Yes. He said I didn’t have to talk to anyone if I said no.”

  “Well, that’s right. I certainly wouldn�
�t want to force you to talk to me if you didn’t want to, but Bobby has been charged with murder. He could spend the rest of his life in jail. It certainly won’t hurt you to talk to me and if there is some mistake, your talking with me might help clear it up.”

  “I can’t talk…I won’t talk about it.”

  “Mrs. Pegalosi, you’ll have to answer my questions in court if you testify. Why are you worried about talking to me now?”

  “Please. Go away. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  There was a tinge of panic in Esther’s voice and Mark flinched when she slammed the door. He was angry and, for a moment, he thought about pounding on the door until she opened it. Then he realized that he had no right to talk to her and his anger focused on Philip Heider for having counseled Esther the way he had.

  Mark looked at his watch. It was getting late. He had the addresses of Pullen, Shultz, and Hollander. Shindler, he guessed, based on Esther’s statement, was probably a cop. He decided to try Thelma Pullen.

  Mark arrived back at his office at seven. He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and called his wife. The phone rang a few times before Cindy answered it.

  “Mark?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you? I called your office and all they said was that you were out investigating a case.”

  “Not just a case. You’ll never guess who I’m representing.”

  Cindy sensed the excitement in Mark’s voice.

  “Who?” she asked, cautiously.

  “Did you read the paper today? The front page?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have just been retained to represent Bobby Coolidge, one of the two men charged in the Murray-Walters case.”

  “The murders?” she asked hesitantly.

  “The very same.”

  There was a pause.

  “Mark,” she asked, “do you feel that…? A murder is so serious. Do you think you have the experience?”

  Mark was disappointed and angry. He had expected Cindy to be as excited as he had been all day. Now she had killed it for him. It was her insecurity that she was projecting onto him. Her inadequacies.