Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 01 - TRIAL - a Legal Thriller

by Clifford Irving

  "Anyway, they kept arguing. That sourpuss in the first row says, 'I feel so sorry for Ms. Boudreau. Maybe she's guilty, but I think she really loved that awful doctor, and he took advantage of her and wouldn't marry her. She was brave, just like Mr. Blackburn said.' — Does that make you happy, boychik? — And then the clothing store executive, with the sideburns, the one who always wore a red tie?" Rick broadened his western accent: "He says, 'If a guy came at me with a poker, y'all better b'lieve I'd put six bullets between his eyes.' So black-windbreaker yells, 'What about the business of her making the detour to drop off her handbag?' And red-tie looks baffled and says,' What detour?'" Rick cackled like a rooster. "Another woman juror tells black-windbreaker, 'I would have taken my handbag upstairs, but maybe Johnnie Faye was confused. I think that's why she wiped the palm prints off the poker. It's so hard to remember what you did and why you did it.' And black-windbreaker throws up his hands and says, 'I give up. Not guilty.'"

  "And you still think they're conscientious?" Warren asked.

  "Sure I do," Rick said. "It's a matter of definition and perspective. You have to remember that people are basically nuts."

  Warren understood that his former partner, sitting behind his desk, wore the light air of triumph. They had won a big case. The newspapers had headlined the verdict and there were photographs of Clyde Ott and of a confident Johnnie Faye Boudreau entering the courthouse between her two lawyers. In a boxed sidebar below the headline, a bold subhead read: "Defense Attorney Not Enthusiastic over Triumph; Casts Doubt on Verdict." All the late-night TV news reports led off with Warren in the hallway and moved from there to a clip of Bob Altschuler in the same hallway, stating that "No, I don't know what Mr. Blackburn meant. The basis of our adversary system in this country is that a defense counsel, no matter what his private beliefs, is required to make his best effort on behalf of an accused client. And Mr. Blackburn certainly did that… Yes, he was skating awfully close to the line, but there are no penalties for such statements…"

  Even as he reached his office at nine o'clock on the morning after the verdict, Warren's telephone had been ringing. The red message light was blinking; the tape was full. He unplugged everything. At eleven o'clock he drove downtown to Rick's office near the courthouse.

  Bernadette Loo flew into the office just as Warren set down his empty coffee mug. "She's here."

  "Who?"

  "The one who loves Chinks and gooks so much."

  Rick turned to Warren. "She called me last night at home. She is seriously pissed off." He turned back to Bernadette. "So what did you tell her?"

  "That you were with a client."

  Rick swung back to Warren. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Let her in. But frisk her first."

  Rick laughed uneasily. A few seconds later, wearing the same cherry-red suit and white hat that she had worn to the trial of Hector Quintana, Johnnie Faye surged into the room, a hand planted on a wide hip, cheeks white, lips drained of blood.

  She pointed a finger at Warren. "I want to talk to him. Alone."

  Warren nodded. Rick went out the door with Bernadette Loo. A little too eagerly, Warren thought.

  "Now listen," Johnnie Faye Boudreau said, her body quivering. "You shot your mouth off, you had your fun. 'For better or for worse… the jury is right whether they're right or not.' You greased your lousy little conscience. But let's get something straight — you didn't win that trial for me! I saved my own neck!"

  "I'd say for the most part that's true," Warren replied calmly.

  "You bet it is. And you came about one inch from getting disbarred for those cutesy remarks. Counselor, I want to remind you of the law. Whatever I told you is still privileged, unless you care to wind up pumping gas, which is what you'd be doing right now if my case hadn't come along to save your ass. Doesn't matter a fuck that you're not my lawyer anymore. Privilege is privilege. Is that clear?"

  "That's always been clear," Warren said.

  "And if I see your face one more time on TV talking about my case, or any similar shit — just watch out!"

  Warren rose from his chair. "Are you threatening me?"

  "A word to the wise," Johnnie Faye shot back.

  Reaching past a pile of Rick's papers, Warren flipped the switch on the desk tape recorder. The green light blinked on. "Let me point out one thing to you," he said, "because it's my obligation to do so. Any admissions you make now don't fall under the cloak of privilege. Anything I find out that doesn't derive from what you told me when I was your lawyer, I can use against you. And I will. Now, you crazy bitch, keep talking."

  Johnnie Faye Boudreau raised the middle finger of her right hand and jabbed it twice toward the ceiling. Then she wheeled around to the door. Hips gyrating, heels clicking on the parquet floor, she swung out of the office.

  Warren shut off the tape recorder and picked up his briefcase. A moment later Rick came back in, shutting the door behind him.

  "I heard some of that. You want my advice? Be careful. That lady has a history of doing nasty things to anyone who stands in her way."

  "I'm going to put her away for life," Warren said.

  ===OO=OOO=OO===

  As they had agreed, Charm was waiting for him at noon outside the 342nd District Court, Judge Dwight Bingham's courtroom. Just after Warren said hello and Charm kissed him on the cheek to congratulate him on the verdict, the courtroom door swung open and Maria Hahn stepped out with Judge Bingham. They were laughing. Recognizing the caliber of the hilarity, Warren guessed that Maria must have just told him a new joke. The judge, halting, thrust out his hand. "Mr. Warren! I see by the papers you've been a bad boy." He inclined his bald head toward Charm. "Can't you control your husband, Mrs. Blackburn? Get him to keep his big mouth shut?"

  But he was smiling. He had enjoyed the case. You could never suffer a reversal on an acquittal.

  Maria Hahn wasn't smiling.

  Warren exchanged a few more words with the judge and then said, "Goodbye, your honor. Goodbye, Maria. See you later."

  "Join us for lunch," the judge suggested. "I can learn from your beautiful wife what's going on outside this courthouse."

  "Thanks. Can't today," Warren said, suffering. "Some other time."

  Again he took Charm to the Greek restaurant. She looked pale and even thinner than before. On the way, she said, "That's the woman you've been seeing, isn't it?"

  "Which one?"

  "Come off it, Warren. The tall one with the big boobs and great legs. The one who was giggling with the judge."

  Warren was mildly amazed. "How could you tell?"

  "The way she looked at you. And you at her." Charm clamped her lips shut.

  In the restaurant, her eyes moist, hands trembling, she said, "Give me a chance, Warren. Don't throw away our marriage for someone you hardly know."

  "Whatever wrong I did, I never quit," he said. "You threw the marriage away, Charm."

  "I almost did, and it would have been the worst mistake of my life."

  He considered that she had her tenses mixed up but decided not to comment on it. He had no urge to argue, only to clarify. "Anyway," he said, "Maria doesn't enter into it."

  "Of course she does." Charm spoke rapidly, with certainty. "I know what a relationship is like in the early stages. It's new, it's exciting, it's captivating. Best foot forward, all that stuff. You're a catch, Warren — you're a man of some substance. She'll work hard to land you, even if she's not aware what she's doing. Later it becomes real. Real is different." She clenched her fists. "We had real. And real is what matters."

  Was that true, or were words and concepts just obedient servants to intent? He would have to think about what she said. He nodded, admiring her verve, liking her but still wary.

  Charm flew on: "She must know you just can't excise a marriage the way you do a tumor. And she won't want you on the rebound. That never works, or it works for a time, and then it crumbles apart. I've been there. Our marriage wasn't perfect and it will never be perfec
t. Marriages never are. Don't think of the bad times, the craziness — that's the trap I fell into. Think of the good things we had. We can still help each other to grow up. Let me back into your life, Warren."

  He realized she was something more than sincere. She knew what she wanted and she was fighting for it; but she was also trying to shed light into his life. She was an adult woman, complex, loving, fallible. And there was a tenderness underlying her words, a tenderness that he remembered, but suffused with a new emotion born of loss.

  "Why me, Charm? What's so special? Aren't all men pretty much alike in the end?" He was not fishing for compliments. He needed to know.

  "I'm not qualified on that score," she said. "I haven't known that many. But I know you, and you do the best you can with people and things, and I have a feeling your best is getting better all the time. I love you for having achieved that. What's special is us. Not unique, but special. Because we have a history. We created something. I know we can put it back together again if we're kind to each other. We were partners, and we can be partners again."

  Those had been his thoughts, the thoughts that he had been unable to speak. That she echoed him moved him. Her words and the way she looked at him, sorrowfully, holding back the tears, a child asking for a forbidden sweet, grazed his heart and then forced an entry. He felt a change take place in him. He had mourned her going, he had been bitter. That was ending.

  "I want children with you, Warren. I'm ready. I don't want anyone else's children but yours."

  "That's a new tune," he said. He remembered his pain of more than a year ago.

  "I know," she said, flushing. "But you were floundering, and I was an idiot. I didn't know how to help you and that made me feel a failure too. Please forgive me for that."

  "I do," Warren said. "Charm, I need time. I can't be rushed. And I can't promise you a damn thing."

  "The more time you spend with her," Charm said, "the less chance I have. That's the equation. I'll give you time, you know I will. But I can't hang around forever. I think I have a job in Boston with PBS."

  "Oh?" He saw how the thought energized her. "Do you want to take it?"

  "If we're not back together, yes. If we can be together, probably not. Your life is here."

  "I have to go now," Warren said, after he had looked at his watch. "I'm in trial in the 299th, and I have to meet someone in front of the courthouse. I can't be late."

  "Do you love me at all, Warren?"

  "Yes. I can't help that."

  Color flowed into her cheeks that had been so pale. She looked grateful and, for a moment, happy. Her eyes glistened. "Call me," she said.

  ===OO=OOO=OO===

  He stood in front of the courthouse, sweating even in the shade, tie unknotted, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. He counted on their showing up, but a part of him knew that anything was possible. The management at Ravendale had already complained, one of the assistant managers knocking on his door to inform him that this was not a flophouse for homeless bums. Warren had gone to Janice at the front desk to explain: "These are witnesses in a capital murder case. They're being sequestered here. Please help me if you can." Janice said, "Leave it to me," and he heard no more complaints.

  Warren had put Jim Dandy in Pedro's hands. "Whatever happens, don't let him drink tomorrow morning. Not even a beer. You and Armando sit on him if you have to. Get him under a shower. I want him wearing a shirt and pants, no army jacket. And be there at one o'clock sharp — American time, not Mexican time. If you don't show up, you could kill your friend Hector."

  "Trust me, amigo," Pedro said.

  Warren had called Ravendale twice this morning, once from his office and once from Rick's.

  "It's fine," Pedro said, both times. "We be there. One o'clock sharp, gringo time."

  At twenty past one a taxi drew up with Pedro and Jim Dandy in it. Grinning, Pedro raised his fist with one thumb up. Twenty minutes late, Warren thought. Not bad. He had allowed for half an hour.

  ===OO=OOO=OO===

  He drew Nancy Goodpaster with him into her office and shut the door.

  "Nancy, what you did that day at the bench, when you backed me up about what the judge said in chambers — that was brave. I think you're a terrific lawyer. I don't think you want to prosecute an innocent man."

  Goodpaster said, "I promise you, that's the last thing on earth I want to do."

  "I've got a witness who'll testify that he took Dan Ho Trunh's wallet. That's only part of what he'll say, but he won't even take the stand if he doesn't get immunity on the theft charge. I'm going to make a motion for that immunity. Go along with it. You won't regret it."

  Nancy Goodpaster considered. "All right," she said. "I trust you."

  Those were among the sweetest words that Warren had ever heard. He wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but he thought that might be unprofessional, and women lawyers these days tended to resent such gestures. Instead he said, "Thank you, Nancy. You ever quit this job and want to go into private practice, give me a ring."

  "I might just take you up on that," Nancy Goodpaster said, "one of these days."

  ===OO=OOO=OO===

  With the jury in place and Hector Quintana by his side at the defense table, Warren stood. "The defense is ready, your honor, and calls James Thurgood Dandy."

  Jim Dandy slouched in the witness chair. He kept running a callused hand through his dark hair. He was almost as nervous as Warren. "Your honor," Warren said, "before testimony, the defense will make a motion in limine."

  He was already on his way to the bench, with Nancy Goodpaster following close behind. In limine meant "on the threshold." Warren said quietly, "Judge, this witness will testify, among other things, to having approached the car of the victim, Dan Ho Trunh, and taking a wallet and its contents from the dead man's hand. But this witness won't testify if his sworn statements prejudice his liberty. I request immunity for the witness on all felony charges of theft, on the grounds of an overriding need to have the facts clarified in a case of capital murder, which takes precedence."

  Judge Parker said, "Counselor, a proper motion in limine is meant to keep facts out of evidence so that the jury won't be prejudiced against the witness. You want to put them into evidence. You sure you know what you're doing?"

  "Yes, your honor."

  Judge Parker looked to Nancy Goodpaster. "State has no objection," Goodpaster said.

  For the benefit of the hovering court reporter, the judge intoned: "Immunity is granted the witness James Thurgood Dandy, limited to the felony charge of theft."

  Jim Dandy was sworn in by the deputy clerk.

  Warren could barely wait; he felt the surge of blood from heart to brain. He went through the customary business of asking name, address, age, and profession.

  "Jim Dandy is what they call me." — "DeKalb Street, Beeville. Down south a ways." — "About thirty-eight."— "Don't have no profession."

  "Sir, what do you do for a living?"

  No one had ever called Jim Dandy "sir" before. He looked pleased. Warren could see his nervousness begin to ebb.

  "I do whatever I can to make a dollar or two. Stuff like that."

  Warren let it go and plunged in like a swimmer from a high board. "Do you recall where you were on May 19 of this year, at about 8 P.M.?"

  "Well, I don't know that it was exactly May 19, but it was about then, and I know what you're talkin' about. I was sittin' against a wall, drunk."

  "Where, sir?"

  "Here in town. Some shoppin' center, guess you'd call it. I bought a pint of Thunderbird there. Set me down to enjoy it."

  "Did anything unusual happen while you were sitting against the wall in that shopping center?"

  "Well, I had this natural need to relieve myself, you could say. So I did it, then and there. Couldn't wait. And while I was doin' that, I heard a yell and then a shot. Scared the dickens out of me."

  "How do you know it was a shot, Mr. Dandy?"

  "I'm comin' to that. Let me tell it my way,
okay, hoss?"

  "Okay," Warren said.

  "It was a shot 'cause that's what it was. Couldn't a been nothin' else. I know what a shot is. I may be a drunk, but I ain't stupid."

  "And so what did you do?"

  "I turned my head around — I was still scared, but I was worried someone might be aimin' to shoot me — and there was these two cars there. A wagon, and the other was a nice big car. Can't tell if they're foreign or not anymore. But it was kinda new. Engine was runnin'. They was parked side by side. They was sorta facin' me."

  "How far away from you?"

  "Can't say. Not far, not close. Close enough to see."

  "And what did you see, sir?"

  "Didn't see anyone in the wagon. Saw a woman in the car."

  Warren didn't bother looking at the jury: they were not the object of this exercise. He glanced at Nancy Goodpaster. She was hunched at the prosecutor's table, one hand grasping her chin, listening intently. That was how Warren had listened on the drive up from Beeville.

  "Mr. Dandy, you saw a woman in the car that was parked next to the station wagon? A woman? You're positive?"

  "That's right. Besides, I told you I heard a yell before I heard the shot? That was a woman's yell, what y'all might call a scream."

  "Was there anyone else in the parking lot, either on foot or in a car?"

  "Not that I noticed."

  "The woman in the car was alone?"

  "Didn't see no one else with her. Didn't get much of a chance to look, 'cause she sure tore outa there."

  "Can you describe the woman in the car?"

  "Sure can't. I saw long woman's hair and some red lipstick, and that's about all. Then she was gone."

  "Did she give you any indication that she had seen you?"