A Fool for a Client (33 page)

“Those are strange readings for pyrethrum poisoning,” said Ostrovsky.
“They look more like... “

He trailed off into silence, allowing the dreaded words to go unstated.

“In nomine patris, et fili, et spiritus sancti... “ the priest was saying.

Dr. Stern was pacing up and down helplessly, cursing the twist of fate which had put him on duty today, which had dropped this potential fireball in his lap.
It wasn
’
t the pain of watching a patient die that was tormenting, it was the thought that he might be in some way responsible, and worse still that others might discover this fact and use it against him, embarrassing him professionally and sending his malpractice liability insurance rates through the roof.

The equipment monitoring Murphy
’
s vital signs gave off a long, continuous whine.
Stern and Ostrovsky looked round to see the priest rising, his own work done, hopefully with more success than theirs.

The office was illuminated not by any lamps of its own, but only by the myriad lights of New York city beyond the window, the static lights of the apartments and the moving lights of the cars as they swept along the roads carrying people to their homes, their nightclubs and their nocturnal
assignations
.
Abrams sat behind his desk trying to put some semblance of order into his thoughts in the darkened room.

He had rested his case that afternoon.
Tomorrow was Justine
’
s turn... unless she pulled another surprise and let Parker take over, which was not beyond her even at this stage.
She seemed to make a speciality out of wrong-footing the opposition, and sometimes even her own standby counsel.
Abrams liked Parker, especially after their lunchtime meeting
,
when he had made what Jerry would have called the psychological error of dropping his guard and gaining a glimpse of th
e human side of this opponent.

Of course Jerry regarded showing ones
own
human side as even more of a
strategic
error.
But to Abrams it was the human side that was his
raison d
’
etre
for being there, for doing the job that he did.
As he had told Parker, it was the human factor that had brought him to the practice law, that had caused him to switch from
defence
to prosecution, and that drove him on through hopeless cases when all seemed lost, fighting with as much tenacity as some one brought up in a quiet upper-middle class
neighbourhood was capable of.

He was glad that he had dropped his guard and opened up to Parker, if only because it had given him a clearer insight into himself.
He had seen a lot of himself in Parker, perhaps even more than he had admitted over lunch.
But for the time being at least they were adversaries.
He couldn
’
t escape that piece of logic that Jerry would have been only too quick to hammer home if he ever forgot it.

Papers and law books were liberally scattered across Abrams
’
desk.
But he paid no attention to them.
Nor even to the panoramic view of the city behind him.
His eyes were focussed inward, onto himself, as he tried to understand his feelings about the case, his feelings towards Justine, in fact, although he couldn
’
t quite admit to himself that this was what it was all about.

He barely looked up when the door opened and the DA entered.

“Burning the midnight oil?” asked Jerry, looking over at the desk where Abrams sat.

“Racking my brain over a mystery inside a puzzle,”

“The Levy case?” asked the DA, doubtfully.

“The Levy case.”

“I thought it was open and shut,” said the DA, walking further into the room.

“I
’
m talking about the why and wherefore.
You
’
re only talking about
what
, and even
that
’
s
not too clear anymore.”

Jerry sat down on the corner of Abrams
’
desk.

“What
’
s the problem?” asked the DA more out of curiosity than sympathy.

“A vicious murderer cheats justice because of a judicial ruling that isn
’
t even legally or constitutionally correct.
So a girl with no previous record decides to take the law into her own hands.
And now she finds herself looking at twenty to life for doing what the courts should
’
ve done.”

“I never thought I
’
d live to hear you defending a vigilante.”

“I
’
m not defending her.
It
’
s just that I
’
m not sure I can defend the system either.
How can I defend a system that punishes people for fighting back, but lets the hoods slip through the net?”

“You
’
re not defending the system.
You
’
re prosecuting a defendant.”

“That
’
s
working
the system.”

“Correction,” the DA shot back hard.
“That
’
s
making
the system work.
It
’
s up to the
defence
to work the other side of the equation.
Besides, you
’
re talking in stale old redneck clichés.
That
’
s not like the Daniel Abrams I know, the Daniel Abrams who presented this case to the Grand Jury,
the Daniel Abrams who once said that vigilante justice is a classic example of throwing out the baby with the bathwater. “

“That
’
s when I was talking to a middle class jury.
They
’
re not on the front line in the war that
’
s raging out there.
They
‘
re separated from the combat zone by a thick blue line, manning the trenches.
And the same goes for us.
We sit behind our mahogany desks and get all the facts in nicely sanitized form.
We don
’
t have to look down the barrel of a Saturday Night Special like a cop on the street.
We just read a report about it afterwards, a load of neatly typed words on clean white paper.”

“And how does the jury get the facts?” asked Jerry Wilkins.
“Words in a courtroom flowing from the lips of a well-rehearsed orator.
Juries are drawn from the voting register, the half of the population who choose to participate in the political process, perhaps with a few more thrown in from the driver
’
s license records.
They
’
re as sheltered as we are.”

“Not this jury,” said Abrams.
“You should see the collection of down
-
to
-
Earth hardheads she
’
s put together.
Even the businessman on the jury.
A self
-
made millionaire who worked his way up from the gutter.
He
’
s seen the sleazy side of town and he knows what it
’
s like living on the battlefield.
I
’
m not getting through to them... I can see it in their faces.”

“Maybe you
’
re reading them wrong.
If they
’
re from the gutter you should appeal to sentiment.
The rich bitch who killed a working man for revenge.
The heartless vigilante
–
”

“Uh
-
uh, no way Jerry!” Abrams interrupted, putting a hand on the desk for support as he rose abruptly.
“For all your blue
-
collar background that you like to brag about at election time you sit here so high on
Olympus
you
’
re more out of touch than I am.
The Liberal Hour has come and gone.
And the plebes are the most conservative of the lot!”

“So play it the other way,” Jerry shot back.
“Give
‘
em the old law
-
and
-
order line.”

“You still don
’
t see it do you?” asked Abrams, disillusioned by Jerry
’
s lack of helpfulness.
“Your average Joe American is no more into law
-
and
-
order than social reform. What the people are crying out for is
justice
, and there
’
s a growing perception that we
’
re not delivering the goods.”

“Are you sure you
’
re speaking for
them
Dan?”

The words seemed to hit their target.
A painful smile crossed Abrams
’
face and he fell silent.
He went to the window and turned his back on the DA.
For almost half a minute, he looked out at the lights of the city, a tableau of black velvet
,
stretching
as far as the eye could see, with a smattering of iridescent diamonds sprinkled liberally across it.
He drew a warm touch of comfort from its lights.

“Maybe you
’
re right. I guess I
’
m just projecting my own doubts.
But it
’
s not just moral doubt.
I still don
’
t see why an innocent girl from a good home, without a blemish on her record, should suddenly become a murderess, and what
’
s the connection with Murphy?”

The DA rose and slid into a nearby armchair at right angles to the desk and the window.

“OK well try this for size.
She was born in 1973.
Her father was in the ROTC program, and when Justine is two Daddy gets sent off to do his tour of duty in
‘
Nam
, just in time for the fall of
Saigon
and the descent of the city into a fear-
crazed
hell-hole.
All clear so far?”

“It
’
s in the book.”

“He comes back battle
-
scarred and shell
-
shocked and is diagnosed as a schizophrenic.
That
’
s before they had
sound bytes
like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
The next seven years are hell, with her father
’
s angry spells becoming more frequent and more violent.
Her mother had postponed having children before he was sent to
Vietnam
and now she decides that she can
’
t afford to bring another child into this troubled environment.
So Justine is destined to grow up an only child.
How am I doing so far?”

“A little speculative, but still on track,” said Abrams.

“OK
In that time her mother assumes the mantle of the strong figure, keeping her husband at bay and protecting the child.
She wasn
’
t born to wear the mantle but she grows into it.
Finally the old man blows his brains out with his old service revolver and Justine enters the room just in time to see it.”

“I see you
’
ve read the report.”

“Now her mother no longer has to deal with the violent fits of a deranged husband, but she still has to deal with the big rough world outside, and even though he was just dead weight in his last seven years it
’
s still harder without a man around, in some respects.
Are you still with me?”

“Just about,”
said Abrams,
deprecatingly
.

“Her mother doesn
’
t remarry,” the DA continued.
“She
’
s just got over the trauma of one man and she isn
’
t about to go look for another.
Also she
’
s turned into quite a tough cookie and that probably intimidates most guys and keeps them at a distance.”