Courthouse (51 page)

“Oh, I wasn't changing the subject,” said Marc. “I thought you might be interested in what I know about the real problem of crime and criminals.”

“Supposing any of the people who you represent came before you as a judge,” asked Gorin. “Could you handle the case objectively?”

“I probably wouldn't handle the case at all.”

“What does that mean?” Gorin pursued.

“I would disqualify myself, as I think any judge should in a case of a defendant known to the judge.”

“Supposing the newspapers started writing stories about the Mayor, especially during this time of such bad publicity about the courts and corruption. Supposing the newspapers said that the Mayor had appointed a man to the bench who had connections—no that's not the right word—a man who had represented organized crime figures. Suppose such stories appeared, would you be able to withstand that kind of pressure and still function properly as a judge?”

“In the first instance, I don't know what kind of pressure you refere to, sir. The fact that I have represented people in criminal proceedings doesn't cause me any difficulty, pressure, or feelings of discomfort whatever. I am not ashamed of defending people charged with crime. I think of it as equally sacred a duty in the context of a democracy as the prosecution of criminals.” Marc thought he was getting a little hammy now. But why not? He believed in what he was saying.

“No one said you should be. Ashamed, that is,” said the Chairman.

“I'm not, Mister Chairman,” Marc replied forcefully. “I have represented all sorts of people, murderers, white-collar criminals, madmen, all sorts, and I have not become a criminal thereby, nor have I become a member of organized crime as a result of representing people who may or may not be so involved. The fact that the newspapers might mention that I am a defense counsel in private practice wouldn't create pressure for me in the least.”

“That wouldn't bother you?” asked a man.

“Not in the least,” repeated Marc. “I have no idea why it should. Can you, sir, tell me why it should?”

The man didn't answer Marc. He was silent, gazing now at some notes on the table. The people around the table were silent.

“Anyone have any other questions?” asked the Chairman.

No one spoke.

“Well, thank you, Mister Conte,” said the Chairman, smiling.

Marc rose, shook hands with the Chairman, and made his way out to the marble corridor.

There were several more people sitting and waiting to be interviewed. They all turned and watched Marc come out of the committee room. He walked to the exit and made his way to the street.

“Well, Your Honor, how'd it go?” Franco asked. He was standing on the sidewalk near the car. Maria was seated in the rear of the car, reading.

Marc didn't answer. He got into the car next to Maria and waited for Franco to get behind the driver's wheel.

“Anything the matter?” asked Maria.

“Just a little annoying, that's all,” replied Marc. “To hell with annoyance. Let's go do something important. Let's go see Zack Lord.”

“Now you're talking,” said Franco, smiling. He started the motor.

“They give you a rough time?” Maria asked.

“No, not rough. Annoying,” repeated Marc.

Franco began driving toward the Hotel Louis Quinze. He glanced occasionally at Marc through the rear-view mirror.

“Just one or two of them ever set foot in a criminal court or were even within throwing distance or a criminal,” said Marc. “And they're deciding who should or shouldn't be a criminal judge. They don't know what the courts are all about, or even what's going on in court. And that's one very real and one very big reason why the problems exist. They just go through the motions, while they pick out judicial candidates who fit the same old, stale, playball patterns. The D.A. might as well pick the judges out for them.”

“You think that's maybe what they do?” asked Maria.

Franco turned off Park Avenue, heading toward Fifth Avenue.

“I don't know. But I do know I've been thinking about being a judge, and I've decided I'm needed more in the street than I am on the bench. People in the street, the little people accused of crime, even big people accused of crime, need help to save them from being steamrollered by all the people who want to be on the right side, and who think that the only right side is the government side. When you're indicted, you stand all alone out there, and nobody wants to know you. Only truth is important,” Marc said emphatically. “Sides don't mean a damn. Lying and cheating to help the government win is still lying and cheating—and isn't justice.”

“Justice? That's just ice, and it's all melted,” said Franco.

“Did you make that up?”

“Yeah, what do you think?”

Marc put his tongue between his lips and blew a raspberry.

Maria and Franco laughed.

“You want me to go up with you, don't you?” Franco asked hopefully as he parked the car in the forward end of the
NO PARKING ZONE
in front of the Hotel Louis Quinze.

“Of course I do,” replied Marc. “You two started this whole thing, didn't you?” Marc was feeling better. “So you better be in on the finish of it.”

“That's what I want to see,” said Maria with delight. “I want to see this heel, Lord, take a dive as they say in the street. Right, Franco?”

“Right,” he Smiled.

Marc handed a dollar bill to the doorman who was on his way to say Franco couldn't park where he had. Marc mentioned they were going to see Zack Lord. The doorman nodded, then stuffed the dollar in his pocket as he walked to the house phone to announce them.

“What can I do for you today?” Zack Lord asked Marc, smiling easily. He saw Maria and his smile dimmed slightly.

“Just wanted to discuss the Wainwright case a little more,” said Marc.

“Certainly, certainly,” said Zack. He sat back in the big chair behind his desk. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Maria sat in a chair in front of Lord's desk. She shook her head as she put her leather handbag on the side of the desk. Marc sat in another chair.

“Not for me,” said Marc.

“Me either.” Franco was impatient.

“All right. Now what do you want to discuss?” asked Zack Lord. “Anything to help Toni.”

“I know this might sound foolish to you at this late date,” Marc began, “but we're still investigating the case. And it seems to us that certain aspects of the case—including your involvement—just don't make sense.”

“My involvement? You're still not investigating the time I left the airport?” Zack laughed with that tight, toothy smile of his. He looked from Marc to Maria to Franco.

“Among other things, yes,” said Marc.

“I thought we went all through that the last time,” Zack said, idly swiveling his chair to the left, then to the right again.

“We did. But some other things have come up.”

Maria was watching Lord's every move.

“What other things?” Lord's smile was slightly more strained now.

“There's your pistol, the exact same as Toni's,” said Marc. “And there's the fact that you were down in the basement of Toni Wainwright's building the night Bob Wainwright was killed.”

Lord had stopped swiveling now.

“That was quite early. I went down to get some wine,” Lord explained.

“We know,” replied Marc. “And there's the fact that you had been so friendly with the elevator operator. That you used to feed him liquor. That's curious, especially since he carries keys to the back entrance and stairway, which could give somebody access to the rear of all the apartments in the building.”

Marc glanced at Maria. Her hand was at the side of her chair, counting the items on her fingers.” The cook,” she suggested.

“Yes, and the fact that the cook in Toni Wainwright's house heard Bob Wainwright calling out
Zack,
your name, as he lay dying. Then she heard a moving noise as if someone were walking out of the apartment.”

Zack listened silently, his eyes narrowed. “None of this seems to mean anything much,” he said finally. “You're not accusing me of this crime, are you?”

“No,” answered Marc. “That's not my job. We were just wondering about some things we didn't clear up with you the last time. Oh, there's one more thing. The tapes you recorded when you bugged Toni Wainwright's phone contained conversations Bob Wainwright had with his wife the night he was killed.”

Zack's eyes opened a bit, then returned to even narrower slits.

“Tapes? What tapes?” asked Lord.

“Not the ones recorded in your lower left-hand desk drawer,” said Marc. “The ones that you record with the tape machine in the credenza behind you. The tapes you keep in your safe.”

Maria wasn't missing the slightest reaction on Lord's part.

Lord was staring at Marc now. “You never stop working, do you?”

“Hardly ever,” said Marc.

“How could you possibly know about the tape machines?” he mused aloud. “Of course! The day you were all up here at the party,” he answered himself.

“No,” said Marc. “We're just guessing.”

“Don't try to kid a kidder,” Lord said flatly. “You mentioned tapes in the safe too.” He thought. “Did you have some burglar go through the safe and the rest of the place?”

“That wouldn't be proper,” replied Marc. “I'd never ask anyone to do that.”

Lord looked at Marc, studying his face. Then he studied Maria; then Franco. Finally, he smiled, but it was strained, and the lines at the sides of his eyes were pulled and taut. “You're fantastic, really fantastic! I want you to seriously consider my previous offer. That position as my personal counsel is still open,” said Lord. “Name your own price.”

“I already have a client,” said Marc. “When I finish with this Wainwright case, I'll be happy to consider your offer more seriously. If it's still open.”

“Of course it will be, of course, it will.” Zack's smile disappeared now. “You realize these are very serious accusations you're making.”

“I'm not making any accusations, Mister Lord,” said Marc. “Just asking questions.”

“They wouldn't stand up in court, and you know it,” Zack added. “And if they wouldn't stand up in court, you're running a very serious risk of lawsuit for defamation if you even mention them to anyone.” Lord was angry now. His eyes were harsh and vicious.

“I haven't mentioned them to anyone but you … so far,” said Marc.

“What does that mean, so far?”

“That means that I've' come to tell you about what I have first.”

Lord nodded. “I get it. I get it,” he smiled harshly. “You're trying to sell me some information? Is that it? A little fast money?”

“No, Mister Lord, I don't go in for blackmail,” said Marc. “I'm just informing you of the progress of our investigation. I was sure you'd be interested.”

“Look, I've never been one to waste time,” said Lord. “So let's get it over with. Just how much money do you want for this information? How much to turn it over to me and forget it?”

“You've got it wrong, Mister Lord,” said Marc. “I'm just trying to defend my client as best I can.”

“Okay, okay,” Lord said dismissingly. “Now tell me how much you're looking for for your information? How much? Tell me.”

Maria was trying hard not to let her surprise show.

“Nothing like that, Mister Lord,” said Marc calmly, purposely goading Lord. “Really. I just wanted to explore some of the facts with you. Get some answers.”

“For what? To shake me down, to get a bigger fee? Stop horseshitting and get to the point. How much?”

“First of all, don't talk like that in front of my wife,” Marc said. “And, second, I told you, I'm merely defending my client.”

“You must be joking about me,” said Lord, attempting a big smile. It soured before it got to the corners of his mouth.

“No, I'm quite serious … and you know it.”

“I have a very busy schedule,” Lord said abruptly. “If you have nothing further for me, I'll appreciate it if you'll excuse me.”

“Sure, we'll be going now,” said Marc.” This stuff you came up with is just a lot of little nonsense that means nothing,” said Lord. “It's coincidental.”

“Including the tapes?” said Marc.

“What tapes? I don't know what you're talking about.” Lord walked with them to the elevator to make sure he saw them out of his premises. He even pressed the elevator button for them.

“You mean there aren't any tapes?” Marc asked Lord.

“I don't know what you're talking about is what I mean,” Lord replied flatly. There was no smile now.

The elevator arrived. Maria entered first, then Marc. Lord remained outside, watching them.

“I'll send you a copy of the tapes, so you'll know what I'm talking about,” Marc said.

The elevator man stood ready to close the door.

Lord stared at Marc.

“And by the way … I'll also send you a copy of today's tape,” Marc said, taking Maria's handbag from her. He removed a small tape recorder from the bag. “That bit about buying evidence will be very interesting to the D.A. I'm sure.”

Zack Lord's jaw muscles twitched as he stared at the tape machine. His eyes closed slowly.

“Good-by, Mister Lord,” Maria said with great pleasure.

34

Wednesday, September 20, 4:30
P.M.

“Did you see Zack Lord's face just now?” crowed Maria as they reached the street in front of the hotel.

“I did, I did indeed,” said Marc.

“What do you figure he'll do now?” asked Franco.

“I'm not sure,” replied Marc. “I'm sure he's not going to skip town. Where could he go that he wouldn't be recognized?”