Ehrengraf for the Defense (13 page)

“Eminently possible,” Ehrengraf assured
her.

“She might have come to when I had already
entered the room and picked up the gun, and the whole incident
could have been compressed in her mind. She wouldn’t remember
having fainted and so she might now actually believe she saw me
kill Howard, while all along she saw something entirely
different.”

Evelyn Throop had been looking off into the
middle distance as she formulated her theory, and now she focused
her eyes upon the diminutive attorney. “It could have happened that
way,” she said, “couldn’t it?”

“It could have happened precisely that way,”
Ehrengraf said. “It could have happened in any of innumerable ways.
Ah, Miss Throop—” now the lawyer rubbed his small hands together
“—that’s the whole beauty of it. There are any number of
alternatives to the prosecution’s argument, but of course they
don’t see them. Give the police a supposedly ironclad case and they
look no further. It is not their task to examine alternatives. But
it is our task, Miss Throop, to find not merely an alternative but
the correct alternative, the ideal alternative. And in just that
fashion we will make a free woman of you.”

“You seem very confident, Mr. Ehrengraf.”

“I am.”

“And prepared to believe in my
innocence.”

“Unequivocally. Without question.”

“I find that refreshing,” Evelyn Throop said.
“I even believe you’ll get me acquitted.”

“I fully expect to,” Ehrengraf said. “Now let
me see, is there anything else we have to discuss at present?”

“Yes.”

“And what would that be?”

“Your fee,” said Evelyn Throop.

* * *

Back in his office, seated behind a desk
which he kept as untidy as he kept his own person immaculate,
Martin H. Ehrengraf sat back and contemplated the many
extraordinary qualities of his latest client. In his considerable
experience, while clients were not invariably opposed to a
discussion of his fees, they were certainly loath to raise the
matter. But Evelyn Throop, possessor of dove-gray eyes and
remarkable facial bones, had proved an exception.

“My fees are high,” Ehrengraf had told her,
“but they are payable only in the event that my clients are
acquitted. If you don’t emerge from this ordeal scot-free, you owe
me nothing. Even my expenses will be at my expense.”

“And if I get off?”

“Then you will owe me one hundred thousand
dollars. And I must emphasize, Miss Throop, that the fee will be
due me however you win your freedom. It is not inconceivable that
neither of us will ever see the inside of a courtroom, that your
release when it comes will appear not to have been the result of my
efforts at all. I will, nevertheless, expect to be paid in
full.”

The gray eyes looked searchingly into the
lawyer’s own. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Yes, of course.
Well, that seems fair. If I’m released I won’t really care how the
end was accomplished, will I?”

Ehrengraf said nothing. Clients often
whistled a different tune at a later date, but one could burn that
bridge when one came to it.

“One hundred thousand dollars seems
reasonable,” the woman continued. “I suppose any sum would seem
reasonable when one’s life and liberty hang in the balance. Of
course, you must know I have no money of my own.”

“Perhaps your family—”

She shook her head. “I can trace my ancestors
back to William the Conqueror,” she said, “and there were Throops
who made their fortune in whaling and the China trade, but I’m
afraid the money’s run out over the generations. However, I
shouldn’t have any problem paying your fee.”

“Oh?”

“I’m Howard’s chief beneficiary,” she
explained. “I’ve seen his will and it makes it unmistakably clear
that I held first place in his affections. After a small cash
bequest to Mrs. Keppner for her loyal years of service, and after
leaving his art collection—which, I grant you, is substantial—to
Leona, the remainder comes to me. There may be a couple of cash
bequests to charities but nothing that amounts to much. So while
I’ll have to wait for the will to make its way through probate, I’m
sure I can borrow on my expectations and pay you your fee within a
matter of days of my release from jail, Mr. Ehrengraf.”

“A day that should come in short order,”
Ehrengraf said.

“That’s your department,” Evelyn Throop said,
and smiled serenely.

Ehrengraf smiled now, recalling her smile,
and made a little tent of his fingertips on the desk top. An
exceptional woman, he told himself, and one on whose behalf it
would be an honor to extend himself. It was difficult, of course.
Shot with the woman’s own gun, and a witness to swear that she’d
shot him. Difficult, certainly, but scarcely impossible.

The little lawyer leaned back, closed his
eyes, and considered alternatives.

Some days later, Ehrengraf was seated at his
desk reading the poems of William Ernest Henley, who had written so
confidently of being the master of one’s fate and the captain of
one’s soul. The telephone rang. Ehrengraf set his book down,
located the instrument amid the desk top clutter, and answered
it.

“Ehrengraf,” said Ehrengraf.

He listened for a moment, spoke briefly in
reply, and replaced the receiver.

Smiling brightly, he started for the door,
then paused to check his appearance in a mirror.

His tie was navy blue, with a demure
below-the-knot pattern of embroidered rams’ heads. For a moment
Ehrengraf thought of stopping at his house and changing it for his
Caedmon Society necktie, one he’d taken to wearing on triumphal
occasions. He glanced at his watch and decided not to squander the
time.

Later, recalling the decision, he wondered if
it hinted at prescience.

* * *

“Quite remarkable,” Evelyn Throop said.
“Although I suppose I should have at least considered the
possibility that Mrs. Keppner was lying. After all, I knew for a
fact that she was testifying to something that didn’t happen to be
true. But for some reason I assumed it was an honest mistake on her
part.”

“One hesitates to believe the worst of
people,” Ehrengraf said.

“That’s exactly it, of course. Besides, I
rather took her for granted.”

“So, it appears, did Mr. Bierstadt.”

“And that was his mistake, wasn’t it?” Evelyn
Throop sighed. “Dora Keppner had been with him for years. Who would
have guessed she’d been in love with him? Although I gather their
relationship was physical at one point.”

“There was a suggestion to that effect in the
note she left.”

“And I understand he wanted to get rid of
her—to discharge her.”

“The note seems to have indicated
considerable mental disturbance,” Ehrengraf said. “There were other
jottings in a notebook found in Mrs. Keppner’s attic bedroom. The
impression seems to be that either she and her employer had been
intimate in the past or that she entertained a fantasy to that
effect. Her attitude in recent weeks apparently became less and
less the sort proper to a servant, and either Mr. Bierstadt
intended to let her go or she feared that he did and—well, we know
what happened.”

“She shot him.” Evelyn Throop frowned. “She
must have been in the room when he went to freshen the drinks. I
thought he’d put the gun in his pocket but perhaps he still had it
in his hand. He would have set it down when he made the drinks and
she could have snatched it up and shot him and been out of the room
before I got there.” The gray eyes moved to encounter Ehrengraf’s.
“She didn’t leave any fingerprints on the gun.”

“She seems to have worn gloves. She was
wearing a pair when she took her own life. A test indicated nitrite
particles in the right glove.”

“Couldn’t they have gotten there when she
committed suicide?”

“It’s unlikely,” Ehrengraf said. “She didn’t
shoot herself, you see. She took poison.”

“How awful,” Evelyn Throop said. “I hope it
was quick.”

“Mercifully so,” said Ehrengraf. Clearly this
woman was the captain of her soul, he thought, not to mention
master of her fate. Or ought it to be mistress of her fate? And
yet, he realized abruptly, she was not entirely at ease.

“I’ve been released,” she said, “as is of
course quite obvious. All charges have been dropped. A man from the
District Attorney’s Office explained everything to me.”

“That was considerate of him.”

“He didn’t seem altogether happy. I had the
feeling he didn’t really believe I was innocent after all.”

“People believe what they wish to believe,”
Ehrengraf said smoothly. “The state’s whole case collapses without
their star witness, and after that witness has confessed to the
crime herself and taken her life in the bargain, well, what does it
matter what a stubborn district attorney chooses to believe?”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“The important thing is that you’ve been set
free. You’re innocent of all charges.”

“Yes.”

His eyes searched hers. “Is there a problem,
Miss Throop?”

“There is, Mr. Ehrengraf.”

“Dear lady,” he began, “if you could just
tell me—”

“The problem concerns your fee.”

Ehrengraf’s heart sank. Why did so many
clients disappoint him in precisely this fashion? At the onset,
with the sword of justice hanging over their throats, they agreed
eagerly to whatever he proposed. Remove the sword and their
agreeability went with it.

But that was not it at all.

“The most extraordinary thing,” Evelyn Throop
was saying. “I told you the terms of Howard’s will. The paintings
to Leona, a few thousand dollars here and there to various
charities, a modest bequest to Mrs. Keppner—I suppose she won’t get
that now, will she?”

“Hardly.”

“Well, that’s something. Though it doesn’t
amount to much. At any rate, the balance is to go to me. The
residue, after the bequests have been made and all debts settled
and the state and federal taxes been paid, all that remains comes
to me.”

“So you explained.”

“I intended to pay you out of what I
received, Mr. Ehrengraf. Well, you’re more than welcome to every
cent I get. You can buy yourself a couple of hamburgers and a
milkshake.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s the damned paintings,” Evelyn Throop
said. “They’re worth an absolute fortune. I didn’t realize how much
he spent on them in the first place or how rapidly they appreciated
in value. Nor did I have any idea how deeply mortgaged everything
else he owned was. He had some investment reversals over the past
few months and he’d taken out a second mortgage on his home and
sold off stocks and other holdings. There’s a little cash and a
certain amount of equity in the real estate, but it’ll take all of
that to pay the estate taxes on the several million dollars’ worth
of paintings that go free and clear to that bitch Leona.”

‘You have to pay the taxes?”

“No question about it,” she said bitterly.
“The estate pays the taxes and settles the debts. Then all the
paintings go straight to America’s favorite cook. I hope she chokes
on them.” Evelyn Throop sighed heavily, collected herself. “Please
forgive the dramatics, Mr. Ehrengraf.”

“They’re quite understandable, dear
lady.”

“I didn’t intend to lose control of myself in
that fashion. But I feel this deeply. I know Howard had no
intention of disinheriting me and having that woman get everything.
It was his unmistakable intention to leave me the greater portion,
and a cruel trick of fate has thwarted him in that purpose. Mr.
Ehrengraf, I owe you one hundred thousand dollars. That was our
agreement and I consider myself bound by it.”

Ehrengraf made no reply.

“But I don’t know how I can possibly pay you.
Oh, I’ll pay what I can, as I can, but I’m a woman of modest means.
I couldn’t honestly expect to discharge the debt in full within my
lifetime.”

“My dear Miss Throop.” Ehrengraf was moved,
and his hand went involuntarily to the knot of his necktie. “My
dear Miss Throop,” he said again, “I beg you not to worry yourself.
Do you know Henley, Miss Throop?”

“Henley?”

“The poet,” said Ehrengraf, and quoted:

“
In the fell clutch of circumstance,

I have not winced nor cried aloud:

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

“William Ernest Henley, Miss Throop. Born
1849, died 1903. Bloody but unbowed, Miss Throop. ‘I have not yet
begun to fight.’ That was John Paul Jones, Miss Throop, not a poet
at all, a naval commander of the Revolutionary War, but the
sentiment, dear lady, is worthy of a poet. ‘Things are seldom what
they seem, Skim milk masquerades as cream.’ William Schwenk
Gilbert, Miss Throop.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Alternatives, Miss Throop. Alternatives!”
The little lawyer was on his feet, pacing, gesticulating with
precision. “I tell you only what I told you before. There are
always alternatives available to us.”

The gray eyes narrowed in thought. “I suppose
you mean we could sue to overturn the will,” she said. “That
occurred to me, but I thought you only handled criminal cases.”

“And so I do.”

“I wonder if I could find another who would
contest the will on a contingency basis. Perhaps you know
someone—”

“Ah, Miss Throop,” said Ehrengraf, sitting
back down and placing his fingertips together. “Contest the will?
Life is too short for litigation. An unlikely sentiment for an
attorney to voice, I know, but nonetheless valid for it. Put
lawsuits far from your mind. Let us first see if we cannot find—” a
smile blossomed on his lips “—the Ehrengraf alternative.”

* * *

Ehrengraf, a shine on his black wing-tip
shoes and a white carnation on his lapel, strode briskly up the
cinder path from his car to the center entrance of the Bierstadt
house. In the crisp autumn air, the ivy-covered brick mansion in
its spacious grounds took on an aura suggestive of a college
campus. Ehrengraf noticed this and touched his tie, a distinctive
specimen sporting a half-inch stripe of royal blue flanked by two
narrower stripes, one of gold and the other of a particularly vivid
green, all on a deep navy field. It was the tie he had very nearly
worn to the meeting with his client some weeks earlier.