Compelling Evidence (16 page)

"No" from Talia

in the other room, followed by much silence. My cue to return. I leave the light on in the study and walk slowly toward the living room. As I enter the room Tod has his back to me, and looks out the window across an acre of closely clipped lawn toward the pool house. "Paul," she says.

"Your professional opinion. What are my chances?" Talia is now all business. "A lot can happen between now and trial. A lot can happen dtning the trial We'll know more after we see their witnesses i1i the prelim," I say. "But if I had to guess, right now, no better than fifty‐fifty." I am myself now putting a little gloss 4z it. She thinks for a moment, then speaks. "There won't be any duls. If I'm going down, I'm going down fighting." Talia's . wing more sand than I would have expected. She rises from the couch and leaves the room. It seems that meeting is over. I stand near die door with Tod. Talia's not seeing me Before he can open it, I turn ‐and look at him. "Tell me something," I say. "You don't have to answer th YOU don't want to."

"If I can," he says. "Where were you the day Ben was killed?"

This brings a flush to his cheeks, like I've caught him footed. "We are getting direct, aren't we?" he says. "I don't have much choice. I'm running out of time. Y understand the perilous position you're in?"‐ I say. "Me?" He says this in a tone almost incredulous. "Yes. You're here in this house. The cops are looking accomplice. Someone strong enough to have helped Talia the body. To get it from wherever Ben was killed to the Right now you look real convenient. You could use a little discretion," I say. "Perhaps," he says. "But I'm a friend. I was raised wi notion that friends don't cut and run," I think that this is a shot at me, the fact that I have been at best distant from@.@ during these, her days of need. Our relationship is now@.. business. "Noble," I say.

"No," he says. "Just trying to do the right thing."

"But it doesn't answer my question. Where were you Ben was killedt' "At the club. Playing tennis. All afternoon."

He doe nl'. wl or bat an eye as he.says this. "I had dinner there 1

Didn't leave until after nine o'clock." He looks over his S to see whether Talia is within earshot. "You can check iv

"How lucky for you."

"Yes," he says, as he reaches for the door. "Good ni CHAPTER 11.

WE are now

four days to the preliminary hearing and I am counting the hours as if they slip away on a doomsday clock. I've tracked Cheetant Re a shadow, trying to prep him on the evidence. Between phone calls I tell him about the theory of the monster pellet‐the second shot. He waves me off.

Cheetam, it seems, does not have the time. He lives with a telephone receiver growing out of his ear. He spends his days hustling information on other cases from the farrung reaches of the state and beyond, talking to his office in Los Angeles, his stockbroker in New Yoric, faxing interrogatories to a half‐dozen other states where minions. labor under him like some multinational franchise. For Gilbert Cheetam, it seems, if it isn't reported on a telephone, it hasn't happened. I've tried reducing my thoughts to writing in hopes that our situation with Talia's case would come home to him. But my unread memos languish with piles of other correspondence yellowing in a,basket on the desk that he is using at P&S. It is zero hour minus three days when I finally comer him for lunch. I lead him to a back table of this place, a dreary little restaurant away from the downtown crowd. No one of note has darkened the door in this place in a decade. I have picked it for that reason‐a place where we cannot be found or interrupted. "How's the veal?" he asks.

"Everything's excellent," I fie. "Good, I'll have the veal."

We order, and I begin to talk. Seconds in, there is a highelectronic tone, barely audible. It emanates from under the

"Excuse me for a

moment," he says. He pops the lid on his briefcase and produces a small tele receiver. I should have expected‐Cheetam's cellular fix. I gnaw on celery sticks and nibble around the edges of my as he carries on a conference call that ranges across the no hemisphere. We are into the entree. He's picking at his veal with a the phone still to his ear, when suddenly he's on hold wid His dream, he tells me, is a portable fax for his car, to go w cellular phone. I smile politely. The man's an electronics j Over coffee he pulls the receiver away from his ear long e to tell the waitress, "I'll take the check." Then we are off car, the phone still glued to his ear. At an intersection he finishes business and puts the beside him on the seat. I seize the moment. "We should start preparing for say. "How do you want to handle it?" Circling the wag a defense in the prelim, I tell him, is a waste of time. "You give up too easily," he says. "Why don't we wai after the preliminary hearing before we start talking trial."

"Do me a favor," I say. "If you've got a magic bullet, so that's gonna end this thing in the prelim, let me in on it nol don't give me the mushroom treatment." He looks at me wide‐eyed, questioning. "Turn on the lights and end with the bullshit," I say. waste my time. This isn't Talia. I'm not your client‐ "vte s 0 0 evidence. And from everything I've seen, we are ing the prelin‐iinary hearing." I bite off my words, precise and c as if to emphasize the certainty of this matter. "Really."

He looks over at me. And for a fleeting instant I he is shining me on. I don't know whether to argue with take the lead that his demeanor is part of a well‐meaning, joke, that in fact he has mastered the realities of our c before this moment. From his inside vest pocket he pulls a leather contai slides the cover off, exposing five long panatelas in shiny, phane wrappers. He offers me one. "No, thanks."

"You don't mind if I do?"

"It's your car," I say. "You're entirely too pessimistic," he says. "But I agree, it's a tough me. Still, I think we have a chance here."

The man's a dreamer. He chews through the wrapper and slips one of the long slender things into his mouth. He uses a wooden match and the car begins to fill with a thick blue haze. I open my window a few inches.

"Tough case." I say it like this is the understatement of the year. "As judicial process goes, the preliminary hearing is a prosecutorial exhibition bout."

It's true. The only purpose is to weed out groundless felony complaints, to spare wrongly accused defendants the embarrassment and cost of a full trial in the superior court. "For starters," I say, "the state faces a minimal burden, It's not proof beyond a reasonable doubt. Not here.

We're not even talking a preponderance. All they have to show is probable cause. You know what that is in this state?"

From the look on his face, through a fog of smoke, I can tell he does not, "It means a suspicion‐a bare suspicion." I say it as if these words summon up something sinister, a vestige from some howling star chamber.

"All the judge needs to send our client to the superior court on a charge of first‐degree murder," I tell him, "is a reasonable suspicion that Potter was murdered, and that Talia did it."

He nods and smiles, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling. "I agree,"

he says. "But we've got a few things going for us."

"Like what?"

"Like how a woman overpowers a much larger, stronger man, even an older man of Potter's age. Why she would use a shotgun‐you've got to admit this is not a woman's weapon." He's back to this now. "You're not listening," I say. "Me cops are operating on the theory that she was helped."

His phone rings beside him. My hand reaches it before he can Ock it up.

I slide it onto the floor in the well by my feet, where it rings itself to death. He looks at me, somewhat offended, then smiles. "OK," he says.

on. "For starters, the DA's got suspicion in spades, and it all points toward Talia." I tell him about our theory of a second shot, that Ofte witness will place Ben's car at the house near the time of deaffi, and that Talia has not even the hint of an alibi.

"Then why not cop a plea? Save ourselves a lot of trouble and her a considerable degree of risk. Why, as you say, should we circle the wagons if it's a loser?"

"What are you suggesting, murder two?" I ask. "Maybe we try manslaughter first," he says. "You know, man and wife, a crime of passion. It would wash."

But I can tell by the tone that with Cheetam, everything is negotiable.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Call me sentimental," I say. "But when I take a retainer from a client I feel an obligation to give it my best effort. Besides, Talia will never go for it. Believe me."

He looks over at me, a sardonic grin on his face. It's Cheetarn the soothsayer again. "You know her pretty well?"

I nod, "You know," he says, "there is a saying: "A lawyer who sleeps with a client ends up screwing himself' Have you heard it before?"

I look at him speechless. There are furrows on his forehead, as if to say, "Oh yes, I know about you."

"It doesn't take a mental giant," he says. "One day you're with the firm, the next day you're gone. The lady's married to a man with a hundred partners and associates, but she asks for you out of the blue when she's charged." He rolls his eyes toward the roof of the car as if to show the obviousness of it all. Still, I think, this is a wild guess, nothing behind his words but a lot of bravado. The smile begins to fade from his face. He leaves me with just a grain of doubt, the grit of uncertainty. I am left to wonder if Talia has come clean with him in one of their heart‐to‐hearts, client to lawyer, baring her soul. I gesture to ‐ward his cigar, which is sending up a stream of smoke from between his fingers on the wbeel. "What do they stuff those things with," I say,

"peyote?"

He laughs. "If that's the way you want it."

"That's the way it is." I lie and try to turn the conversation back toward business. "If we have to cut a deal, we do it after the prelim. I think we should see what they've got, and how their witnesses hold up Wer cross‐examination."

He's looking over at me again, now between intersectio Cheetam is smiling like the cat who got the canary. He knows I' lying. He has a hard time keeping a straight face when discussi business, "We might get a better deal now," he says. "If their case collapses, we might not want a deal."

IIHMM.11 He considers this for a moment, chomping a little his cigar. I am thankful for the smoke and the distraction. "Your decision," I say.

Yes, it is," he says. There's a cockiness in his tone. But if you want my advice.. He says nothing to stop me. "I think we should cover ourselves. Treat the prelim as discovery. An opportunity to depose their witnesses," I say." let Talia take the stand, give 'em as little as possible, look., weaknesses in their case, and prepare for the long haul. for trial."

There's a moment of dead silence. The kind that usually cedes some difficult revelation. I thought Tony would have talked to you by now,"

he

"About whaff

"About who's gonna try the case." :"What am you talking aboutt' "I'm afraid I'm no longer available." I look at him more in amusement than in surprise. For reason, nothing Gilbert Chbeetarn says or does surprises me@'" man.is too whimsical. He is stone‐faced, looking out at he crosses through an intersection. I have a conflict," he says.

"A calendaring conflict'a products case in the East. Asbestos. I thought Tony w al4l, told you. "Tony and I don't talk that much."

I can feel ice in my veins. The Greek has bought Talia a horse in the person of Gilbert Cheetam. I wonder how I been aware of this conflict, and who they hold in le th try Talia's case. "It's likely to go at least five months, this product liabili back east," he says. "So.. He looks over at me with a coy smile. I figured w better nip it here in the preliminary hearing." He says all the verve of someone ordering shrimp, as if it's imminently within his power. I sit looking across at Gilbert Cheetam, amused to die point of laughter, and suddenly my head is filled with only one thing, the book contract that he has already signed. "You often contract for books on cases you're not gonna try?" I say. "Oh, that. Not a problem. The contract's assignable. If it goes to trial, I'll just sell the rights to whoever tries the case. The publisher already has a ghostwriter," he says. "I just take a percentage," He smiles a broad, toothy grin as he holds the saliva‐soaked panatela in his mouth. "As I say, "Everything in lile's negotiable.' "Swell."

As he pulls away from the curb, leaving me in front of the Emerald Tower to perform more spadework on the case that be is not going to try, there is a sinking feeling in my stomach, It comes with the knowledge that Talia and 1, each in out own way, have been bad.

CHAPTER 12.

IN this state a

death sentence requires proof that a killing is accompanied by "special circumstances," especially heinous conduct‐evidence of an evil intent beyond the mere taking of another human life. In Talia's case the prosecution is charging two of these: murder for financial gain and lying in wait. The preliminary hearing is a circus. We are immersed in the din of the curious‐reporters, courthouse groupies, old ladies and retired men in straw hats with nothing better to do, lawyers with an idle hour between appearances. They are all crowded here in department 17 of the municipal court. Just behind the press seats, there are four good‐looking women in their early thirties with stylish tans who have followed the case closely. Tod is with them. They are sending strong signals of support to Talia, who occasionally looks back at them and smiles. Tlese, I assume, are friends, from the tennis or country club.

Talia is drawn and pale. Reports of her arrest in the papers reflected a mere formality, an appearance at police headquarters in the company of a lawyer, me, to be printed, booked, and released on bail‐$200,000. For this we used some of the equity in Talia's house, avoiding the premium that would be collected by a bondsman. Tbough she is at the moment starved for cash $200,000 for a woman of Talia's apparent means is viewed @; the players in this matter as a pittance. The court, at least for the moment, is satisfied that my client does not present an overly great risk of flight. In Talia's case it is a certainty. Everything she holds ar in life is here, in this town. In the darkening hollows around her eyes, I can see signs stress. It is as if the trauma of the past several months, Ben' death, and now the state's implication of her in that sordid murky affair have finally begun to take their toll. The working news moguls are here in strength‐graying bur chiefs for the large metropolitans from the south and around bay, local reporters stringing for national publications, crews the three network affiliates, and a sea of reporters from s papers‐all clamoring for seats in the front two rows. The klieg‐light set and the minicam crews with their bel battery packs are left like waifs outside the door. There is a man I see for the first time today. He is alone. the other counsel table, closest to the empty jury box. I never met him, but I know from photos in the newspaper he is. Tall and dark, a brooding presence with deep‐set eyes a shock of raven‐black hair over a forehead etched deep furrows drooping at the temples toward hollow cheeks. It face which might appear noble, even Lincolnesque if by a growth of beard. He stands emptying the contents worn leather briefcase onto the table: an assortment of single pad of legal‐length yellow paper. The sheets at the C of the pad are uniformly impressed to an onion‐skin texture the heavy scrawl of handwriting. Despite the stories I've from Sam Jennings and others, Duane Nelson does not cau image of a political hack. "All rise." A beefy bailiff to the far side of middle age m out around to the front of the bench. A heavy revolver sl thigh as he walks. "Remain standing.