The Guilty (40 page)

“You mean you were aware the alibi was false?”

“I mean I was as responsible for the false witnesses as my son was.”

From behind him Bratt could hear Small mumbling, “no, no, no,” under his breath, and he felt like joining him.

“And was anybody else in on this plan to fabricate an alibi?” Parent asked, staring right at
Bratt as he did so.

Son of a bitch is out to get me,
Bratt thought.

“No,” she answered, to Bratt’s relief. “There was only Marlon and me.”

I guess she wants to go down with her ship alone
, Bratt thought regretfully.
After all these years protecting clients from themselves, I still couldn’t get her to listen to me.

“And why did you think it was necessary to fabricate an alibi for your son?”

Again she hesitated and looked at Small before answering.

“Because he told me that he had shot those boys.”

Everyone in the courtroom seemed to suck in their breaths in surprise at this revelation. Small kicked the wall of the prisoner’s box.

“SHIT, BRATT. STOP HER!” he yelled out.

Bratt didn’t respond and Green paid no attention to this outburst. The judge began questioning the witness himself.

“Are you saying the accused admitted to you his guilt for the crimes he’s accused of?”

“Yes,” she answered calmly, a tear forming in one eye the only evidence of the emotional strain she was under. “We talked about what he did on several occasions. He told me that him and Marcus shot all three of them. He thought he had killed Dorrell Phillips too…but God spared the boy.”

Bratt heard Kouri’s
labored breathing and looked over at him, half-expecting him to be about to jump up in protest. But his assistant only sat staring down at his hands in his lap, a look of understanding growing on his anguished face.

Better late than never,
Bratt thought.

“Did you and the accused ever speak with Everton Jordan via a three-way phone call from jail,” Green continued.

“Yes, at least twice. Once with Mr. Sims too.”

“Did you discuss the false alibi during these conversations?”

“Yes.”

“Did he make any admissions of guilt during any of those phone calls?”

“Yes. I remember one occasion when he said it was too bad they had to shoot the two young men who had been in the apartment. The man they called Indian was the only person he had expected to find there that night. I suppose you could say he was their original target.”

Green sat back and let his breath out slowly. Parent just stood there beaming, not needing to say anything else. Bratt caught Nancy’s eye and she nodded to him slightly to let him know he had done the right thing. For a moment Bratt thought that they would be the only ones who were aware of his role, but Green still had some questions he wanted answered.

“Tell me, Mrs. Campbell. Why did you come forward now?”

She looked down, as if discussing her own feelings of guilt was something too shameful to face in open court.

“I loved…I
love
my son. But I hated myself for what I had done. I couldn’t lie anymore to protect him from the awful thing he’d done. I only hope that one day he’ll realize that my coming here was as much for him as it was for me.”

“YEAH, RIGHT!” Small called out angrily.

“Quiet, you!” Green snapped at him, looking at Small like he was something less than human. Then he turned to the witness and continued his questioning.

“What I’d like to know, madam, is why you chose now to come forward. Why didn’t you tell this to the police before the trial?”

“I really hoped to take this awful secret to my grave, but I couldn’t. Not after what I’d heard here in this trial. I had to tell someone or my heart was going to burst. I needed someone to advise me on how to heal this wound in my soul.”

“Whom did you speak to?”

“Mr. Bratt.”

Well, this is what I wanted…and feared,
Bratt told himself, sensing that all the eyes in the courtroom were now on him.

“
Really
,” Green almost sang the word. “And could you tell us about
that
conversation?”

“I told Mr. Bratt…well, the same thing I’ve told you. I told him that I felt very bad about what
I had done. And that I wanted to set things right.”

She glanced over in Bratt’s direction and allowed herself a small, grateful smile, which he couldn’t help but return.

“He told me that I had to speak with Mr. Parent, here. That I had to tell the truth, which I guess is what I’ve wanted to do all along.”

Feeling quite happy with himself, Bratt looked past the witness to the prosecution table and wondered why Parent and Nancy’s faces wore looks of surprised horror.

Then Nancy jumped up and yelled out, “
Robert
,” just as the small chain of Marlon Small’s handcuffs was pulled across Bratt’s throat. He was dragged backward toward the prisoner’s box where his enraged client was leaning over the railing, swearing loudly and trying his best to strangle his lawyer.

Just before he lost consciousness Bratt looked up into Small’s hate-filled face glowering down at him, and the thought occurred to him that his client should really get his teeth fixed while he was in jail.

On Monday, April 3, Robert Bratt sat in his office, his stockinged feet up on his desk, and spoke to his daughter Jeannie on the phone.

“The movers’ll be here any minute now,” he said, running his fingers over a cardboard box that contained some of the personal memorabilia that had decorated his office for so many years. His voice was hoarse, his throat still tender from where the chain had almost cracked his windpipe a week earlier. “Ralston’s drawn up the papers. He’s good at that stuff. I just want to sign it and get out of here.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to Costa Rica without me,” Jeannie said from the other end.

“Well, maybe we’ll go down again when school lets out. You know we’ve got a standing invitation from that old, uh, friend of mine.”

“I guess you and Nancy don’t want me hanging around you when you’re down there this time.”

Bratt laughed, but only briefly. Laughing still hurt his throat the most, although it surprised him how much he had found to laugh about since Marlon Small had been convicted of murder. For good measure, his former client had also been charged for the courtroom assault on his lawyer, as well as on one of the guards who had wrestled him to the floor of the prisoner’s box. Bratt, though, wasn’t planning to hang around long enough to testify against him. How much more than a life sentence could they give Small, anyway?

There had been a brief moment when he had considered staying on to defend Jennifer Campbell against the obstruction of justice charges that Parent had insisted on laying. But he knew that was not what she wanted for either of them, so he had left her to her own fate.

     As for Peter, right after the verdict he announced he was taking a sabbatical to contemplate his future. Bratt wasn’t sure if he’d continue in defense, or even stay in law at all. He was still young, though, and would have lots of time to recover from his mistakes.

As Jeannie nattered on about how dull the rest of her semester was going to be compared to the sunny climes he was headed for, Sylvie came timidly to his door and he waved her in.

“There’s a Mr. Madsen here to see you,” she said.

Crap,
he thought,
of all the people I didn’t want to see now.

He lowered his feet and slipped them into his loafers, telling Jeannie he had to go but would see her at home later. He had barely hung up when Senator Roger Madsen walked in, his stiff, military bearing almost failing him when he looked around at the empty office walls. Without saying a word he pulled his forlorn gaze back to Bratt.

There was what felt like an eternity of awkward silence, then Bratt spoke up.

“Senator Madsen, how nice of you to drop by.”

“I just had to see it with my own eyes. You’re actually leaving.”

Bratt could think of nothing to say, so he just shrugged and smiled. Madsen shuffled over to the sofa and sat down with a sigh.

“Twenty years, Robert. You did a lot of good work.”

“Some of it was good.”

“You’re really going to give all this up?”

“I don’t think I have much choice, even if I wanted to stay.”

“Oh, that Bar inquiry’s a lot of hogwash, you know that. They can’t blame you for acting like an officer of the court.”

“I know. But that
’s not much of a selling point for potential clients. Besides, I need a change.”

“You could have been on the bench. That should have been change enough for any man.”

“It would have been nice. But the price was too high.”

Madsen jumped up to his feet, too agitated to remain seated. He began pacing, looking like he was practicing an army drill, marching up and down a square.

“Good thing your father’s not around to see this.”

“He never liked what I did much, anyway.”

“Maybe, but I’m not so sure. I do remember he was damn proud of you the day you graduated law school.”

“You say it like that makes him special,” Bratt sniped back, instantly regretting his insolent tone.

Madsen turned away.

“Listen, Robert,” he said with his back still to Bratt. “I know you’re tired, so take some time off, enjoy life for a while. I’m sure in a few weeks you’ll be raring to get back in the game.”

“I’m sorry, Senator, but you don’t seem to understand what’s happened. I’ve burned my bridges. There’s nothing to come back to. I’m not even wanted here, friends or no friends. I’ve become a pariah for the office clientele. And the truth is, that’s just fine with me.”

Madsen turned back to look at him and Bratt was surprised to see he had tears in his eyes.

“I just want to make sure you’ll be all right, Robert. This is all so sudden.”

“No, Senator. It really wasn’t that sudden. Like all divorces, it’s been brewing for a long time. This was just the right time to leave.”

He put his arm affectionately around the older man’s shoulders and walked with him out the office toward the elevator. They stood silently as they waited for it to arrive. When the doors finally opened, Madsen paused before entering.

“You still have that lovely old Jag?”

“Mm-hm.”

“I thought I saw it pulling up outside. There was a pretty young lady driving it.”

“That would be Nancy. She’s…
a friend
. If she’s here the movers won’t be far behind.”

Madsen silently mouthed the word “movers” and nodded solemnly, before getting in the elevator.

“Don’t be a stranger, Robert,” he called out as the doors slid closed.

Bratt only smiled to himself. As fond as he was of the old man, he didn’t expect to see him again for a long time, if at all. There were many old friends he would have to get used to missing, but fresh starts didn’t work if they came with old baggage.

Before stepping back into the office he paused to look at the shiny new sign on the heavy wooden doors: “Ralston, Kalouderis, Attorneys at Law.”

They didn’t take very long to get it up there,
he thought, with only the slightest pang of regret.

THE END

AbOUT THE AUTHOR

Gabriel Boutros practiced criminal law for 24 years in Montreal, where he lives with  his wife and two sons. He has previously published two short stories, neither of which have anything to do with the legal profession. This is his first novel.