Desperate Measures

32

Herb Fisher was at his desk the following morning, dictating a memo, when his phone rang. He answered. “Herb Fisher.”

“Herb, this is Ted Faber, over at Littlejohn & Brown. How are you?”

“Real good, thanks. Have we met?”

“At a Bar Association cocktail party a long time ago, but that’s not why I’m calling. I may have a client for you.”

“Who referred you to me?”

“I can’t say, but why don’t I buy you a good lunch, and we can talk about it.”

“As long as it’s a really good lunch.”

“How about The Grill, formerly the Four Seasons Grill?”

“That’ll do.”

“Twelve-thirty?”

“Good.”

Herb walked up the stairs and past the busy bar, and a young man stepped forward and offered his hand. “Herb, I’m Ted Faber.”

They shook hands and were seated.

Herb looked around. “Thank God for the Historical Commission,” he said.

“Beg pardon?”

“They kept the new building owner from ripping out the interior and starting over. It’s exactly as Philip Johnson designed it.”

“Right.”

They ordered drinks and lunch.

“So,” Herb said, “what kind of case have you got?”

“A high-profile criminal one. You know the murders of the small blondes on the East Side?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Well, our client is a suspect.”

“It doesn’t get any more high profile than that,” Herb responded. “Who represents the other two?”

“Two other attorneys from two other firms. They’ve clammed up their clients.”

“Good. How’s your client going to plead?”

“Not guilty. He’s adamant that he had nothing to do with it, says he’ll go to trial.”

“What if the other two implicate him?”

“We’d like to head off that possibility at the pass.”

“How are you planning to proceed, then, and why do you want me?”

“We’ve had some very specific instructions about that from a relative of our client, the one who’s paying the bills.”

“What instructions?”

“First, he’s instructed us to hire you. He won’t say why.”

“And, I take it, he won’t let you say who he is?”

“Later,” Ted said. “Second, he’s instructed us, or you, rather, to make a proffer to the DA: immunity on all charges in return for his testimony against the two other suspects.”

“And who are these three?”

“Our client is Mike Adams, the night clerk at a hotel on Lexington Avenue; the other two are the janitor and the elevator operator. We have it on good authority that the cops and the DA favor the janitor as the perp, but they figure he needed help, so they’re charging all three.”

“That’s odd. Hasn’t the DA made an offer?”

“Five years.”

“And Adams won’t take it?”

“He will not, and he is adamant.”

“But he’s agreed to testify?”

“We believe he will, with full immunity.”

“I don’t get it. Why do you need me?”

“Two reasons. First, as I said earlier, the relative of our client has specified you. Second, the ADA on the case is Cheray Gardner.”

“Ah,” Herb said. He and Cheray had had a torrid, albeit brief, affair the year before.

“Did you part on good terms?”

“She still winks at me in the courthouse elevator.”

“I’ll take that as on good terms.”

“So will I,” Herb said. “Okay, who’s the relative?”

Ted sucked his teeth.

“I need to know that. I don’t want to be blindsided later.”

“First, let’s discuss your fees — with or without trial.”

Ted’s reluctance to reveal the name more than doubled what Herb had intended to ask. “Twenty-five grand, if I get him immunity. If it goes to trial, a hundred grand against a million-dollar fee, calculated at a thousand dollars an hour.”

“I can do that,” Ted said.

This indicated to Herb that Ted had already gotten an approval for the fees. “Then all I need is the name.”

“Mikeford Whitehorn.”

“He’s a relative?”

“A grandfather. Adams is his daughter’s son.”

“What’s the kid doing working at a fleabag hotel?”

“Let’s just say that Mike is something of a disappointment to his family. He’s not starving, though; he has a trust fund from grandpappy.”

“Okay, I’ll go for the deal, but I want permission to use Whitehorn’s name in my dealings with the ADA, and I want to talk to Whitehorn. Phone is okay.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ted replied.

“Tell old Swifty this: if it goes to trial, he’s going to be all over the papers and TV, guaranteed. The media will find out; they always do. However, if I can whisper his name into Cheray’s shell-like ear, it might carry some weight. It certainly will if she needs an approval from the DA himself to make the deal.”

“All right, but I don’t think you need to talk to grandpappy.”

“All right, but find a way to intimate to him that if he doesn’t know the DA, which he certainly does, but it would be gauche for him to make a call himself, then he might find a mutual acquaintance who can whisper to the DA that he should smile on immunity.”

“I can do that,” Ted said, “and I’m sure Swifty can, too.”

“Before I call Cheray.”

“Right after lunch.”

“When do I meet my client?”

“How about in an hour at Riker’s Island?”

“I can make that. Has anybody grilled young Mike about what he can give the DA?”

“I have. He says he’s worked with the janitor and the elevator operator for a year and a half, and he knows they did it, and he can shred any alibi they might have. And he keeps a diary.”

Herb looked at his watch.

“Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll give you an answer,” Ted said.

Herb went to the men’s room, and when he came out, Ted was waiting in the entry hall.

“You can whisper, but not shout, grandpappy’s name,” he said.

“I’ll call you later this afternoon,” Herb said. “Thanks for the lunch.”

“My car and driver are outside. Take it to Riker’s and he’ll take you back to your office.”

They shook hands, and Herb went outside to the car.