The Last Innocent Man

3

David had not slept well. There had been clear skies and a bright slice of moon, and he had watched the stars from the darkness of his living room when he found he could not sleep. What was there to it? A woman he had slept with one time. Why should she matter, when none of the others he had taken to bed had mattered? He knew he would not find the answer with logic, the lawyer’s tool.

What should he do? The answer was obvious. Get out. Obvious on paper, that is. But not in his heart, where the decision was being made. And it was not all that obvious, anyway, because one factor muddied everything over. What if Larry Stafford was innocent? Charlie Holt had told him that Jennifer said she had been with her husband the night Darlene Hersch was murdered, and Jennifer had told him when they were walking to his office from the court-house that Larry was innocent. Stafford had said it too, and David believed him. On the other hand, was the man who had cuckolded the defendant the best man to represent him?

David had to give that a lot of thought. Now that he had found Jennifer, he did not want to let her go. He wanted to know if there was anything more possible between them. He had sensed that possibility when they had parted at his office.

Did he want the case because of Jennifer? Did he care about Larry Stafford at all? If it was just Jennifer, he knew he would have to give it up. But it wasn’t just Jennifer, David told himself. If Larry Stafford was innocent, David could not stand by and see him convicted. There was more to this case than just a chance to see Jennifer again. Hadn’t he felt the excitement when Charlie Holt had told him that Stafford might be innocent? David thought about Ashmore and Gault and Anthony Seals. When their cases had concluded, he had felt a sense of guilt, not pride. This was a case he could be proud of. He was the best criminal lawyer in the state and one of the best in the country. It was about time he started using his abilities the way they were meant to be used.

There was a note from Monica in his message box the next morning. An indictment had been returned, and a date for the arraignment had been set in circuit court. David made a note to himself to set a time for a bail hearing. The first thing he did when he reached his office was call Jennifer Stafford. She answered after the first ring.

“I’ll represent Larry if you want me to.”

“Yes,” she answered after a brief pause. “Thank you. I was afraid you wouldn’t… Larry is very high on you. We talked about it yesterday evening.”

“You didn’t tell him I was thinking about not taking the case?”

“Oh, no. He doesn’t know anything about us.”

There was silence on the line.

“You haven’t…?” she started.

“Of course not.”

There was another pause. Not an auspicious beginning. They could not relax with each other.

“Larry said that you have his appointment book at home,” he said.

“I think so. I’ll look.”

“I’ll need it as soon as possible. And the fee,” he added, feeling uneasy about asking her for money.

“Of course; Charlie told me. I’ll go to the bank.”

Again, dead air. Neither of them knew how to fill the space.

“I’ll let you know when the bail hearing is set,” David said, unwilling to let the conversation end.

“Yes.”

“And don’t forget the book. It’s important.”

He was repeating himself.

“If…if I find the book, should I bring it down this morning?”

Did that mean she wanted to see him? He felt very unsure of himself.

“We can set an appointment.”

“I could leave it with your secretary. If you’re busy.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to bother you. I know you have other cases.”

“No. That’s all right. If you find it, come down. I’m pretty open this afternoon, and I have to talk to you anyway for background.”

“Okay. If I find it.”

They rang off. He leaned back, breathed deeply, and composed himself. This was no good. There was too much adrenaline involved. He wasn’t thinking straight. Like some high-school kid with a crush. Stupid. When he felt he had himself in hand, he dialed Terry Conklin, his investigator.

“How you doing, Terry?”

“Up to my ass. And you?”

“Same thing. That’s why I called you. I have a real interesting one. It’ll probably take a lot of your time.”

“Gee, I don’t know, Dave. I hate to turn you down, but I just picked up Industrial Indemnity as a client, and I’ve had to hire another guy just to handle their caseload.”

David was disappointed. Terry had been an intelligence officer in the Air Force and a policeman after that. When he got tired of working for someone else, he quit the force and started his own agency. David had been one of his first clients, and they were good friends. As Terry’s reputation grew, he acquired several insurance companies as clients. The money end of his business was in investigating personal-injury claims, and he had little time now for criminal investigation, his first love. But he and David had an understanding if the case was big enough, and he had never let David down yet.

“It’s the policewoman who was murdered at the Raleigh Motel,” David said. He was laying out the bait.

“Oh. Yeah? Some of my police friends were talking about that. They got someone, huh?”

“You don’t read the papers?”

“I was in New Orleans last week.”

“My, my, aren’t we getting to be the cross-country traveler. Business or pleasure?”

“A little of both. You representing the accused?”

David smiled. He was interested.

“Yeah. They arrested a lawyer from the Price, Winward firm.”

“No shit!”

David relaxed. He had him.

“Can you recommend someone to work on the case? I’d like someone good.”

“Hold on, will you? Just one minute.”

Terry put him on hold and David laughed out loud. When Terry got back on the line, they made an appointment to meet after work and drive to the Raleigh Motel.

Jennifer showed up at three. She was dressed in a conservative gray skirt and a white blouse that covered her to the neck. Her hair was swept back in a bun. With glasses she would look like a librarian in one of those forties movies, whose hidden beauty was revealed when she let her hair down.

“I brought the book,” she said, holding out a pocketsized notebook with a black leather cover. David reached across the desk and took it, careful not to let their hands touch. He flipped through the pages until he came to June 16. Stafford had had an appointment at nine forty-five with someone named Lockett and another appointment at four-thirty with Barry Dietrich. David recognized Dietrich’s name. He was a partner at Price, Winward who specialized in securities work. That would tie in with what Larry had told him at the jail. There were no other entries for the sixteenth, and David made a note to contact Dietrich.

“Is that any help?” Jennifer asked.

“It could be. Larry met with one the partners on the day of the murder. I’ll find out how late they worked.”

Jennifer nodded. She looked ill at ease, sitting erect with her hands folded in her lap, making an extra effort to look businesslike. David appreciated her discomfort. He felt rigid, and the conversation had an artificial quality to it.

“I want to talk to you about your relationship to Larry. Some of the questions I’m going to ask will be very personal, but I wouldn’t ask them if the answers weren’t important to Larry’s defense.”

She nodded again, and he noticed that her hands clasped tighter, turning the knuckles of her left hand momentarily white.

“How long have you known Larry?”

“Just over a year.”

“How did you meet?”

“I was teaching school with Miriam Holt, Charlie’s wife. She introduced us. Larry and Charlie play a lot of handball together.”

“How long after that were you married?”

“A few months. Four.”

It came out as an apology, and David looked down at his notes, sensing her embarrassment. Whether the jury found Larry innocent or guilty, this would be an ordeal for her. And it would never really stop. If Larry was convicted, she would be the wife of the young lawyer who had killed a policewoman he thought was a prostitute. Why had he needed a prostitute? They would look at her and wonder. What was wrong with her that she had driven him to that?

And if he was acquitted? Well, you never were, really. The jury might say you were not guilty, but the doubts always remained.

“Where do you teach?”

“Palisades Elementary School.”

“How long have you been teaching?”

She smiled and relaxed a little.

“It seems like forever.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Yes. I’ve always liked kids. I don’t know. It can be hard at times, but I really feel it’s worthwhile. Larry wanted me to stop teaching after we were married, but I told him I wanted to keep on.”

“Why did he want you to stop?”

Jennifer blushed and looked down at her hands. “You have to understand Larry. He’s very tied up in this manhood trip. It’s just the way he is.”

“Has Larry ever cheated on you?”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Jennifer looked directly at David.

“No,” she said firmly. “And I think I would have known.”

“Has he ever struck you?”

“No,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Has he or hasn’t he?”

“Well, we’ve quarreled, but he’s never…No.”

“Do you consider Larry to be normal sexually?”

“What do you mean, ‘normal’?” she asked hesitantly.

David felt uneasy and unsure of himself. He had asked this type of question often enough in the past, but it had always been strictly for professional reasons. He was asking now as a professional, but there was something more. He wanted to know what the relationship between Larry Stafford and his wife was really like. He wanted to know how he stacked up sexually to the man he was representing. He wanted to know if Jennifer responded to her husband with the passion she had exhibited during their lovemaking.

“Are his sexual preferences unusual? Does he have any peculiarities?”

“I don’t see why, what that would…Can’t we talk about something else? This is very hard for me.”

“I know it’s hard for you, but this case is heavily concerned with sex, and I want you prepared for the questions the district attorney is going to ask you in open court.”

“I’ll have to…? I couldn’t…”

Jennifer took a deep breath, and David let her compose herself.

“Our sexual relationship is…just normal.”

Her voice caught, and David again watched her hands, tense and entwined, clasp each other rigidly.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said so softly that he had to strain to hear her.

“David, that evening you and I…It is true that Larry and I were having problems, but they had to do with his work, not our sexual relationship. He was working very hard. He didn’t make partner last year and it deflated him. At first he just gave up. It was right after we got married, and he was talking about leaving the firm and trying something else: government work or going out on his own. Then he changed his mind and decided that he would be accepted if he just worked harder. Even harder than before. He was leaving early and coming home late. He was drinking, too. I hardly saw him at all, even on the weekends. And when I did see him, it seemed we were always quarreling.

“The evening I met you…I just blew up at him. Called him at the office. He came home all upset. I’d interfered with his work. Couldn’t I understand? I told him I did understand. That I thought he considered his work more important than me. I walked out. Then I met you and…and it just happened. I wanted to hurt him, I guess. But it isn’t…wasn’t sex. We were…all right.”

She stopped, out of words, her energy spent. David didn’t know what to say. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew he couldn’t.

“Besides,” she said, “I don’t see what any of this has to do with Larry’s case. I told Charlie, Larry couldn’t have killed that girl. He was home with me on that evening.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. I would know. I mean, if he was out with another woman…He was with me.”

“You would swear to that in court?”

“Yes. I don’t want Larry to go to prison. He couldn’t take it, David. He couldn’t take the pressure.”

“He seems to be holding up pretty well.”

“You don’t know him like I do. He puts up a good front, but he’s a little boy underneath. He’s very good at seeming to be in one piece, but I know him well enough to see the cracks beneath the surface.”

David put down his notepad. The short interview had taken its emotional toll on both of them.

“I guess that’s enough for now. I’m going to visit the motel after work and try to talk to the desk clerk. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything.”

She stood, and he walked her to the door.

“I want to thank you for taking the case. I know it was a hard decision for you. And I know that Larry will be safe with you.”

He didn’t know what to say. She solved the problem by leaving quickly. He watched her walk away, hoping that she would turn and give him some sign, but she didn’t and he returned to his desk, more confused than ever about their relationship.

There was a glass and a bottle of good bourbon in David’s bottom drawer. He took his bourbon neat. It was some time since he had felt the need for a midday drink, but he had the feeling that there would be many more before he was through with the Stafford case.

Terry Conklin was medium height, a bit chubby, and had a wide and continuous smile. He looked like the least dangerous person in any gathering, and people trusted and talked to him. That’s what made him so valuable as an investigator.

Terry turned his Dodge station wagon into the parking lot at the Raleigh Motel. The wagon was strewn with debris left by Conklin’s five children. It was a far cry from the flashy sports cars James Bond drove, and Terry liked to joke that it was part of his cover.

Terry had spent some time that afternoon in the morgue at theOregonian reading everything he could find about the Hersch case. He had photocopied the clippings for David, who was finishing the last one as they pulled up in front of the motel office.

“Any help?” Conklin asked as he shut off the engine.

“They don’t give me much more than I already know. Say, before I forget, the bail hearing’s tomorrow and they’ll probably put Ortiz on. Can you make it?”

“No problem,” Terry said as they headed toward the motel office.

Merton Grimes was an old man, stooped and slow to move. The cold weather was still holding off, but Grimes had on a heavy plaid shirt, buttoned to the neck, and a pair of soiled gray slacks. He was standing over a pot of coffee when David entered, and David had to cough to get his attention. Grimes looked put out and took his time shuffling across the room. David could see a section of the back room through a half-open door. There was a small couch covered by an antimacassar. A lamp rested on a low end table casting a dim light on the green-and-white fabric. David could hear the muffled sound of a TV whose volume had been turned low, but he could not see the screen.

“Mr. Grimes?” David asked. The old man looked immediately suspicious. “My name is David Nash. This is Terry Conklin. I’d like to talk to you about the murder that occurred here a few months ago.”

“You reporters?” Grimes asked in a tone suggesting that he would not be upset if they were.

“No. I’m a lawyer. I represent the man who’s been charged with the crime.”

“Oh,” Grimes said, disappointed.

“I’d like to see the room if I could and talk about anything you might know.”

“I already told what I know to the police. Damn place was like a circus for a week,” he said, nodding at the memory. “Reporters and cops. Didn’t do business no harm, though.”

He laughed and it came out more of a snort. The old man wiped his nose with the back of his hand and turned to a pegboard on the wall behind the desk counter. It took him a moment, but he found the key he was looking for. He started to reach for it, then stopped and turned back. He had a crafty look on his face, and David knew exactly what was coming next.

“You know, I ain’t sure I should be doin’ this. You representing a criminal and all. I don’t know if the cops would like it. I could get in trouble.”

“I can assure you this is perfectly legal…”

“All the same…”

“And, of course, we would pay you for your time.”

“Oh, say, that’s mighty nice of you,” Grimes said with a smirk. David wondered how much dough he’d pulled in from the press for exclusive tours. He laid a twenty-dollar bill on the countertop. Grimes looked at it for a moment, probably figuring if there was any way to get more; then his fingers made the fastest move David would see all evening, and the bill was gobbled up and stuffed into his trouser pocket.

“We can talk while we walk,” Grimes said, taking the key off the peg and shuffling toward the door. Conklin held it open, and he and David followed Grimes across the parking lot toward the motel rooms.

“She sure was a nice-lookin’ gal,” Grimes said as they started up the metal stairs to the second landing. “Didn’t look like no hooker to me. I got suspicious right off.”

“You get plenty of hookers here?” Terry asked with a straight face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Terry shrugged.

“You said she didn’t look like one. I just supposed…”

The old man weighed his answer for a second, then snickered.

“Yeah, we get our share. I don’t take no cut, you understand. But there’s a few that likes our accommodations. Cops don’t care, so why should I?”

“Did you ever see the fella who was with the dead girl before that night?”

“Like I told the cops, he was out in the car and I didn’t pay no attention to him. She come in and I was readin’. Then she took up most of my attention, if you know what I mean. Nice tits, as much of ’em as I could see. I just didn’t have no interest in the john.”

“So you didn’t get a good look at him at all?”

“I didn’t say that. I seen him, but he didn’t make no impression. And it was only a little look, when he come tearin’ out of here after he killed her.”

“What do you remember seeing?”

“Nothin’ much. A man in a car. I already been through this with the cops.”

“I know,” David said, “and I appreciate your taking the time to talk to us now.”

They were on the landing and Grimes was leading the way toward a room at the end. Terry looked around, filing the layout away in his mind for future use. Grimes stopped and inserted his key in the door of the next-to-last room. The door opened. A large globe light to the right of the door hung above David’s head and cast a pale-yellow glow over the door. Grimes put his key in the lock and pushed the door open.

“There she is. Course it’s cleaned up now. It was some mess then, I can tell you.”

Grimes stepped aside, and David entered the unlit room. He turned and saw the neon signs on the boulevard. A reminder of the life outside. Here, in the sterile, plastic room, there was no sign of life or death. Just a twentieth-century motel limbo devoid of feeling. The shadowy figures of Grimes and Conklin wavered in the doorway like spirits of the dead. Grimes reached around the wall and found the light switch.

“There isn’t much we can learn here,” Terry said when he had toured the bedroom and bathroom. “The DA will have pictures of the scene.”

David nodded.

“The papers say it was some young lawyer,” Grimes said.

“That’s right.”

“That fits with what I seen. Fancy car he was drivin’ and the long hair.”

“You saw his hair?” David asked.

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“I must have misunderstood you. I thought you said he didn’t make an impression on you.”

“He didn’t. But I seen the hair. Brown hair.”

“You’re certain about that?” David said, casting a quick look at Conklin.

“I’m gettin’ along, but I ain’t senile. Say, you think they’ll put it in the papers when I testify?”

“No doubt, Mr. Grimes,” Terry said. Grimes smiled and nodded his head.

“I was in the papers once before. They had a robbery here and they listed me as the victim. I got the clipping in my desk.”

“I think I’ve seen all I want to. How about you?” David asked Conklin. The investigator just nodded. He and David walked onto the landing, and Grimes switched off the light and locked the door.

“Thanks for the tour,” David said when they reached the office.

“Anytime.”

“See you in court,” Conklin said.

The old man chuckled and shook his head. “That’s right,” he said. “That’s right.”

He was shuffling toward the back room as they drove away.