The Last Innocent Man

4

“David, come over here. There’s someone who wants to meet you.”

David looked around and saw Gregory Banks standing near the fireplace with several other people. Gregory was a political ally of Senator Martin Bauer, and he had organized this cocktail party at his spacious riverfront home to help raise funds for the senator’s reelection.

Gregory was a large man. An ex-boxer and ex-Marine, he had started his adult life as a longshoreman and union organizer, then gone to night law school. Gregory worked as a lawyer for the unions, and the unions had made him a wealthy man.

The summer before his last year in law school, David had driven cross-country and fallen in love with Portland. One week after graduation, David said good-bye to his family and flew west from New York to take the Oregon bar examination. He had never regretted the move. East Coast law schools tended to push their graduates into corporate practice and left them with a feeling that there was something grubby and demeaning about opening a solo practice and actually going into a courtroom. In Portland the feeling was different. There still existed a spirit of individualism that encouraged a person to try to make it on his own. Within a week of passing the bar, David hung out his shingle on the fourth floor of the American Bank Building.

David was good and soon developed a reputation as the man to see if you were charged with a serious crime. He also volunteered to take ACLU cases, pro bono. While working on a prison-rights appeal, David met Gregory Banks, another volunteer. Despite the difference in their ages, they hit it off immediately. One evening, Banks invited David home for dinner and broached the possibility of David’s joining his firm. David took a week to decide. He disliked the idea of giving up a measure of his independence, but he liked the idea of being associated with Gregory Banks. He accepted, and by the time the firm moved its offices to the First National Bank Tower, he was a name partner.

“David, this is Leo Betts, a professor at the law school,” Gregory said, introducing a tall, hawk-nosed man with greasy, shoulder-length hair. Professor Betts was standing next to a mousy woman in her early thirties.

“And Doris, his wife,” Gregory added. David shook hands with the professor.

“Leo read your brief in the Ashmore case.”

“An excellent job. I’m having my first-year criminallaw class read it as an example of first-class appellate argument.”

“I’d look on it as a punishment assignment,” David said. “It was over a hundred pages.”

Everyone in the group laughed, and Gregory indicated another couple, a short, balding man and his tall, elegantly dressed wife.

“John and Priscilla Moultrie. John’s with Banker’s Trust and Priscilla teaches at Fairmount Elementary School.”

Gregory had an annoying habit of introducing a person by telling his line of work. David nodded at the couple, but his attention was on an attractive young woman who had wandered over and was standing on the fringes of the group.

“What is the Ashmore case, Gregory?” Mrs. Moultrie asked. The young woman was watching him and their eyes met momentarily.

“Isn’t Ashmore that fellow who raped and murdered those schoolchildren?” her husband asked.

“Yes,” Professor Betts answered with a smile. “David was able to get the conviction reversed by the state supreme court two weeks ago. A monumental job. He convinced the court to overrule a line of cases going back to eighteen ninety-three.”

The young woman smiled tentatively, and David nodded. He would make a point, he decided, to talk to her as soon as he could break away from the conversation. The Ashmore case was not one of his favorite subjects.

“Does that mean he’ll go free?” Mrs. Moultrie asked.

“No,” David sighed. “It just means that I have to try the whole mess over again. It took a month the last time.”

“You defended that man?” Mrs. Moultrie asked in a tone that combined amazement and disgust.

“David is a criminal lawyer,” Gregory said, as if that were an adequate explanation.

“Maybe I’ll never understand, Mr. Nash”-she seemed to have used his last name intentionally-“but I knew one of those children, and I don’t see how you could have represented someone who did what that man did.”

“Someone had to represent Ashmore, Priscilla,” Gregory said.

“I heard he tortured those children before he killed them,” Mrs. Moultrie said.

David almost instinctively said, “That was never proved,” but he realized in time that, for Mrs. Moultrie, that was not the issue.

“A lawyer can’t refuse to represent someone because of the nature of his crime,” Professor Betts said.

“Would you have represented Adolf Hitler, Professor?” Mrs. Moultrie asked without humor.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Professor Betts answered, “Yes. Our judicial system is based on the premise that an individual charged with a crime is innocent until proven guilty.”

“But what if you know your client is guilty, Mr. Nash? Know for a fact that he held three schoolchildren captive for several days, raped them, then murdered them?”

“Oh, now, Priscilla. That’s unfair,” her husband said. His face was red, and it was clear that he disapproved of the course the conversation had taken.

David felt uncomfortable. Professor Betts had been defending him, but why did he need a defense for doing something that he was ethically obliged to do? Why should this woman he had never met before feel such obvious hostility toward him?

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss the facts of the case, Mrs. Moultrie. I’d be violating my client’s confidence if I discussed his guilt or innocence with you.”

“Hypothetically, then. I really want to know.”

“You represent a guilty man as hard as you do an innocent man, Mrs. Moultrie, because the system is more important than any individual case. If you start making exceptions with the guilty, sooner or later you’ll make exceptions with the innocent.”

“So you represent people that you know are guilty?”

“Most of my clients are guilty.”

“And you…get them off…win their trials?”

“Sometimes.”

“Doesn’t it ever bother you?”

David watched the scattered lights on the houseboats moored across the river. The sun was down and a cool breeze drifted inland, gently rearranging the lock of thick brown hair that fell across his forehead. It was pleasant standing on the terrace. The shadows and stillness soothed him.

Somewhere upriver the shrill blast of a tanker’s horn punctuated the darkness. The sound died and the river was at peace again. David wished that he could restore his inner peace as easily. The discussion about the Ashmore case had upset him. It had stirred something inside that had been lurking for too long. Something ugly that was starting to crawl into the light.

This morning at the juvenile home, interviewing that young girl. What happened? When she was describing her ordeal, he had felt shame and pity for her. He had become emotionally involved. That should never have happened. He was a professional. One of the best. He was not supposed to feel pity for the victim or revulsion for his client.

Something was definitely wrong. He was getting depressed too much lately, and the feeling was lasting too long. There had been times in recent weeks when his mood would plunge rapidly from a high, floating sensation into deep melancholy for no apparent reason. And that feeling. To live with it too long was to experience a kind of death. It was as if his spirit evaporated, leaving his body a hollow shell. He would feel empty and disoriented. Movement was impossible. Sometimes he would sit immobile, on the verge of tears, and his mind would scream, “Why?” He was in excellent health. At thirty-five, he was at the top of his profession, making more money than he ever had. Everything should have been going so well, but it wasn’t.

There had been a time when losing any case had been a deep, personal defeat, and winning, a magnificent triumph. David had lost those extreme feelings of involvement somewhere along the way. One day he had won a very difficult case, and it just did not matter. Another time a client received a long prison term, and he felt nothing. His world had shifted from dark black and bright gold to shades of gray.

If his professional life was empty, his personal life was even more so. He had heard more than once that he was envied by other men for the steady parade of beautiful women he escorted. Few people knew that the routine had grown old a long time ago.

His one attempt at marriage had been a disaster that lasted officially for two years, but which ended emotionally after eight months. Monica resented the long hours he worked, and in truth, he was rarely home. There had been so many big cases. He was just starting to reach the top then. Everyone wanted David Nash, and there didn’t seem to be enough time for his own wife.

There had been violent arguments and too many stony silences. Monica had accused him of infidelity. He denied her accusations, but they were true. He was trying cases in other states now, and if some Texas filly wanted to warm his bed…well, he was a star, wasn’t he? In the end the constant bickering exhausted them both, and whatever had motivated them to marry was not strong enough to keep their marriage together.

Monica had gone to law school after the divorce. David thought she had done it to compete with him. It was certainly not coincidence that led her into criminal prosecution. The tension was there whenever they tried a case against each other. David sensed that their legal battles were, for Monica, only an excuse for carrying on a personal battle of which he had never been a part. That, of course, was the problem with their marriage. If David had cared about Monica, it would never have broken up. But he had ignored her, and he felt guilty that she still felt a need to prove something to him.

David had seen little of Monica between the divorce and her graduation from law school. After she joined the district attorney’s office, their friendship had renewed. They were much better friends than spouses. Sometimes David wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake with Monica, but he knew that if he had, it was too late to rectify it. Their problem was that they had met at the wrong time.

David took a sip from his glass. The gin tasted too sweet. He carried the drink to a corner of the terrace that was not illuminated by the lights from the house and sat down on a lawn chair. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the chair’s metal rim press into the back of his neck.

Monica was an attractive woman, and she was a different, stronger person than she had been when they’d met. David was different, too. He had toyed once with the idea of trying to reestablish their relationship, but had given up on the idea. He wondered what she would say if he tried.

The terrace door opened and a splash of sound interrupted David’s thoughts. He opened his eyes. A woman was standing with her back to him, staring across the river as he had moments before. She was tall and slender, and her long, silken hair looked like pale gold.

She turned and walked along the terrace with a dancer’s grace. The woman did not see him until she was almost at his chair. He was hidden by the shadows. She stopped, startled. In that frozen moment David saw her set in time, like a statue. Blue eyes wide with surprise. A high, smooth forehead and high cheekbones. It was the woman he had seen earlier on the fringes of the group that had been discussing the Ashmore case.

The moment ended and the woman’s hand flew to her mouth. She gasped. David stood up, placing his drink on the terrace.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” he said.

“It’s not your fault,” the woman answered, waving her hand nervously. “I was thinking and I…” She let the sentence trail off.

“Okay,” David said, “you’ve convinced me. We’re both at fault. How about calling it a draw?”

The woman looked confused; then she laughed, grateful that the awkward moment was over.

“My name is David Nash.”

“I know,” the woman said after a moment’s hesitation.

“You do?”

“I…I was listening when you were talking to that woman about the murder case.”

“You mean that Ashmore business?”

“She upset you, didn’t she?”

Now it was David’s turn to hesitate.

“It wasn’t pleasant for me to try that case, and it won’t be pleasant to retry it. I don’t like to think about it if I don’t have to.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said self-consciously. David immediately regretted his tone of voice.

“You don’t have to be. I didn’t mean to be so solemn.”

They stood without talking for a moment. The woman looked uneasy, and David had the feeling that she might fly off like a frightened bird.

“Are you a friend of Gregory’s?” he asked to keep the conversation going.

“Gregory?”

“Gregory Banks. This is his house. I thought you were with that group that was talking about the case. Most of them are Gregory’s friends.”

“No. I really don’t know anyone here. I don’t even know why I came.”

She looked down, and David sensed that she was trapped and vulnerable, fighting something inside her.

“You haven’t told me your name yet,” David said. The woman looked up, startled. He held her gaze for a moment and saw fear and uncertainty in her eyes.

“I’m afraid I have to go,” she answered anxiously, avoiding his question.

“But that’s not fair,” David said, trying to keep his tone light. “You know my name. You can’t run off without telling me yours.”

She paused, and their eyes met again. He knew that she was debating whether to answer him and that her answer would determine the course of the evening.

“Valerie,” she said finally. “Valerie Dodge.” And David could tell by the firmness in her voice that Valerie had resolved her doubts in his favor, at least for the moment.

David had a lot of experience with women, and there was something about this one that he found intriguing. Common sense told him to go slowly, but he noticed a change in her mood. When she told him her name, she had committed herself, and his instincts told him to take a chance.

“You’re not enjoying yourself here, are you?” he asked gently.

“No,” she answered.

“I wasn’t either. I guess that woman upset me more than I’d like to admit. Look, I’d like to make a suggestion. I know a nice place in town where we can grab a late supper. Are you interested?”

“No,” she said, momentarily dashing his hopes. “I’d rather you just take me to your house.”

David’s cantilevered house strained against the thick wooden beams that secured it to the hillside. In the daytime you could stand on one of several cedar decks and look across Portland toward the snow-capped mountains of the Cascade Range. In the evening you could stand in the same place and see the Christmas-light grid of the city spreading out from the base of the hill.

The house was modern, constructed of dark woods that blended into the greenery of the West Hills. It had three stories, but only one story showed above the level of the road, the other two being hidden by the hillside. The house had been custom-built to David’s specifications, and the east wall was made almost entirely of glass.

David helped Valerie out of the sports car and led her down a flight of steps to the front door. The door opened onto an elevated landing. The landing looked down on a spacious, uncluttered living room, dominated by a huge sculptural fireplace that resembled a knight’s helmet with the visor thrown back. The fireplace was pure white and the carpeting a subdued red. There were no chairs or sofas in the room, but a seating platform piled high with pillows of various colors was incorporated into the sweep of the rounded, rough-plastered walls. The only other furnishings in the room were a low, circular light wood table and several large pillows.

A spiral staircase on the left side of the room led upward to the bedroom and down to the kitchen area. A balcony that ran half the length of the third floor overlooked the living room.

“This is magnificent,” Valerie said, taking off her shoes and walking barefoot across the carpet to look at a large abstract painting that hung to the left of the fireplace.

“I’m glad you like it. Do you want the grand tour?”

She nodded, and he led her downstairs into the kitchen and dining room, then back to the second level. The den was located on the south side of the house, and it looked out onto the hillside. It was small and cluttered with briefs, legal periodicals, books, sheets of paper, and pens and paper clips. A bookcase was built into one wall, and a filing cabinet stood in one corner. The walls were decorated with framed clippings from some of David’s best-known cases. Valerie skimmed the texts of a few of them.

“Did you win all these cases?”

“Those and a few more,” he answered, pleased that she had noticed them.

“Are you famous?”

David laughed.

“Only in circles that you’re not likely to travel in.”

“Oh, for instance?”

“Murderers, dope fiends, pimps, and rapists.”

“How do you know I’m not a rapist?” she asked. She had attempted to ask the question coolly and casually, but a tremor in her voice betrayed her nervousness. She heard the tremor and looked away, embarrassed, when he looked at her.

“I still haven’t shown you the top floor,” David said evenly. He led her up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. The lights were off and the bedroom curtains had not been drawn shut. They could see the moon floating above the pine shadows.

Valerie walked across the room and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the picture window, watching the lights of the city. David stood beside her and gently touched the smooth skin of her shoulder. She turned to face him and he took her in his arms. His lips pressed softly against hers. She hesitated for a moment, and her body tensed under his touch. Then she flung her arms around him, pulling him into her, returning his kiss with great passion.

David stepped back, surprised at the ferocity of her reaction. Valerie looked into his eyes and unfastened the straps of her summer dress. It floated down the long lines of her body in slow motion. She stood in the moonlight, her face in shadows.

David took off his clothes, his eyes never leaving her. Her body was magnificent. An athletic figure with breasts that were small and perfectly formed. He watched the gentle rhythm of her breathing and the rise and fall of her rib cage under her smooth, tanned skin.

They touched and she melted into him. They stroked each other, and he forgot where he was and who he was. There was desperation and abandon in her lovemaking, and she moved under him with violence and passion until her body suddenly arched and her eyes closed tight. He could feel her fingers digging into his back and he heard her gasp, then moan.

They held each other for a while; then David rolled slowly to his back. She pressed her head to his chest and sighed. He wound his fingers through her long blond hair. His fingers strayed to her cheek. It was damp with tears.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered.

“I’m always sad after I make love. Really make love. I feel…I don’t know…as if I’d lost something.”

He sat up and gently pushed her back. Moonlight illuminated her hair and made it look like strands of gold against the pale blue of the pillow cover.

“You’re very beautiful,” David said. She turned her head away from him.

“Have I said something wrong?” he asked.

“No…I…it’s just that…”

He placed a finger over her lips, then kissed them. The longing he felt for her welled up in him. She drew him down.

“I have to go,” she said. “It’s very late.”

He looked at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was after midnight.

“Why don’t you spend the night? I promise to cook you a terrific breakfast in the morning.”

Valerie looked suddenly worried.

“I can’t stay, David. It’s…I just can’t.”

“Why?” David asked, concerned by her sudden change of mood.

“Please, David. It has nothing to do with you. I can’t stay. That’s all. Can you take me back to Mr. Banks’s house? I left my car there.”

David nodded. She stood up and walked to the bathroom, picking up her clothes on the way. He watched her from the bed. She pressed the light switch, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected her in a halo of light. Each part of her body was like a piece of fine sculpture. The long, thin arms, the well-formed legs, the flat, muscular stomach. He wanted to touch her again.

She moved out of his line of vision, and he heard the shower door open. David lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling. They had been good together sexually. He felt as if he were giving a part of himself when he was inside her, instead of simply taking. He had not felt that way in a long time.

The shower started and David turned his head toward the bathroom door. He didn’t want Valerie to leave and he wondered why she had to. The obvious answer was that she was married. That would explain her nervousness at the party. Would it make any difference to him if he found out she was married? No, he decided.

The water stopped and David started to dress. He wondered what it would be like to love somebody. What he and Monica had was not love, but he had never felt as strongly about any other woman. He thought about Gregory Banks and his marriage, which had lasted so long. What was the secret? Was it all chemical? Was he missing something that other men had?

Valerie finished combing her hair and turned off the bathroom light. David put on a pair of slacks. He looked at her while he buttoned his sport shirt. Valerie walked around the room, glancing out the window, fingering objects, not looking at him. He wanted to see her again. There was something about her. He wanted to know if what he felt for her was a product of the magic of the evening or something more.

They rode down from the hills in silence. The view was very beautiful, and neither wanted to break the spell it created. Most of Gregory’s guests had left, but there was still noise coming from the big house. Valerie’s car was at the foot of the long, winding driveway. David stopped behind it. He turned off the ignition and they sat in the dark.

“I’d like to see you again,” David said.

She looked suddenly nervous, as if she regretted the evening.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“David,” she said slowly, “I don’t want you to misunderstand. I enjoyed…had a wonderful time…being with you. But I’m a little confused just now.”

She stopped. He wanted to hold her. To press her. To make her commit herself. But he knew that would be a mistake.

“All right,” he said. “I’m glad we spent the evening together, too. If you feel the same way, you know how to get in touch with me.”

Valerie looked down at her lap, then turned quickly and kissed him, opened the door, and walked to her car. David watched her drive off. He was tired and a little down, but he didn’t start back immediately.