The Innocent Woman

26

Larry Cunningham was on the phone when Steve and Tracy got there. He was a bookish looking young man with short brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He met them at the door with a phone glued to his ear. He ushered them into the living room at the same time he was advising a client on a stock transaction.

It was actually more office than living room, dominated by a huge computer setup, boasting a printer, a modem, a fax machine, and other electronic equipment the purpose of which Steve and Tracy could only guess at.

While they stood gawking, Larry Cunningham moved papers to unclutter chairs, and gestured to them to sit, never once missing a beat in his phone conversation. He finished his call, sat on the couch, and said, “Isn’t this awful.”

“It is,” Steve said. “But it’s not the end of the world. An arrest is not a conviction. I’m sure Amy is innocent, and we’ll find a way to prove it.”

“But in the meantime she’s in jail.”

“It shouldn’t be long,” Steve said.

“Oh? What are you doing about bail?”

“I’m considering my options.”

Cunningham frowned. “You are going to push for bail?”

“Frankly, I’m not sure.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“In a case like this, there’s two ways to go. Either get the defendant out on bail and stall like crazy, or leave her in and push for a speedy trial.”

“I want her out,” Cunningham said.

“Of course you do. We all do. The question now is how best to achieve that.”

Cunningham put up his hand. “No, no,” he said. “Don’t give me that. I don’t want to hear any theories. The point is, get her out, then figure out what to do. Don’t give me this I’m-not-going-to-make-any-move-until-I-know-what’s-best bullshit.”

Steve took a breath. “All right, look,” he said. “Maybe I’m not your type. Maybe you’d like some guy in a three piece suit who’d make a big fight about a bail reduction. Well, it ain’t me, babe. It’s not how I operate. I assume Amy told you about the petty theft?”

“Yes, of course.”

“There you are. We disposed of that in one day.”

“She wasn’t in jail.”

“No, she wasn’t. Murder is a little more serious than petty theft. Bail is not easily granted. But that’s my job.”

“Exactly.”

Steve took a breath. Forced a smile. “So, help me do my job. Help me get her out.”

“How?”

“Tell me what I need to know.”

“But I don’t know anything,” Cunningham said. “That’s the problem. I had dinner with her and I went home. I don’t know anything that’s going to help.”

“I understand you’re willing to help in other ways.”

Cunningham looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“With regard to the time you left the restaurant.”

“Exactly,” Cunningham said. “The only ones who know that are Amy and me. If I say it was eight o’clock, who’s gonna say it wasn’t?”

“What about the waiter, the cashier and maitre d’?”

“It’s a small restaurant. They don’t have a maitre d’.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve said. “I shouldn’t have even said that. It’s totally beside the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“I don’t build cases on perjured testimony.”

“Perjured?” Cunningham said. “What do you mean, perjured? How accurate can you be? You think we left the restaurant at seven-thirty on the dot? Of course not. No more than we left it at eight. The truth is somewhere between the two. Who’s to say which is more accurate?”

“I am,” Steve said.

Cunningham looked at him. “What?”

“Seven-thirty’s more accurate than eight. You know it and I know it. You left the restaurant around seven-thirty. That’s a fact. If you wanna say it was around eight, you can equivocate all you want, but it happens to be a lie. You ever been cross-examined?”

“No. Of course not.”

“There you are. Ask me who’s gonna say different, well, the D.A. is. He’s gonna say you’re lying, and then he’s gonna ask questions to try to prove it. If you’ve never been cross-examined before, you’re gonna be duck soup. He may not get you to admit you’re lying, true. But everyone on the jury’s gonna know you are. You know what that’ll do for Amy’s case?”

Cunningham shoved his glasses back on his nose, thrust out his chin defiantly. “I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t believe what?”

“I don’t believe he could rattle me.”

“Oh, no?” Steve said. “You wanna bet?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ll be the D.A. You give me the eight o’clock bullshit. I’ll cross-examine.”

“Fine,” Cunningham said. “Fire away.”

“You have dinner with Amy Dearborn?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What time was it when you left the restaurant?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Are you aware that Amy Dearborn, in her initial statement to the police, put the time at closer to seven-thirty?”

“Yes, I am.” Cunningham smiled. “Amy’s a nice girl, but she’s rather poor with time.”

“Is that so?” Steve said. “Are you saying she got the time wrong?”

“Yes, she did. I know when we left the restaurant, and it was right around eight o’clock.”

“When you left the restaurant, where did you go?”

“I went home.”

“Why?”

“I had a business appointment.”

“At that time of night?”

“I’m an investment counselor. Client’s get tips. Things that have to be acted on immediately. I often have business appointments late at night.”

“If you knew you had a business appointment, why did you take Miss Dearborn out to dinner?”

“I didn’t know I had a business appointment. After dinner, I called my answering machine and got a message. That’s when I found out I had to have a meeting.”

“With who?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Who was the person you met with?”

“Oh? Philip Eckstein. He’s a client of mine. He got a tip a particular stock was going to crash. He panicked, he wanted to act on it right away.”

“So you met him in your apartment?”

“That’s right.”

“Which is also your office?”

“Of course.”

“And what time did you meet him?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“Eight-thirty?” Steve said.

“That’s right.”

“You left the restaurant at eight o’clock, took a cab home to meet your client at eight-thirty?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It’s a half hour cab ride over to the east side?”

“No. More like ten or fifteen minutes.”

“What time was it when you got home?”

“Between eight-fifteen and eight-thirty.”

“Why so late?”

Cunningham shrugged. “Well, by the time I paid the bill and Amy and I left the restaurant and I flagged a cab, it was after eight o’clock.”

“What time did your client get there?”

“Right away. He was actually waiting out front when I drove up.”

“This was between eight-fifteen and eight-thirty.”

“That’s right.”

“And what time did you tell him to get there?”

“Eight-thirty.”

Steve shook his head. “You see, it’s no go. You’re relying on the testimony of a third party. This Philip Eckstein will know what time your appointment was for.”

“Sure, he will. He’ll say it was for eight-thirty. He’ll say he was standing on the sidewalk when I drove up.”

“That doesn’t happen to be true,” Steve said.

Cunningham looked at him. “Whoa. Is that your ferocious cross-examination? Or have you stopped playing D.A.? Anyway, the point is, who gives a shit? Eckstein will say anything I want him to. You have no idea how much money I’ve made for that man. He’d swear the earth was flat if I told him to.”

“That’s nice,” Steve said dryly. “You gonna let me finish my cross-examination?”

“I thought we were done.”

“No,” Steve said. “Things got sticky for you, so you came out of character and admitted you and Eckstein were lying. Assuming that doesn’t happen when you’re actually on the stand, let’s press on.”

“Hey,” Cunningham said. “I didn’t do that cause you got me rattled. You’re the one who dropped out of character, claiming the witness wouldn’t back me up.”

Tracy Garvin held up her hand. “Time out, guys. You’ll pardon me, but this is becoming slightly high-schoolish. Whaddya say you get on with it?”

Larry Cunningham looked at her a moment. His smile was somewhat tight-lipped. “Fine,” he said. “Go on. What else you got?”

“You now say it was after eight o’clock when you left the restaurant?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I thought you previously stated it was a little before eight o’clock?”

“When I called,” Cunningham said. “It was a little bit before eight when I called. I came back, told Amy I had to work, settled up the check and we left. It took a little time, so it was after eight when we actually got out on the street.”

“I see,” Steve said. “And you had no idea you were going to have this business appointment when you took her out to dinner?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You only learned of it when you made this phone call?”

“That’s right.”

“Which was a little before eight?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Prior to that, you had intended to spend the evening with Miss Dearborn.”

“Yes, I was.”

“I believe she stated you were going to the movies. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“No, that’s right. We were going to the movies.”

“What movie?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What movie were you going to see?”

“Oh. I don’t recall the title. It’s a movie at the Olympia Theater. That’s at Broadway and a hundred and sixth.”

“Uh huh,” Steve said. “And when did it start?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When did the movie start?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Well, let’s check.”

“What?”

“Let’s check the times. There are two pictures playing at the Olympia. One is a rap music picture. The other is a light romantic comedy. The rap movie was playing at seven and nine, and the romantic comedy, eight and ten. I’m wondering which one you were planning on going to.”

Larry Cunningham opened his mouth. He blinked twice.

“Come, come. That’s a simple question, Mr. Cunningham. Which movie were you and the defendant planning on seeing?” When Cunningham didn’t answer, Steve smiled and said, “See, it’s tough question. You have to take the position that you were way early for a rap movie starting at nine o’clock, or late for the comedy starting at eight. A jury’s not going to buy the fact you were still in a restaurant on the phone picking up your messages at eight o’clock, if you were going to a movie starting at eight. But that’s the best you can argue. No, what they’re going to buy the minute the D.A. flops the New York Post with the movie start time at eight o’clock in front of your face, is that you were planning to go to an eight o’clock show all along, and you’re lying about the time to help your girlfriend out. What makes it so much easier for the jury to believe that,” Steve said, “is the fact it happens to be the truth.”

Cunningham frowned. “Shit.”

“See how easy it was to trip you up?” Steve said.

“No fair,” Cunningham said. “You only got me because you happened to know the times of those movies.”

“Are you kidding?” Steve said. “I have no idea what’s playing at the Olympia. Or when. But, obviously, neither do you. From which I gather going to the movies is not a big priority in your life. I would say more than likely, after dinner you were planning on maneuvering Amy back to her apartment and trying to get her in the sack.”

Cunningham came up from the couch, fists raised. “Son of a bitch!” he said.

Steve never blinked. “Oh, spare me,” he said. “I’m just giving you a taste of what you’re in for on the stand. If the D.A. starts making insinuations, you’d better work on keeping your cool.

“Anyway, I hope I made my point. You can get a paper and find out when those movies started and patch up your story and the whole bit. But it doesn’t matter. Because if you’re telling a lie, you’re telling a lie. And there’s gonna be holes. Just because you patch that one, doesn’t mean the D.A. isn’t going to find another. So get it out of your head.”

The phone rang. Cunningham stood glaring at Steve Winslow for a moment, then walked over and picked it up. “Hello.” He listen for a moment, then turned, said, “It’s for you.”

Steve walked over, took the phone. “What’s up, Mark?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Some detective. You’re the only one knows I’m here. What’s up?”

“My source finally called. Got the word on the warrant.”

“You find out what they got?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Tape recording.”

“Tape recording?”

“Yeah. The micro-cassette from her answering machine.”

“You mean her messages?”

“Right.”

“Oh, shit. How bad is it?”

“The worst,” Taylor said. “It’s a message from Frank Fletcher, asking her to meet him at the office.”