Death Penalty (35 page)

Evola did a quick and efficient job, explaining Becky's rights to her and telling her what could happen if she were going to plead guilty.

He did ask her if she shot and killed Howard Wordley.

She sobbed softly as she admitted the crime.

Formal sentencing was set. Evola put the plea agreement on the record, and Becky was escorted away, tears still streaming down her very tired face.

The court reporter packed in her machine.

Evola stood up and started to leave the bench. Then he stopped for a moment and looked at me. A great toothy smile animated his face. “I trust you won't forget what I said, Mr. Sloan.” He paused, as if for dramatic effect.

“Jeez, I'm sorry, Judge. What was it again?”

The smile blew out like a cut electrical line and Evola stalked back to his chambers.

“A couple of old friends,” Olesky said, “meeting once again.”

“Ah, let's hear it for nostalgia. May I buy you a coffee, Mr. Olesky?”

“And a sweet roll?”

“Anything your heart desires.”

“A bribe, is it?”

Suddenly, it was a word that killed all the fun I was having.

I took a walk before I went back to the office. Along the river there is a long boardwalk built by the city of Pickeral Point. It's big and wide and long and peaceful. It was built for the tourists, but the locals use it just as much.

It was still cloudy, and there was a feel of rain in the air that kept most sensible people away, except for a few fishermen, who leaned against the railing, looking off into the distance. It was a distance only they could see.

Sometimes when I feel the need for a drink, the walk along the river helps ease the urge. I didn't feel that urge now, thankfully, but I did need a dose of inner peace. I put my mind in neutral and walked.

Finally I decided I had to face the world once again. I got in my car and went back to my office.

Mrs. Fenton frowned a silent inquiry.

I knew she wanted desperately to know what happened in the Harris case, but she wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of asking.

“Looks like rain,” I said.

She couldn't help it. Her face was strained as she spoke. “Did everything go all right in court?”

“You mean with Becky Harris?”

“Yes.” The word was snapped out like a whip.

“Pretty well, yes.”

Her eyes widened in annoyance. “What happened?”

“With Becky Harris?”

“Of course!”

It was kind of fun to rile her, but you could overdo things like that sometimes.

“Becky pled guilty to manslaughter. The judge will give her one to fifteen, but as a practical matter, she'll be out in six months.”

“Six months! Claire Wordley will be furious!”

“Mrs. Wordley approved the sentence before she left.”

“She did!”

“Oh yes. She didn't really care, of course. As you probably know, Mrs. Wordley has run off to Europe with a male stripper.”

I went into my office without looking back. I could imagine the expressions, as much as she allowed herself, ranging from shock, disbelief, and then outrage at me.

I would have liked to look, but I didn't.

The mail and messages were, as usual, neatly piled.

Most of the messages were from the media, opposition attorneys, and court clerks. But two stood out like neon on a dark night.

Sue Gillis had called.

And so had Judge Bishop.

I called The Bishop first.

His secretary said he was just coming off the bench, so I held on. He must have come off slowly because my arm was beginning to cramp when he finally picked up the phone.

“Hello, Charles,” he said with that distinctive even voice. “Sorry to keep you waiting. There was an attorney out there who wanted something signed. He finally took no for an answer. Fridays are always hectic around here.”

“I remember.”

“Hang on a minute, Charles, I want to close my door.”

I waited.

“Charles, the reason I called is that I think I may have a solution to the problem you spoke to me about.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“How's your schedule tomorrow?”

“Fine. I'm clear.”

“Could you meet me at my home? Say, about noon?”

“Of course. But Saturday's your golfing day. I wouldn't want to put you out.”

“Oh, I think I can skip golf for a day. It looks like it might rain anyway. Noon, then?”

“I'll be there.”

I sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the relief surging through me. I didn't know what kind of a solution he might offer, but it had to be better than none. It was a good feeling, like having your big brother offer to walk you past the bully at school.

Then I called Sue Gillis.

“Gillis,” she said in her cop voice.

“It's me. Charley,” I said.

“I was wondering if you'd call.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“I thought you might be frightened.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “I had the temerity to speak the word
marriage
. It was like a magician saying ‘shazam,' suddenly you disappeared.”

“I didn't disappear. I'm sure you've been reading about my favorite doctor. I got suddenly busy.”

“Sure.”

“It's true.”

She didn't reply.

“Look, Sue, how about dinner tonight? We'll go to the inn. Would that make amends?”

“I can't tonight.”

“Now who's disappearing?”

“It's not like that, Charley. One of the women here is having a birthday. We're taking her out to dinner.”

“Okay. How about tomorrow night?”

“I didn't call to dragoon you into taking me out.”

“I know that. Well, is tomorrow night okay?”

She paused. “I have some things to do, I wouldn't be ready until seven.”

“Seven's fine. I'll pick you up at your place.”

“Charley, you don't have to—”

“You're right, I don't. But I want to. I'll be at your apartment at seven on the dot.”

This time I was the one who hung up.

I LISTENED TO A JIMMY BUFFETT TAPE
on the way in, and by the time I got to the judge's street in Grosse Pointe I was completely relaxed and at ease.

It was like going to a doctor you knew for certain could cure you.

I rang the bell, and for a moment I wondered if he might have forgotten and gone out. It seemed a long time before he finally opened the door.

He was dressed almost formally, except he wore no tie. His dark blazer looked priestly enough, set against the high-collared white shirt.

“You're right on time, Charles. Come in.”

“Thanks, Judge.”

“Let's go down to the basement. It was built as a recreation room but I've converted it into a kind of office.”

“Sure.”

I followed him down a flight of narrow stairs.

It was a big room, paneled, with a fireplace at the far end. The only furniture consisted of some bookcases, several chairs, a desk, and a big sofa.

But it was a sofa that wasn't empty. On it sat two men who were watching as we descended.

My sense of ease and relaxation exploded like an atom bomb.

“Charles, I believe you know Harry Sabin, the chief of the attorney general's criminal division.”

Sabin got up and we shook hands.

“And this is Captain Lucas Hagan of the state police.”

Hagan stood up and also shook hands. I noticed that neither man had smiled.

My heart was suddenly beating at a trip wire beat.

“Sit down, gentlemen,” Judge Bishop said, taking a seat behind the desk.

Harry Sabin was an old trial lawyer who had spent most of his career with the attorney general. He was short, stocky, and almost completely bald. He looked at the world from behind wire-rimmed glasses. I knew him. I had tried cases with him. He was the walking personification of the phrase “killer instinct.” With gray, unblinking eyes, Harry didn't know what it was to retreat.

If they had dressed Lucas Hagan up as a nun, he wouldn't have fooled anyone. He was one of those men who probably looked like a cop in grade school. Big, well over six feet tall, trim and with cold brown eyes that seemed devoid of expression. At least they were as they were fixed on me.

“Charles, as I said I would, I have taken some steps to
help you out of your present difficulty. As you know, I used to be a member of the state's judicial tenure commission. I spoke to the attorney general and enlisted his help. Mr. Sabin and Captain Hagan are here today to fulfill that function.”

No one, especially me, was smiling.

“I have told these gentlemen what you told me. Of course, that's obviously secondhand and they are here today to get it from the horse's mouth, as it were.”

“Judge, I thought. . .”

Bishop smiled that tight and small smile. “You thought, Charles, that we would meet here today, just the two of us, and I would have some magic formula for extricating you from this rather sordid business.”

“That's right.”

“Well, it would come to this anyway, wouldn't it? We could beat around the bush, but eventually it would become a police matter. This little meeting will save time and energy.”

“Charley,” Harry Sabin said, “would you mind if I taped this?”

I was still shocked. My initial reaction was to object, but given the circumstances, that seemed a little silly.

“If you wish,” I said.

Lucas the cop was looking at me as if he suspected I was fooling around with his wife. His eyes were like agates.

Sabin gave the date, place, and who was present, speaking into his hand-held recorder. Then he placed it on the arm of the sofa, the one near me.

“Your name is Charles Sloan and you are an attorney at law,” he said.

“Is this under oath?”

He shook his head. “No. This is just for my file.” For the first time he allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “You'll notice, Charley, that I didn't read you your rights.
This is quite informal. I'm just used to doing it in the old Q-and-A form. I suppose it's the habit of a lifetime.”

“I'm Charles Sloan,” I said.

“You are the attorney of record in the case of McHugh versus—”

“I was hired to argue the appeal. Michael Monk is the attorney of record. He handled the trial in circuit court, which he won, by the way, and he was the author of the appellate brief.”

“Why didn't he argue the case?” Sabin asked.

“Mickey bet everything he had on professional witnesses and other costs. He said he was too nervous to defend the verdict and he asked me to do it.”

“You say hired? What was the agreement?”

I looked at Sabin. Those gray eyes were unblinking.

“Mickey has the case on a contingent basis. He is to get one-third of the amount of the verdict.”

Sabin cut me off. “That verdict was for five million, right?”

“With interest, it comes to that, maybe a little more.”

“So Monk will get at least a million and a half.”

Sabin had spent most of his career with the government. State attorneys might complain about a lot of things, but overpayment wasn't one of them. Long-time government lawyers had a built-in resentment of the big fees sometimes collected by private lawyers.

“Mickey worked for years on that case. As I say, he spent every nickel he had on it and borrowed more.”

“And what was the fee agreement between Monk and you?”

“Twenty percent of whatever he got.”

“That would figure out to at least three hundred thousand, right?”

“Yes.”

“That's a lot of money,” Sabin said.

“It is.”

“And your only duty was to argue the case in the court of appeals?”

“That was the agreement.”

“That's not a bad wage for an hour's work, wouldn't you say?”

“Like Mickey's fee, it's payable only on winning.” I looked at him. “You've argued in that court, haven't you, Harry?”

Sabin arched an eyebrow. “Hundreds of times.”

“Then you know the hour spent in front of the judges requires weeks, maybe months of preparation. You have to be ready for whatever they ask.”

Sabin's smile was far from warm. “So you're saying what little you did was worth the fee agreed upon.”

“That's one way of looking at it.”

Sabin nodded, but it wasn't a gesture of agreement. It just indicated he was changing the subject.

“All right, when did you first contact Jeffrey Mallow in relation to this matter?”

“I didn't contact him. He sought me out in St. Benedict's law library. He mentioned the case, but not by name, just that he had heard I was the lawyer on a possible big winner.”

“Why did you think he brought it up?”

“Frankly, at the time I thought he might try to muscle me off of the case and try to take over himself. He is, after all, the former chief judge there.”

“And you were worried about losing the possibility of all that money, right?”

“Maybe. The fee, by the way, wasn't like money in the bank. The McHugh case is one of those matters that could easily go either way on appeal.”

Sabin nodded. “I know. I read the briefs before coming here. When did you next have contact with Mallow?”

I went over each step carefully, giving details as precisely as I could. Sabin asked few questions. But he did
seem unusually interested in the secret court memo Mallow showed me and subsequently destroyed. Judge Bishop sat behind his desk listening, but saying nothing. The big cop asked no questions until I got to the part about the meeting at the health club.

“Give me that again, when you were stripped in the locker room, about the watches,” he said, his tone not especially friendly.

“I was wearing this.” I held up my wrist and showed my gift watch. “It's waterproof. Mallow said it was cheap and showed me his Rolex. His is a diver's watch.”