Death Penalty (48 page)

I nodded and Gordon smiled.

“It is in the interest of the court to dispose of the McHugh case in a fair and, one hopes, a speedy manner.”

He shifted a bit uncomfortably. “There are two basic
ways we can proceed,” the judge said. “The obvious way is to order a rehearing before an entirely new panel of judges. This, of course, would take quite some time. We are a busy court.”

He looked at each of us. “The other way is to let the surviving two judges decide the case, as is.”

Gordon sighed, then spoke. “My guess, and it's only that, is the two judges are split. One seemed to favor Mr. Sloan's view, and the other my own. In other words, a tie. As I understand the law, if the case turned out to be just that, a tie, the lower court ruling would be upheld. I would lose, and Mr. Sloan would win. Am I correct, Judge?”

Duckworth looked uncomfortable. “As usual, Mr. Gordon, you are quite correct.”

Gordon's smile quickly disappeared. “May I ask you, frankly, if you've talked to the two judges?”

Duckworth colored slightly. “Everything in this case is unusual. I have never before polled any of my judges on how they might decide a case. But nothing like this has ever happened before. Yes, I talked to them.”

Gordon nodded. “Is my presumption correct? It would be a tie?”

Duckworth nodded. “Yes.”

Gordon pursed his lips. “I anticipated something like this when you called this morning. I talked at some length with executives at Ford about various possibilities.”

He looked over at me and then back at the judge. “You know, Ford is completely innocent in this matter. It arises out of a business they acquired, and from a machine no longer produced. But it's the company name that's used in all the litigation, innocent or not.”

The smile flashed back on. “I pointed out to the people I talked with that the case was a close one. I couldn't guarantee that we would win if it was reheard. You agree, Mr. Sloan?”

“That's my point of view, too.”

Gordon went on. “If this case keeps on, it will always be associated with Judge Palmer's unfortunate death and the scandal surrounding it. There's a lot of money involved, but it's a drop in the bucket with the money spent by Ford to keep its good reputation in the market.”

He paused. “I'm instructed, if a tie is probable, to agree to handle it that way. It's called public relations, or cutting your losses, but whatever, my client will agree to have the case decided by the two surviving judges.”

For a moment I thought I had misheard him.

Duckworth looked at me. “I presume you have no objection?”

“Are you sure about the split?” I asked. “If that's a fact certain, of course, I agree.”

Duckworth sighed. “This, gentlemen, can go no further than this office. I trust you both agree. The judges will issue opposing opinions. It is an exceptional solution to an exceptional circumstance. I hope to God I never find this court or myself in these circumstances ever again.”

Gordon spoke. “I presume you'll want something in writing, agreeing that the case is to be decided by the surviving judges?”

“Yes,” Duckworth said.

“I'll dictate something now, if you like?”

“That would be helpful,” the judge said.

I still couldn't believe what was happening. “Of course, I will too,” I said.

And we did, Gordon and myself.

With two signatures, the case was over in fact if not officially. According to Duckworth, that would be announced in a few weeks, after everything had blown over.

I had won the McHugh case after all.

CRAIG GORDON
walked me out to the elevators.

“You must be feeling pretty good,” he said.

“I feel good for McHugh. I feel bad that things had to happen this way.”

“You're an interesting man, Mr. Sloan.”

“Call me Charley.”

He smiled. “Charley, you are a sole practitioner, are you not?”

“Yes. A one-man office up in Pickeral Point. It may not be glamorous, but it suits me. I make a living.”

“I head up the litigation section at our firm,” he said. “We engage in big-money cases mostly. I think we represent most of the large business interests in this part of the state.”

I laughed. “That's nice for you.”

“I have a number of lawyers working in the litigation section. Most of them have minimal experience at real trial work. Of course, we try to settle most matters before they ever see a courtroom.”

“You should have settled McHugh.”

“You're absolutely right. Hindsight is always best, of course. But our trial people, to be frank, did a very poor job before the jury. An appeal is usually only as good as the case it's founded upon.”

“True.”

“What I'm saying, Charley, in a somewhat roundabout way, is we need a good trial man, someone who isn't afraid to get into the fray and start swinging. I've talked to some of the others on the firm's governing committee and they agree with me.”

“There are a lot of trial lawyers around,” I said.

His smile broadened. “You're right, of course. How would you like to come with us?”

“Pardon me?”

“We are the premier firm in the state, Charley. You would be our principal trial lawyer. I'm authorized to offer a partnership. I think the income is considerably more than just a living.”

I was stunned. “You know my reputation?”

“I've made it a point to know everything about you. I wouldn't make this offer unless I did.”

“I wouldn't fit in,” I said.

“Well, this isn't exactly a fraternity, Charley. If you did your job—”

“I'm flattered, believe me. But it isn't for me. I like what I do now, and the way I do it. I'm grateful, of course. But, believe me, there is an army of very good trial men out there if that's what you want.”

“You're right. But you have one quality that can only be shown by demonstration. A quality that's of utmost importance to our firm.”

“And that is?”

The elevator came and he stepped aboard.

“You're an honest man, Charley. These days, that's becoming a rare attribute.”

I didn't get on, and the doors started to close.

“Think about it,” he said. The last thing I saw was that famous Craig Gordon smile.

I CALLED MICKEY MONK
. His office was only a few blocks away.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snarled into the phone.

“I want to talk to you. It's important.”

“Bullshit, important. We got nothing to talk about.”

“It's about the McHugh case. I just came from a meeting with Duckworth, the chief judge.”

“What happened, as if I didn't know. What did you do, sell us out twice?”

“I want to talk to you, face-to-face,” I said.

“If I see you I'm liable to punch your fucking lights out.”

“I'll take the risk.”

He paused. “All right. I'll meet you at Brown's Bar on Lafayette. You remember where that is, you sanctimonious—”

“I remember,” I said, cutting him off.

“Five minutes,” he snapped. “I'll be there in five minutes.”

I hung up and walked to Brown's.

Most of the downtown bars had gone out of business, but Brown's had managed to survive. When I used to drink, it had been one of my regular hangouts. A small place, with a long bar and no tables, it was a place for people who were serious about their drinking.

When I got there and my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see two people sitting at the far end of the bar. They sat staring beyond their glasses, looking at nothing. They were thin men, gaunt, and obviously intensely serious about their drinking.

I took a stool near the front.

I didn't recognize the bartender. Of course, it had been years since I'd been in the place.

“What'll it be?” he asked.

“Coke,” I said.

“And what?” he asked.

“Just Coke.”

He looked puzzled, as if no one had ever ordered just a soft drink before, then shrugged and went to get my order.

Mickey came in looking like a storm about to break. He scowled at me and took a seat two stools away, as if what I had might be catching.

“Double scotch, Fred,” Mickey called to the bartender, and then looked at me. “All right, prick, say what you came to say.”

“I met with Duckworth and Ford's lawyer, Craig Gordon.”

“Why?” He took the drink from the bartender and gulped it in one swift motion, then signaled for another.

“Duckworth wanted to get rid of the McHugh case as quickly and quietly as possible.”

“I'll bet he does. So, what did you do, take a job with Ford?”

I started to laugh but his face showed just how angry he was, so I stopped.

“Close, Mickey, but no cigar. Duckworth said there were two choices. One, we could have it heard again from scratch with a new panel. The other choice was to let the two surviving judges decide the case, as is.”

“They should have contacted me. It's my case.”

“I'm of record, Mickey, for the appeal.”

“So, what was decided?”

“The Ford lawyer wants to distance the company from the case as quickly and quietly as he can.”

He sneered. “What do they care? It wasn't their vehicle anyway. They bought the lawsuit.”

“The public doesn't know that. The Ford lawyer figures that every time the case comes up it'll get a big replay because of what happened.”

“What you made happen,” Mickey snapped.

“Anyway, to make a long story short, they agreed to let the two judges decide it.”

“A fix. I can smell it.”

“One judge is for us, one judge will decide against us. Duckworth said so.”

“So, it's a tie. Big fucking deal.”

“If it's a tie, Mickey, the rules say the lower court judgment stands.”

“Well, I . . .” His eyes grew larger as he realized what I had just said. “Tell me that again?”

“If the two judges don't agree, and these two don't, the lower court judgment stands. In other words, the jury's verdict decides the case.”

“Ford didn't agree, knowing that.”

“As I said, they want out. It wasn't their party to start with, and they'll pay the money just to avoid any association with the scandal.”

“Charley, if this is some kind of joke—”

“Duckworth said they'd make it official in a couple of weeks as soon as everything died down. Craig Gordon, the attorney for the other side, and I agreed to that in writing.”

“You mean we win?”

“Yeah, Mickey. The whole thing.”

His face screwed up, and for a moment I thought he was going to cry. He looked away for a while and then again turned to me.

“I'm very sorry about what I said. About you.”

“I can't blame you, given the circumstances. But I did what I had to do, Mickey. It turned out okay but I had no other options.”

He laughed. It was a laugh that was almost hysterical. “Hey Fred, bring me two doubles, and buy everybody a drink on me. You too.” Then he turned to me.

“You got to understand, Charley. I had bet everything on this case, everything.”

“I do understand.”

He giggled. “Jesus. You know, I can afford to quit this fucking business. I'm rich!”

“In a couple of weeks you will be.”

“I can save my house. Everything.” He took his drink from Fred and downed it. “Well, maybe not my marriage, but who cares? I'm going to have enough money to buy a boatload of women. Have a drink, Charley, a real drink. It's an occasion. We'll turn this into a victory party.”

“I have to go.” I stood up and shook hands with him. “Go easy on the hootch, Mickey. There's no use in having money if you aren't around to enjoy it.”

“Jesus, Charley, how could I have ever doubted you? You are the slickest guy I've ever known. You managed to win the case and hang on to the hundred grand those two fucking crooks wanted. You really screwed them, Charley, you really did.”

“I'll see you, Mickey.”

I started to walk to the door.

“Charley!”

I turned.

Mickey raised his glass in a salute. “To the most devious son of a loving bitch I've ever known!”

He downed the drink and grinned.

I walked out into the sunlight.

I was new to the hero business and it seemed to me I wasn't going about it quite right.