Sons of Fortune (22 page)

“Yes,”
the young woman replied calmly.

“Then
perhaps you should ask him why he isn’t at Yale.”

“He
explained that you transferred the blame on to him so he lost his place as
well.” Nat was about to explode again, when she added, “And now you want to be
president of the student senate, and your only strategy seems to be to sleep
your way to victory.”

Nat
tried to control his temper. “First, I don’t want to run for president, second,
I’ve only slept with three women in my life: a student I also knew when I was
at school, a secretary in Vietnam, and a one-night stand I now regret. If you
can find anyone else, please introduce me because I’d like to meet them.” She
stopped and looked at Nat for the first time. “Anyone else,” he repeated. “Now
can I at least know your name?”

“Su
Ling,” she said quietly.

“Su
Ling, if I promise never to try and seduce you until after I’ve asked for your
hand in marriage, sought your father’s permission, produced a ring, booked the
church, and had the banns read, will you at least let me take you out to
dinner?”

Su
Ling laughed. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “I’m sorry to rush, but I’m
already late for my afternoon lecture.”

“But
how do I find you?” asked Nat desperately.

“You
managed to find the Vietcong, Captain Cartwright, surely it shouldn’t be too
difficult to find me?”

“ALL
rise.
The State versus Mrs. Anita Kirsten.

His Honor Mr. Justice Abernathy presiding.”

The
judge took his place and looked toward the defense counsel’s table. “How do you
plead, Mrs. Kirsten?”

Fletcher
rose from behind the defense table. “My client pleads Not Guilty, your honor.”

The
judge looked up, “Are you representing the defendant?”

“Yes,
I
am,
your honor.”

Judge
Abernathy glanced down at the charge sheet. “I don’t think I’ve come across you
before, Mr. Davenport?”

“No,
your honor, it’s my first appearance in your court.”

“Will
you please approach the bench, Mr. Davenport?”

“Yes, sir.”
Fletcher stepped out from behind the little table and walked toward the judge,
where the prosecution counsel joined them.

“Good
morning, gentlemen,” said Mr. Justice Abernathy. “May I inquire what legal
qualifications you have that are recognized in my court, Mr. Davenport?”

“None, sir.”

“I
see. Is your client aware of this?”

“Yes,
sir, she is.”

“But
she still wants you to represent her, despite this being a capital charge?”

“Yes, sir.”

The
judge turned to face the attorney general for Connecticut.

“Do
you have any objection to Mr. Davenport representing Mrs. Kirsten?”

“None
whatsoever, your honor; in fact the state welcomes it.”

“I
feel sure they do,” said the judge, “but I must ask you, Mr. Davenport, if you
have any experience of the law at all.”

“Not
a great deal, your honor,” Fletcher admitted. “I’m a second-year law student at
Yale, and this will be my first case.” The judge and the attorney general
smiled.

“May
I ask who your director of studies is?” asked the judge.

“Professor
Karl Abrahams.”

“Then
I am proud to preside over your first case, Mr. Davenport, because that is
something you and I have in common.
How about you, Mr.
Stamp?”

“No,
sir, I qualified in South Carolina.”

“Although
it is most irregular, in the end it must be the defendant’s decision, so let us
proceed with the case in hand.” The attorney general and Fletcher returned to
their places.

The
judge looked down at Fletcher. “Will you be applying for bail, Mr. Davenport?”

Fletcher
rose from his place.
“Yes, sir.”

“On what grounds?”

“That
Mrs. Kirsten has no previous record, and constitutes no danger to the public.

She
is the mother of two children, Alan aged seven, and Delia aged five, who are
currently living with their grandmother in Hartford.”

The
judge turned his attention to the attorney general. “Does the state have any objection
to grant bail to Mr. Stamp?”

“We
most certainly
do,
your honor. We oppose bail not only
on the grounds that this is a capital charge, but because the murder itself was
premeditated. We therefore contend that Mrs. Kirsten constitutes a danger to society,
and may also try to leave the state’s jurisdiction.”

Fletcher
shot up. “I must object, your honor.”

“On what grounds, Mr. Davenport?”

“This
is indeed a capital charge, so leaving the state is hardly relevant, your
honor, and in any case, Mrs. Kirsten’s home is in Hartford, where she earns her
living working as a hospital custodian at St. Mary’s, and her children are both
at a local school.”

“Any further submission, Mr. Davenport?”

“No, sir.”

“Bail
refused,” said the judge, and brought his hammer down.

“This
court is adjourned until Monday the seventeenth.”

“All
rise.”

Mr.
Justice Abernathy winked at Fletcher as he left the courtroom.

Thirty-four
minutes and ten seconds. Nat couldn’t hide his delight that he had not only broken
his personal best, but had managed sixth place in the university trials, and
was therefore certain to be picked for the opening meet against Boston
University.

As
Nat cooled down, and went through his usual stretching routine, Tom walked over
to join him.

“Congratulations,”
he said, “and my bet is that by the end of the season, you’ll have knocked
another minute off your time.”

Nat
stared at the sour red scar on the back of his leg as he pulled on his
sweat-pants. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight,” continued Tom, “and celebrate,
because there’s something I need to discuss with you before I go back to Yale.”

“Can’t
manage tonight,” said Nat as they began to stroll across to the locker rooms.
“I’ve got a date.”

“Anyone
I know?”

“No,”
said Nat, “but as it’s my first for months, I have to admit I’m quite nervous.”

“Captain Cartwright nervous?
Whatever next?” mocked Tom.

“That’s
the problem,” admitted Nat. “She thinks I’m a cross between Don Juan and Also
Capone.”

“She
sounds like a good judge of character,” said Tom.

“So
tell me all about her.”

“There’s
not that much to tell. We ran into each other on the top of a hill. She’s
bright, ferocious, quite beautiful, and thinks I’m a bastard.” Nat then
recounted their conversation outside the dining hall.

“Ralph
Elliot obviously got his version in first,” said Tom.

“To hell with Elliot.
Do you think I should wear a jacket and tie?”

“You
haven’t asked for that sort of advice since we were at Tail.”

“And
in those days I needed to borrow your jacket and your tie, so what do you
think?”

“Full dress uniform with medals.”

“Be
serious.”

“Well,
it would certainly confirm her opinion of you.”

“That’s
exactly what I’m trying to disabuse her of.”

“Well
then, try looking at it from her point of view.”

“I’m
listening.”

“What
do you think she’ll wear?”

“I
have no idea, I’ve only seen her twice in my life, and on one of those
occasions she was in her running shorts covered in mud.”

“God,
that must have been sexy, but I don’t suppose she’ll turn up in a tracksuit, so
what about the other occasion?”

“Smart and understated.”

“Then
follow her lead, which won’t be easy, because there’s nothing smart about you,
and from what you say, she doesn’t believe that you’re capable of being
understated.”

“Answer
the question,” Nat said.

“I’d
go for casual,” said Tom.
“Shirt, not T-shirt, slacks and a
sweater.
I could, of course, as your advisor on sartorial elegance, join
you both for dinner.”

“I
don’t want you anywhere near the place, because you’ll only fall in love with
her.”

“You
really care about this girl, don’t you?” said Tom quietly.

“I
think she’s divine, but that doesn’t stop her being very uncertain about me.”

“But
she’s agreed to have dinner with you, so she can’t believe you’re all bad.”

“Yes,
but the terms of that agreement were somewhat unusual,” said Nat as he told Tom
what he had proposed before she would agree to a date.

“As
I said, you’ve got it bad, but that doesn’t alter the fact that I need to see
you. How about breakfast? Or will you also be having eggs and bacon with this
mysterious Oriental lady?”

“I’d
be very surprised if she agreed to that,” said Nat wistfully.
“And disappointed.”

“How
long do you expect the trial to last?” asked
Annie.

“If
we plead not guilty to murder, but guilty to manslaughter, it could be over in
a morning, with perhaps a further court appearance for sentencing.”

“Is
that possible?” asked Jimmy.

“Yes,
the state is offering me a deal.”

“What
sort of deal?” asked Annie.

“If
I agree to a charge of manslaughter, Stamp will only call for three years, no more,
which means with good behavior and parole, Anita Kirsten could be out in
eighteen months. Otherwise he intends to press for first degree and demand the
death penalty.”

“They
would never send a woman to the electric chair in this state for killing her
husband.”

“I
agree,” said Fletcher, “but a tough jury might settle for ninety-nine years,
and as the defendant is only twenty-five, I have to accept the fact that she
might be better off agreeing to eighteen months; at least that way she could
look forward to spending the rest of her life with her family.”

“True,”
said Jimmy. “But I ask myself, why is the attorney general willing to agree to
three years if he feels he’s got such a strong case? Don’t forget this is a
black woman, accused of murdering a white man, and at least two members of the
jury will be black. If you play your cards right, it could be three, and then
you can almost guarantee a hung jury.”

“Plus
the fact that my client has a good reputation, holds down a responsible job,
and has no previous convictions. That’s bound to influence any jury, whatever
color.”

“I
wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Annie.

“Your
client poisoned her husband with an overdose of curare, which caused paralysis
and then she sat on the staircase waiting for him to die.”

“But
he’d been beating her up for years-and he also abused their children,” said
Fletcher.

“Do
you have any proof of that, counselor?” asked Jimmy.

“Not
a lot, but on the day she agreed to appoint me, I took 148 several photographs
of the bruises on her body, and the burn on the palm of her hand will remain
with her for the rest of her life.”

“How
did she get that?” asked Annie.

“That
bastard of a husband pressed her hand down on a burning stove, and only stopped
when she fainted.”

“Sounds
like a lovely guy,” said Annie. “So what’s stopping you pleading manslaughter
and pressing for extenuating circumstances?”

“Only the fear of losing, and Mrs. Kirsten having to
spend the rest of her life in jail.”

“Why
did she ask you to be her defense counsel in the first place?” asked Jimmy.

“No
one else stepped up to the plate,” replied Fletcher. “And in any case, she
found my fee irresistible.”

“But
you’re up against the state’s attorney.”

“
Which is a bit of a mystery, because I can’t work out why he’s bothering
to represent the state in a case like this.
”

“That’s
simply answered,” said Jimmy.

“Black
woman kills white man in a state where only twenty percent of the population is
black, and over half of them don’t bother to vote, and surprise, surprise, there’s
an election coming up in May.”

“How
long has Stamp given you before you have to tell him your decision?” asked
Annie.

“We’re
back in court next Monday.”

“Can
you spare the time to be involved in a long trial?” she asked.

“No,
but I mustn’t make that an excuse for agreeing to any compromise.”