Sons of Fortune (62 page)

“When
do we anticipate that might be?”

“It
would normally take about six months, but I’ve asked for the whole process to
be speeded up on account of the upcoming election.” Nat admired his counsel’s
professional approach, remembering that Jimmy was also Fletcher Davenport’s
closest friend. However, like any good lawyer, Nat thought, Jimmy would
understand the meaning of client privilege.

Jimmy
glanced at his watch. “We ought to go in, the last thing we need is to keep the
judge waiting.”

Nat
entered a packed courtroom and walked slowly down the aisle with Tom. He was
surprised by how many people thrust out their hands and even wished him luck,
making it feel more like a party meeting than a criminal arraignment. When they
reached the front, Jimmy held open the little wooden gate dividing the court
officials from the simply curious. He then guided Nat to a table on the left,
and ushered him into the seat next to his. As they waited for the judge to make
his entrance, Nat glanced across at the state’s attorney, Richard
Ebden
, a man he’d always admired. He knew that
Ebden
would be a formidable adversary, and wondered who
Jimmy was going to recommend
to oppose
him.

“All
rise
, Mr. Justice Deakins presiding.”

The
procedure Jimmy had described took place exactly as he predicted, and they were
back out on the street five minutes later, facing the same journalists
repeating the same questions and still failing to get any answers.

As
they pushed their way through the crowd to their waiting car, Nat was once
again surprised by how many people still wanted to shake him by the hand. Tom
slowed them down, aware that this would be the footage seen by the voters on
the midday news. Nat spoke to every well-wisher, but wasn’t quite sure how to
reply to an onlooker who said, “I’m glad you killed the bastard.”

“Do
you want to head straight home?” asked Tom as his car slowly nosed its way
through the melee.

“No,”
said Nat, “let’s go across to the bank and talk things through in the
boardroom.”

The
only stop they made on the way was to pick up the first edition of the Courant
after hearing a newsboy’s cry of “Cartwright charged with murder.” All Tom
seemed to be interested in was a poll on the second page showing that Nat now
led Elliot by over twenty points. “And,” said Tom, “in a separate poll,
seventy-two percent say you shouldn’t withdraw from the race.” Tom read on,
suddenly looked up but said nothing.

“What
is it?” asked Su Ling.

“Seven
percent say they would happily have killed Elliot, if only you’d asked them.”

When
they reached the bank, there was another hustle of journalists and cameramen
awaiting them; again they were met with the same stony silence. Tom’s secretary
joined them in the corridor and reported that early polling was at a record
high as Republicans obviously wished to make their views known.

Once
they were settled in the boardroom, Nat opened the discussion by saying. “The
party will expect me to withdraw, whatever the result, and I feel that might
still be my best course of action given the circumstances.”

“Why
not let the voters decide?” said Su Ling quietly, “and if they give you
overwhelming support, stay in there fighting, because that will also help
convince a jury that you’re innocent.”

“I
agree,” said Tom. “And what’s the alternative-Barbara Hunter? Let’s at least
spare the electorate that.”

“And
how do you feel, Jimmy? After all, you’re my legal advisor.”

“On
this subject I can’t offer an impartial view,” Jimmy admitted. “As you well
know, the Democratic candidate is my closest friend, but
were
I advising him in the same circumstances, and I knew he was innocent, I would
say stick in there and fight the bastards.”

“Well,
I suppose it’s just possible that the public will elect a dead man; then heaven
knows what will happen.”

“His
name will remain on the ballot,” said Tom, “and if he goes on to win the
election, the party can invite anyone they choose to represent him.”

“Are
you serious?” said Nat.

“Couldn’t be more serious.
Quite often they select the candidate’s wife, and my bet is that Rebecca Elliot
would happily take his place.”

“And
if you’re convicted,” said Jimmy, “she could sure count on the sympathy vote
just before an election.”

“More
important,” said Nat, “have you come up with a defense counsel to represent
me?”

“Four,”
responded Jimmy, removing a thick file from his briefcase. He turned the cover.

“Two from New York, both recommended by Logan
Fitzgerald, one from Chicago who worked on Watergate, and the fourth from
Dallas.

He’s
only lost one case in the last ten years, and that was when his client had
committed the murder on video. I intend to call all four later today to find
out if any of them is free. This is going to be such a high-profile
case,
my bet is that they will all make themselves
available.”

“Isn’t
there anyone from Connecticut worthy of the shortlist?” asked Tom. “It would
send out a far better message to the jury.”

“I
agree,” said Jimmy, “but the only man who is of the same caliber as those four
simply isn’t available.”

“And
who’s that?” asked Nat.

“The Democratic candidate for governor.”

Nat
smiled for the first time. “Then he’s my first choice.”

“But
he’s in the middle of an election campaign.”

“Just
in case you haven’t noticed, so is the accused,” said Nat, “and let’s face it,
the election isn’t for another nine months. If I turn out to be his opponent,
at least he’ll know where I am the whole time.”

“B
..”
repeated Jimmy.

“You
tell Mr. Fletcher Davenport that if I become the Republican candidate, he’s my
first choice, and don’t approach anyone else until he’s turned me down, because
if everything I’ve heard about that man is true, I feel confident he’ll want to
represent me.”

“If those are your instructions, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Those
are my instructions, counselor.”

By
the time the polls had closed at eight p.m.

Nat
had fallen asleep in the car as Tom drove him home. His chief of staff made no
attempt to disturb him. The next thing Nat remembered was waking to find Su
Ling lying on the bed beside him, and his first thoughts were of Luke. Su Ling
stared at him and gripped his hand. “No,” she whispered.

“What
do you mean, no?” asked Nat.

“I
can see it in your eyes, my darling, you wonder if I would prefer you to
withdraw, so that we can mourn Luke properly, and the answer is no.”

“But
well
have the funeral, and then the preparations for
the trial, not to mention the trial itself.”

“Not
to mention the endless hours in between, when you’ll be brooding and unbearable
to live with, so the answer is still no.”

“But
it’s going to be almost impossible to expect a jury not to accept the word of a
grieving widow who also claims to have been an eyewitness to her husband’s
murder.”

“Of
course she was an eyewitness,” said Su Ling. “She did it.”

The
phone on Su Ling’s bedside table began to ring. She picked it up and listened
attentively before writing two figures down on the pad by the phone. “Thank
you,” she said. “I’ll let him know.”

“Let
him know what?” inquired Nat.

Su
Ling tore the piece of paper off the pad and passed it across to her husband.
“It was Tom. He wanted you to know the election result.” Su Ling handed over
the piece of paper. All she had written on it were the figures “69/31.”

“Yes,
but who got sixty-nine percent?” asked Nat.

“The
next governor of Connecticut,” she replied.

Luke’s
funeral was, at the principal’s request, held in Tail School’s chapel. He
explained that so many pupils had wanted to be present. It was only after his
death that Nat and Su Ling became aware just how popular their son had been.
The service was simple, and the choir of which he was so proud to be a member
sang William Blake’s “Jerusalem” and Cole Porter’s “
Ain’t
Misbehavin
’.” Kathy read one of the lessons, and dear
old
Thomo
another, while the principal delivered the
address.

Mr.
Henderson spoke of a shy, unassuming youth, liked and admired by all. He
reminded those present of Luke’s remarkable performance as Romeo, and how he
had learned only that morning that Luke had been offered a place at Princeton.

The
coffin was borne out of the chapel by boys and girls from the ninth grade who
had performed with him in the school play. Nat learned so much about Luke that
day that he felt guilty he hadn’t known what an impact his son had made on his
contemporaries.

At
the end of the service, Nat and Su Ling attended the tea party given in the
principal’s house for Luke’s closest friends. It was packed to overflowing, but
then as Mr. Henderson explained to Su Ling, everyone thought they were a close
friend of Luke’s. “What a gift,” he remarked simply.

The
headboy
presented Su Ling with a book of photographs
and short essays composed by his fellow pupils. Later, whenever Nat felt low,
he would turn a page, read an entry and glance at a photograph, but there was
one he kept returning to again and again:

Luke
was the only boy ever to speak to me who never once mentioned my turban or my
color. He simply didn’t see them. I had looked forward to him being a friend
for the rest of my life. Malik Singh (16).

As
they left the principal’s house, Nat spotted Kathy sitting alone in the garden,
her head bowed. Su Ling walked across and sat down beside her.

She
put an arm around Kathy and tried to comfort her.

“He
loved you very much,” Su Ling said.

Kathy
raised her head, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I never told him I loved
him.”

“I
can’t do it,” said Fletcher.

“Why
not?” asked Annie.

“I
can think of a hundred reasons.”

“Or
are they a hundred excuses?”

“Defend
the man I’m trying to defeat,” said Fletcher, ignoring her comment.

“Without
fear or favor,” quoted Annie.

“Then
how would you expect me to conduct the election?”

“That
will be the easy part.” She paused.

“Either way.”

“Either
way?” repeated Fletcher.

“Yes.
Because if he’s guilty, he won’t even be the Republican
candidate.”

“And
if he’s innocent?”

“Then
you’ll rightly be praised for setting him free.”

“That’s
neither practical nor sensible.”

“Two
more excuses.”

“Why
are you on his side?” asked Fletcher.

“I’m
not,” insisted Annie. “I am, to quote Professor Abrahams, on the side of
justice.”

Fletcher
was silent for some time. “I wonder what he would have done faced with the same
dilemma?
”

“You
know very well what he would have done but some people will forget those
standards within moments of leaving this university...”

“
dis
. I can only hope that at least one person in every
generation,” said Fletcher, completing the professor’s oft-repeated dictum.

“Why
don’t you meet him,” said Annie, “and then perhaps that will persuade you...”

Despite
abundant caution from Jimmy and vociferous protests from the local Democrats-in
fact from everyone except Annie- it was agreed that the two men should meet the
following Sunday.

The
chosen venue was Fairchild and Russell, as it was felt few citizens would be
strolling down Main Street early on a Sunday morning.

Nat
and Tom arrived just before ten, and it was the chairman of the bank who
unlocked the front door and turned off the alarm for the first time in years.
They only had to wait a few minutes before Fletcher and Jimmy appeared on the
top step. Tom ushered them quickly through to the boardroom.

When
Jimmy introduced his closest friend to his most important client, both men
stared at each other, not sure which one of them should make the first move.

“It’s
good of you...”

“I
hadn’t expected
. .”

Both
men laughed and then shook each other warmly by the hand.

Tom
suggested that Fletcher and Jimmy sit on one side of the conference table,
while he and Nat sat opposite them. Fletcher nodded his agreement, and once
seated, he opened his briefcase and removed a yellow notepad, placing it on the
table in front of him, along with a fountain pen taken from an inside pocket.