I loved him. Brighter than the sun burned, I loved him.
FORTY-ONE
We meet in the interview room. She is much younger than I would have suspected. Quite attractive. From her name, Anne Hunter, I somehow expected her to look, well, primitive. She places a digital voice recorder on the table between us. I stare at it. Watch the green LED blink its approval.
“So, Adam, why do you want to do an interview?”
I have not asked her to call me Adam; she has taken the liberty on her own. It is mildly annoying.
“I want to tell my side of the story, but I also want something from you.”
“And what would that be?”
“Turn off the recorder.”
“There’s no point to an interview if I can’t document what you’re saying.”
“Turn it off,” I say. And she does. After all, I am a probable murderer telling her to do so. “I’ve read your coverage of my trial. It’s been quite good.”
“Thank you.”
“You were right, by the way.”
“About what? I always like to know when I’m right about something.”
“About Leo Hewitt. He is involved in my case. He was there when I was arrested.”
“I knew it.”
“Leo Hewitt put together the case against me; he seemed to take a personal interest in it.”
“That would be because he’s sick of working traffic court.”
“Why would the prosecutors deny his involvement with the case?”
“Because he’s an embarrassment to them.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No. Tell me. Tell me everything you know about Leo Hewitt.”
And she did. And after a while, she reached over and turned on her recorder and we began the interview in earnest. She asked her first question, and I knew what it would be. And I knew what my answer would be.
“Did you kill your wife?”
“No,” I said. “No, I loved my wife.”
FORTY-TWO
The other cubicles were deserted. The wan light from his lamp gave Leo’s single cubicle a lonesome glow. He had his cigar smoldering away in the chipped ashtray, and the furniture catalog spread out in front of him, but he did not see the yards of red leather and planes of teak, the massive executive desks and expansive breakfronts. Instead, Leo saw the courtroom. In the theater of his mind, the trial played itself out before him. But the parts had been recast. For tonight’s performance, the part of the assistant district attorney will be played by Leo Hewitt. And at the end of the third act, when the curtain fell, it would be Leo from whom the audience demanded a curtain call.
A uniformed cop approached Leo’s cubicle. He peered over the side, his thick eyebrows raised in amusement, and watched Leo daydream.
“Hey, Leo, you still here? Did you ever get that promotion?”
Leo, despite this unpleasant interruption, retrieved his cigar and managed a thin smile. “Not yet, Donny.”
“Well, don’t forget…”
Leo puffed the cigar back to life and played along with the old joke. “Don’t worry, on my meteoric rise to the top, I’ll take you with me.”
“Just so you don’t forget. Say, listen, you got a message from a Mister… Adam Lee. Says he wants to meet with ya.”
Leo cocked an eyebrow at Donny. “Oh yeah?”
In the interview room, Adam sat at the bare table. A guard opened the door and let Leo in. Leo entered quietly. He took the chair across from Adam and looked at him expectantly, waiting for Adam to explain why he’d called him here. Although Leo thought he had a pretty good idea. The case was going badly for them. Still, it was damn odd that Adam would contact him and not Monty. Especially when you took into consideration that Leo officially had nothing to do with the case. But curiosity got the better of him, and here he was sitting in silence with the accused, knowing that if Bob or Paula found out, his ass would be gone for good this time. So why didn’t the motherfucker speak? Some pathetic mind game to see who would blink first? Leo decided he didn’t play that game and started out on the offensive.
“Look, Mr. Lee, if you’re ready to cut a deal, you really oughta have your lawyer here. And besides that, we’re not gonna cut you a deal. Mr. Lee, we got you.”
“I read the papers, Mr. Hewitt. They kicked you off the case. To put it bluntly, you couldn’t cut a deal with a chain-saw. That is, unless I were trying to beat a jaywalking ticket.”
“You know, we haven’t decided yet whether we’re gonna push for the death penalty. Do you know what form of execution this state practices? Lethal injection. But I bet you knew that already. And for some reason, I kind of think it doesn’t worry you too much. Now, if it were something unrefined-death by electrocution, say-I think that would bother you. Dying that way. Because it’s not elegant. It’s not refined. I think you would find it… pedestrian, beneath you. Of course, you’re just as dead either way. And I gotta tell you, for an act of murder as cold-blooded and premeditated as yours, we’re leaning more and more toward that every day.” Leo wasn’t sure he had used the word pedestrian the right way. He knew it meant someone who was walking, but he was pretty sure it meant “ordinary” or “common,” too. He wanted to show Adam that he wasn’t the only one who knew a couple of two-dollar words, and if he had fucked it up, Lee wasn’t letting on.
“There is no we, Mr. Hewitt. There is only you. And regardless of the form it might take, the death penalty does not scare me. I’m innocent.”
Leo got up to leave and said, “You called me down here for this? This is the news flash? Suspect claims he’s innocent?”
Leo motioned for the guard to open the door.
“How would you describe yourself, Leo?” Leo waited for the guard, ignoring Adam. “What kind of man are you?”
“Gimme a break.”
“Hungry? I think I would describe you as hungry. You put this whole case together, didn’t you?”
“It was teamwork.”
“You don’t sound very convincing. Would you describe yourself as ambitious? Anxious to prove yourself?”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
“Looking for that one case, that one opportunity to put yourself over the top. To prove yourself.”
Leo motioned the guard away and turned back to Adam. “You got a point?”
“Yes, I have a point. Monty Lee is one of the most successful and highly respected trial lawyers in this state. He’s connected. He plays golf with the governor. And the best he could do for his own brother at that critical moment was the errand boy at the DA’s office?”
Leo scowled at this.
“My point is, why you? Why you of all people? Why would my brother call you to come see me that night?”
“Because I’m trustworthy, loyal, and kind. A faithful servant.”
“Because he knew you were the office joke. The ‘junior deputy assistant prosecutor.’ The loser. The man who lost the biggest and most expensive trial in the state’s history. The man who went from the head office to the typing pool.”
“Fuck you! I may not have a fancy office like you. I may not wear Armani suits like you. My suits come off the rack and my office is a cubicle. But then again, there’s not a picture of my dead wife’s daddy hanging in the lobby.”
“No, you don’t have any of those things. The trappings of success. But that’s what you’re hungry for, isn’t it? Success and everything that goes along with it, including respect. Maybe most importantly respect. My brother knows you’re hungry. Maybe he knew you would dig a little deeper, try a little harder. Maybe he knew you’d smell a rat.”
Now it was Adam who was in control. He was getting through to Leo. He could see it in Leo’s eyes. It was starting to click into place. “How did you find Mrs. Herbert Watkins? Monty says it was her testimony that ruined us, more so than Violet’s.”
“That’s because you essentially confessed to her.”
“But Violet heard the same thing.”