“It seemed like neutral territory,” I said.
“Hardly neutral,” he said. “Can we go somewhere else?”
I said, “No. I feel safe here. If you would be more comfortable in an interrogation room with a tape running, maybe Detective Melendez can set it up.”
Marovich seemed stretched, pushed near the point of ignition. “Give me a break. Let you have a tape? Use it for fucking voice-over material. Just tell me, what’s the score here? Are you coming with me to SNN? You going to play fair for once?”
I left some space for the air to settle. He had been noisy enough to attract the attention of a couple of plainclothes officers who were walking through. In a low voice, I said, “I think it’s time for the two of us to talk, alone. Plain talk, no campaign manager, no video camera.”
“That’s unresponsive.”
“Off the record talk,” I said.
Marovich turned to Hector. “Can we get some coffee?”
Hector looked at me, I shrugged. He walked over about three desks, crossed his arms, watched us from that remove.
Marovich turned his simmering wrath on me. “So, talk.”
“Just tell me,” I said, “how someone as smart as you got into such a stupid mess.”
That got his back up. “I wasn’t aware that I was in a mess.”
“Have you seen the polls? Have you seen your opponent’s new commercials? ‘Why does D.A. Marovich want to put a convicted killer back in your neighborhood?’ “
He sighed and sort of caved in on himself. He dropped into Hector’s chair.
“I need to know how Charles Conklin came to your attention,” I said.
“You know the answer to that. I had a meeting with Leroy Burgess.”
“You wouldn’t give a con man like Leroy Burgess the time of day.”
“He was channeled by my staff.”
“Office staff? Or campaign staff?”
He scowled. “Does it matter?”
“It matters very much,” I said. “Of course, sometimes it’s hard to tell one from the other. Couple of days ago, Mike Flint filed a claim against George Schwartz’s insurance. Know what he found out? The car belongs to George’s current employer, the Committee to Reelect Baron Marovich. Isn’t it fraud to accept employment when you’re out on disability? Knowing Schwartz’s status, doesn’t that make you party to fraud?”
“Fuck,” was the answer.
“Let me tell you how I think this scenario unfolded. If I’m wrong, you correct me.” I sat on the edge of Hector’s desk. “You hired an old pro to run your campaign. Roddy O’Leary did his usual precampaign study: Who are the voters and what gets their attention? Sixty percent minority population, eighty percent minority anger with the police. Roddy went out looking for an attention-getter and he found Conklin for you. White cops, black suspect-it looked like a natural way to plug into the voter’s angst, get a load of votes on the cheap. Then Roddy went out and did his worst-on your behalf-stirred up the community.”
“Bull,” he snapped. He swiveled his chair away from me, but he stayed in the chair when I half-expected him to walk out.
I said, “All you had to do was get a judge to agree that there had been improprieties in the original case. Procedural policies change-what case doesn’t have improprieties when you look at it years later? Get a wrongfully convicted man released, you become a hero to eighty percent of the sixty-percent community. Another advantage to using an old case was, the judge probably wouldn’t be too picky. Conklin had already served a longer term than most murderers get anymore.”
I was talking to the side of his head again. “For insurance, you found a case involving the murder of a cop, because cops usually go after cop killers like bull dogs after red meat, and to hell with the niceties of due process, to quote a friend. Because of that, you assumed police excess. Or Roddy did.”
He turned his chair back around. “You can’t deny there was excessive use of authority.”
“You can’t prove it,” I said. “Not with the affidavits I read.”
“I have the departmental files on Kelsey and Flint. They both have excessive force complaints on their records.”
“So what? You told me that Conklin’s previous record was not germane to the issue of a fair trial. The same principle holds for Kelsey and Flint, does it not?”
“Police are held to a different standard.”
“As they should be. But saying that doesn’t change the facts: Your research was lazy. This was not a typical cop killing, and you should have known it. There was a good investigation, but no dogs-and-posse manhunt for the killer of Wyatt Johnson. No revenge slugfest. And no traditional twenty-one-gun police send-off. You know why?”
He cocked his head to one side, narrowed his eyes at me.
“Because the department and the family didn’t want the attention,” I said. “According to his wife, he was out selling vitamins. You’re a man of the world. Tell me about the kind of vitamins sold in ghetto men’s rooms after midnight. Then again, maybe he lied to his wife about why he had to be out at night-wouldn’t be a first.”
Marovich seemed to pale. “You miss the issue.”
“You want me to go on TV with you? You want to match files? You bring Kelsey and Flint and I’ll bring Conklin.” I looked at Hector, who was listening, trying to keep a poker face through all of this. “I have a nice montage made from the Monday news broadcasts. I’ll bring that, too: Front shot of Parker Center, angry mob, D.A. nodding while some lunatic says it’s time to go back to the streets to give the police a message.”
Marovich said, “That’s not the way it was.”
“That’s the way it looks. There was a second demonstration down on Florence and Normandie-the old riot flash point. You’re the legal expert, but what you’ve done, using Conklin to stir up the public, looks to me a whole lot like conspiracy, inciting to riot.”
“I’m not clear,” Marovich said. “What is it you want?”
“Not much,” I said. “I’m offering you a shot at redemption. And I want an hour with Charles Conklin.”
That bomb cleared the air: both Hector and Marovich laughed.
When he got his breath back, Marovich said, “Go right ahead. But first, you have to find his attorney, then you have to get her approval. I can’t help you.”
“I thought you had some influence with your old law partners. Guess I was wrong.”
“Guess so.” He rose as if to leave. “We’ll discuss it this afternoon.” He glared at Hector. “In public.”
I stopped him by saying, “I’ve already called Ralph. I won’t do a taping with you.”
“I don’t get it.”
“We both have too much to lose. I’ve been watching your wheels turn. I know that by air time you’d have a point-by-point rebuttal ready to demolish me. Then I would have to take you down with me, so what would be the point?”
He gave me an evil leer. “The exercise might be fun.” Hector threw back his head and laughed again.
I turned to Hector. “Weren’t you looking for some coffee?”
“There’s a pot right over there,” Hector said. “Help yourself.”
Marovich said, “You offered me a shot at redemption. What did you mean?”
“If Jennifer doesn’t show up by tomorrow, Conklin’s hearing will be postponed until he finds new counsel. Could take-when’s the election?-six weeks to bring new counsel up to speed. By then, to borrow from Ralph, Conklin will be a cold story. Six weeks gives you some breathing room.”
He was shaking his head as I spoke.
“One question,” I said. “Is your old law firm giving you a flat campaign contribution or are they tying the amount to their take in Conklin’s civil suit?”
“That’s slander.”
“So, sue me. Roddy has already threatened to. It’s only slander if what I said was false. I don’t have to remind you that campaign contributions are a matter of public record.”