Mark hung up and swiveled around to face Sarah.
“Miss Rhodes, do the names Elaine Murray and Richie Walters mean anything to you?”
Sarah could sense a change in Mark. He was tense now too. She began to feel uncomfortable.
“I think those are the names of the people that the police say Bobby killed.”
“Yes, but do you know who they are and when they were killed?”
Sarah looked at George. George looked puzzled, as if the names meant something to him, but he could not recall what they meant.
“I…No, they don’t sound familiar.”
“Do you live in Portsmouth? Are you from here?”
“No. I live in Canada-Toronto.”
Mark took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He was thinking very fast. This could be the case that could make his reputation. In Portsmouth, the Murray-Walters case was like Lizzy Borden and Leopold and Loeb combined. It would mean TV and headlines and enough free advertising to maybe make his business go.
“Miss Rhodes, approximately seven years ago a young man named Richie Walters was murdered in Lookout Park. Several weeks later, his girlfriend, Elaine Murray, was found dead out on the coast highway. Bobby is charged with committing those murders in 1960.”
Mark watched the girl’s reaction. She turned ashen and appeared unable to speak. George leaned forward.
“That’s ridiculous. Why, Bob’s almost a pacifist. He won’t even talk about his war experiences. I don’t believe it.”
“I’m not saying that he is guilty, George. I’m telling you what Mr. Coolidge is charged with.
“Miss Rhodes, I hate to bring this up, but I’ll have to at some time and, with a case this serious, I think we had better be frank with each other. There is no such thing as a simple murder case. Even the least complicated ones take an incredible amount of an attorney’s time.
“From what I know about this case, I think I can safely say that it is going to be very complicated. We are dealing with a crime committed seven years ago. I am going to have to spend an enormous amount of time in investigation and preparation. I may have to obtain the services of expert witnesses. I may have to hire a private investigator to assist me. I will probably have to turn some cases down because I will not have the time to handle them.
“What I’m leading up to is this. Does Bobby have the money to hire an attorney? This will probably cost him several thousand dollars at a minimum.”
She spoke haltingly. Mark could see that she was torn. He had seen that look before on the faces of people close to people charged with crime. The look signified the beginning of doubt. The beginning of questioning. She was asking herself who Bobby Coolidge really was. She was having her first look at a dark side that she may not have suspected. When the charge was murder, the questions were harder to answer.
“Bobby doesn’t have any money…Or not enough to pay that.”
“I’m talking about a sum in the area of ten thousand dollars.”
Sarah did not answer immediately. She took a good hard look at Mark. What did she really know about Bobby? Ten thousand dollars! To give that sum to this stranger to defend a man who…Who what? She was assuming that he was guilty. Why should that be her first reaction? Now it was she who felt guilty and ashamed. Her family had money and she had substantial savings.
“I’m pretty sure I can raise the money. My family is…well off. I would need some time to talk to my parents.”
“All right. I’m going to go to the jail and talk to Bobby now. I’ll call you this evening. Will you know by then?”
“I’ll try.”
Mark rose and George and Sarah followed him to the door. Sarah turned and held out her hand to him. She looked stunned, but under control. He took her hand and held it.
“Thank you for helping, Mr. Shaeffer. When you see Bobby, would you tell him that I tried to see him. Ask him if there is anything we can do.”
“I’ll call you tonight and tell you what’s going on.”
George shook his hand and they left. It was difficult for Mark to control his excitement. He had represented a few people charged with serious crimes before, but a murder case was different from all other types of criminal cases. And this murder case was different from all other murder cases.
And the fee. If she could raise the money, ten thousand dollars would make his first year. It was the type of case that all new practitioners dream of. Maybe even Cindy would be satisfied.
They had had another fight that morning. Rosedale and Collins, a small firm he had interviewed with just before opening his office, had asked him to join as an associate at a salary that was considerably higher than what he was now making. If he took the job, Cindy could quit work and they could have their baby. Cindy had begged him to take the job, but he had refused. He liked being his own boss and the business was starting to come in. He wasn’t taking home a lot, but he wasn’t worrying about meeting his overhead anymore either. When he had left for work this morning, Cindy had been in tears. He was about to add “as usual,” but stopped himself. That was unfair. He could understand Cindy’s point of view, but, damn it, she had to try and understand his.
Thinking about the fight upset Mark. Then he thought about Sarah Rhodes. She seemed so different from Cindy. She was thinking of someone other than herself. She was willing to give up a large sum of her own money to help Coolidge. Well, maybe this big fee, if it came through, would help. He didn’t know.
The county jail had been built with massive, gray stone blocks in an era, before modern architecture, when buildings were constructed to resemble what they were supposed to be. The jail housed men awaiting trial and their fear and uncertainty were visible to all but the most insensitive visitor. The jail made no distinction between the traffic offender who could not make bail and the rapist. They were all housed together, until the courts sent them to the state penitentiary or set them free.
Because of his special status, Bobby Coolidge had been housed in one of the rare single cells in maximum security. Mark waited for him to be escorted to the special interview room in the basement of the jail. The room was long, narrow and windowless, and sealed by a large steel door. The only furniture in the room was a long table and several wooden chairs. Mark had chosen the chair farthest from the door so that he would have a few seconds for first impressions. He wanted to make sure that he had Coolidge sized up correctly. If Coolidge did not trust him, he might go elsewhere for a lawyer.
The door to the interview room opened with a metallic clang. A young man in his mid-twenties was standing in the doorway in front of a guard. He was clad in poor-fitting jeans and a blue work shirt with a partially torn breast pocket. There was an air of defeat about him that Mark noticed immediately. His eyes were downcast and never looked directly ahead. He made no move to enter the room, until ordered to by the guard. When he did enter, he did so slowly. His gaze stopped on Mark, but jumped away when Mark attempted to make eye contact. He scanned the room with quick, jerky movements of his head, as if he expected to find something hidden in the recesses.
For a brief moment, Mark realized the responsibility he would be undertaking if he represented this man. The guard slammed the door shut and Coolidge looked behind him. Mark rose and waited for Coolidge to turn back.
“My name is Mark Shaeffer. I’m an attorney,” he said, extending his hand. Coolidge looked at him for a moment, then shook hands. There was little life in his handclasp and both men released quickly, a bit embarrassed.
Mark sat down and indicated a chair. Coolidge sank into it.
“Sarah asked me to tell you that she tried to get in to see you, but they wouldn’t let her. George Rasmussen was with her.”
“How…What does she think about this?”
“She’s standing behind you, Mr. Coolidge. She’ll come to see you on Sunday.”
“Well, that’s good,” Coolidge said in a tired voice. His hand moved toward his breast pocket and stopped.
“Do you have a cigarette?”
“Sorry, I gave them up a year ago. I can ask a guard.”
Coolidge shook his head.
“No, that’s okay.”
He paused before he spoke again.
“Mr…?”
“Shaeffer. Mark Shaeffer.”
“Mr. Shaeffer, before you go any further, I want you to know that I can’t pay a lawyer.”
“Miss Rhodes is going to take care of that.”
Coolidge snapped his head from side to side.
“No. I don’t want her involved in this.”
“Mr. Coolidge, you are going to have to be practical about this. Innocent or guilty, you are charged with two counts of murder. You need professional help. Miss Rhodes has the money to hire me and you don’t. You can reject her help out of pride, but without an attorney the chances are very good that you will spend the rest of your life in a cage. Do you want that?”
Coolidge looked down at his shoes and said nothing. When he looked up, Mark knew that there would be no more protests.
“Okay,” Mark said, “the indictment charges you with killing a woman named Elaine Murray and a man named Richie Walters on or about November 25, 1960. Did you do that?”
“Absolutely not. No.”
“Did you know them?”
“Of course. Everyone knew about that. I went to high school with them.”
“Why do you think the police arrested you?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. My brother and I were arrested when this first happened, but they let us go. Why would they wait so long to arrest me, if they thought I was guilty?”
“I don’t know the answer to that yet. All I have seen is the indictment charging you and your brother with the crime.”
“Billy! He’s arrested too?”
“I assume so.”
Bobby ran his hand across his mouth and, for a few seconds, he was lost in thought.
“Bobby, do any of these names mean anything to you? These are the people listed on the indictment as having been witnesses before the Grand Jury.
“Roy Schindler, Arnold Shultz, Thelma Pullen, Esther Pegalosi, or Dr. Arthur Hollander.”
“No. I’ve never heard of any of them.”
Mark thought for a moment.
“Bobby, you mentioned that the police arrested you when this first happened. Why did they do that?”
Bobby shrugged.
“I don’t know. They asked me a lot of questions about that night. I guess what got us in trouble was we had had a fight and Billy pulled a knife at a party we crashed. And I think they mentioned finding some glasses belonging to a girl we knew in the park near where the Walters kid was killed. But that was it.”
“Tell me, as best you can remember, what you did on the evening of November 25.”
“It’s been so long. I don’t know. I know I was with Billy-my brother-and…uh…Roger…Roger Hessey. Then there was the girl whose glasses they found, Esther Freemont.”
“Wait a second,” Mark interrupted. “Could Esther Freemont be Esther Pegalosi. Did she get married?”
Bobby shook his head.
“I don’t know. I went into the Army right after high school and I didn’t keep track of her. We aren’t good friends.”
Mark made some notes on his yellow pad.
“Go on.”
“Okay. We crashed a party this girl was throwing.”
“What was her name? From now on when you mention people, I want names and addresses, if you can remember them.”
“I’m not going to be much good on the addresses, but I should be able to give you the names.”
Coolidge related the incident at the party and the theft of the wine. Mark took down everything as they went along. He was watching Coolidge closely while the latter spoke, trying to size him up. Bobby was intelligent and articulate. The type of defendant that would be able to assist him in his investigation. But, was he telling the truth? He had seemed sincere when he denied his guilt. It had been the first time that he had spoken forcefully. Yet, for all his inexperience, Mark had represented enough clients to know that it was very difficult to tell if a person was telling the truth.
“What happened after you drank the wine?” Mark asked. Coolidge shrugged.
“I think we cruised downtown for a bit, then took Esther home, then went home ourselves.”
“You think?”
“Well, it’s been some time. But that’s how it seems to me.”
Mark put down his pad and leaned back in his chair.
“Okay. That’s enough for today. I’m going to go see the district attorney and try to get a lead on some of these witnesses.”
Mark stood up and Coolidge looked at him. He ran his tongue nervously across his lower lip before he spoke.
“Mr. Shaeffer, how does it look?”
“I really can’t tell until I find out what the D.A. has.”
Bobby looked down at the floor again.
“Do…do you think you can get me out of here? I mean, isn’t there bail or something?”
“The court doesn’t have to set bail in a murder case and even if they did, I’m afraid that they would set it so high that you could never make it.”
“Oh,” Bobby said in a voice that was almost a sigh. “Well, you try for me, will you, because I had a rough time last night. I’ll tell you, I don’t think I can take it, being locked up for long.”