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 Al Capone.’
‘She sounds 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 refectory.
‘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 Taft.’
‘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 behaviour 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 colour.’
‘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, counsellor?’ asked Jimmy.
‘Not a lot, but on the day she agreed to appoint me, I took several photographs of the bruises on her body, and the bum 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 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 defence 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 per cent 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.’
‘So we’ll be spending our holiday in court number three, will we?’ asked Annie with a grin.
‘It could even be court number four,’ said Fletcher, putting an arm round his wife.
‘Have you thought of asking Professor Abraham’s advice on how she should plead?’
Jimmy and Fletcher stared at her in disbelief. ‘He advises presidents and heads of state,’ said Fletcher.
‘And possibly the occasional governor,’ added Jimmy.
‘Then perhaps the time has come for him to start advising a second-year law student. After all, that’s what he’s paid for.’
‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ said Fletcher.
‘How about picking up the phone and asking if he’ll see you,’ said Annie. ‘My bet is that he’d be flattered.’
Nat arrived at Mario’s fifteen minutes early. He’d chosen the restaurant because it was unpretentious — tables with red and white checked cloths, a small arrangement of flowers, with black-and-white photos of Florence decorating the walls. Tom had also told him the pasta was homemade, cooked by the patron’s wife and had brought back memories of their trip to Rome. He’d taken Tom’s advice and selected a casual blue shirt, grey slacks and a navy sweater, no tie and no jacket — Tom had approved.