Fitzpatrick smiled. “You don’t like my choice of words? All right, I know you have a case. This girl-the naked one-tell me, how is she?”
“Not too well. She’s in jail.”
“I know that. I mean, what is she like?”
“She has large breasts.”
Fitzpatrick shook his head. “Dear, dear.”
“And she’s spunky.”
“Spunky?” Fitzpatrick grimaced. “Even worse. Juries don’t like spunky.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “I can strap her down and dress her like a Sunday-school teacher, but it’s not gonna fool anyone.”
Fitzpatrick jerked his thumb at the newspaper. “Not with this kind of publicity. So how you gonna play it?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“I see.”
Steve Winslow glanced around Fitzpatrick’s sumptuously furnished office. “So how’s things with the firm?”
“Could be worse, “ Fitzpatrick said. “Could be a lot worse. In point of fact, we’re actually doing very well.”
“I’m not surprised,” Steve said. “A firm like this, I would imagine things were pretty steady.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you have an established clientele. You don’t take on new clients all the time.”
Fitzpatrick nodded. “That’s largely true. A good percentage of our clients have been with the firm twenty, thirty years. That’s the way it is with firms of our type. Of course, we do pick up a new client now and then.”
“Did appearing in court with me hurt you any?”
Fitzpatrick shook his head. “Not at all. It might have if we’d lost, but we won. We actually picked up clients from it.”
“Oh?”
Fitzpatrick chuckled. “Yeah. I was a celebrity for a while. People would come up to me at cocktail parties, say, ‘You defended in the Harding case, didn’t you?’ People actually came over to our firm, which is strange when you think of it. Because our type of client isn’t looking for a criminal lawyer. Quite the contrary. I guess it was a status thing. Snob appeal. Like saying F. Lee Bailey’s my lawyer, you know?” Fitzpatrick shook his head. “No, that case didn’t hurt me at all.”
Fitzpatrick grinned. His eyes were shining. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, just making conversation.”
Fitzpatrick nodded judiciously. “Right, right. You got a murder case you’re defending, so you just pop over here to make a little conversation.”
“Well, I was wondering about your courtroom experience.”
“What about it?”
“When the case was over, you expressed the opinion that you doubted if we’d be working together again soon.”
“As I recall, I did say something like that.”
“I was wondering if you were still of that opinion.”
Fitzpatrick pursed his lips. “Are you asking me to work on this case?”
“No.”
Fitzpatrick frowned. “No?”
“No,” Steve said. “It would be highly detrimental to my client to ask for help from such a prestigious firm and be turned down. And I do hate lying to the press.”
“That’s a failing in a lawyer,” Fitzpatrick deadpanned.
“Anyway, I prefer to talk hypothetically. I’m wondering if that were the case, what your reaction would be.”
Fitzpatrick leaned back in his chair, ran his hand through his curly white hair. “You know,” he said, “I have to admit, I liked it. The Harding case, I mean. Being in court. The whole thing. Not the sort of thing I want to do every day, but it sure was a kick.
“Oh course, that was a lot different. I was the original lawyer on the case, and then you came in. This case, it’s the other way around. Not that I mind playing second fiddle, but I’d still like to play something.”
“What do you mean?”
Fitzpatrick smiled. “I know why you’re here. I knew the minute you walked in the door. Hell, I knew before you came.” He shook his head. “Look, if you really needed help, it would be one thing. But I know you. I’ve seen you in court. You need my help like you need a hole in the head.
“Look, I’m not the greatest trial lawyer in the world. Hell, I’m not even a trial lawyer. In point of fact, I haven’t been back in court since our last case.
“And now you’re in here, asking me without actually asking me if I’d like to work with you again.
“If I could do something, yeah. But to be a prop. An ornament. That’s all I’d be, wouldn’t I? I mean, that’s the situation here. The girl’s got a credibility problem. You need some conservative old fart like me to sit next to her and lend an air of respectability.
“I mean, that’s all you really want me for, isn’t it?”
Steve grinned at Fitzpatrick. “Not at all.”
26
District Attorney Harry Dirkson was nervous.
It wasn’t because the courtroom was jammed, with every available seat taken-Dirkson was a veteran campaigner, he’d played to packed houses before. And it wasn’t because the case was a political bombshell, what with the girl typing nude-though surely that was part of it. No, what made Dirkson nervous was one frail old man, sitting dead center on the aisle in the second row. A pale, emaciated elderly man who somehow radiated more power that anyone else in the courtroom. Milton Castleton would be watching his every move. It was enough to make even an experienced prosecutor like Harry Dirkson self-conscious.
Dirkson didn’t show it though. It was with every appearance of confidence and poise that he rose to make his opening argument. He strode into the middle of the courtroom, acknowledged the judge and the jurors, then stood there a moment, waiting until he was sure he had everyone’s attention.
“What is the oldest motivation in the world?” Dirkson said. He glanced around the courtroom, as if looking for an answer. “Is it greed?” He shook his head. “No. It’s not greed. It’s not lust, either. It’s not jealousy and it’s not even hatred. So what is it?” Dirkson glanced around one more time, as if the question were not rhetorical. Then he held up one finger. “Revenge. That is the primal motive. Revenge. Take the lowliest creature-if you strike at it, it will strike back. ‘The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on.’ Shakespeare was right. Revenge is the basic, instinctual motivation. You hurt me, I hurt you. Revenge.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that is the motive we expect to lay before you in this case.”
Dirkson paused, looked around again. He seemed to switch gears, dropping the ponderous, oratorical tone and swinging into his no-nonsense, hard-line-prosecutor mode. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we expect to prove that on the night of June twenty-eighth, the defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, murdered the decedent, David Castleton, by shooting him in the heart with a loaded gun.
“And why did she do this, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? She did it for revenge. We expect to show that Kelly Clay Wilder’s brother, one Herbert Clay, was a bookkeeper with Castleton Industries. His immediate superior in the company was none other than David Castleton. We expect to show that Herbert Clay embezzled over one hundred thousand dollars from Castleton Industries and was subsequently arrested and sent to jail for that crime. We expect to show that because of this, and out of devotion for her brother, the defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, developed a deep-seated resentment against Castleton Industries in general and against David Castleton in particular.
“There was no basis for this resentment. It was not rational. Castleton Industries was the victim, not her brother. He tried to steal from them, got caught, and went to jail. Surely, that could not be considered Castleton Industries’ fault. It is not rational. But we expect to show that the defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, is not an entirely rational woman. In her somewhat warped opinion, her brother had been wronged, the one who wronged him was Castleton Industries, so she proceeded to exact her revenge.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, the manner in which she did so is so bizarre that it defies comprehension. When you hear it, you will say, ‘No, it cannot be,’ but I assure you, these things are facts and can be proven.