«Johnny.» Osterman lowered his voice and looked toward the dining room. Betty came out the kitchen door and began removing several dishes and smiled. He smiled back. «Are you working on something that might make you enemies?»
«I imagine I always am in one way or another.»
«I mean something like the San Diego thing.»
Joe Cardone watched Osterman carefully, wondering if he might elaborate. San Diego had been a Mafia operation.
«Not that I know of. I’ve got men digging in a lot of areas, but nothing like that. At least I don’t think so. Most of my best people have a free rein… Are you trying to tie in Wednesday with something at work?»
«It hadn’t struck you?» asked Tremayne.
«Hell, no! I’m a professional newsman. Do you get worried if you’re working on a sticky case?»
«Sometimes.»
«I read about that show of yours last Sunday.» Cardone sat down on the couch next to Tremayne. «Ralph Ashton has friends in high places.»
«That’s crazy.»
«Not necessarily.» Cardone had trouble with «necessarily.» «I’ve met him. He’s a vindictive man.»
«He’s not crazy,» interjected Osterman. «No, it wouldn’t be anything like that.»
«Why should it be anything, period? Anything but a robbery?» Tanner lit a cigarette and tried to watch the faces of the three men.
«Because, Goddamn it, it’s not a natural way to get robbed,» exclaimed Cardone.
«Oh?» Tremayne looked at Cardone, sitting next to him on the sofa. «Are you an expert on robbery?»
«No more than you are, counselor,» said Joe.
18
There was something artificial about the start of the weekend; Ali felt it. Perhaps it was that the voices were louder than usual, the laughter more pronounced.
Usually, when Bernie and Leila arrived, they all began calmly, catching up with each family’s affairs. Conversations about this or that child, this or that career decision—these always occupied the first few hours. Her husband called it the Osterman syndrome. Bernie and Leila brought out the best in all of them. Made them talk, really talk with one another.
Yet no one had volunteered a single important personal experience. No one had brought up a single vital part of their recent lives—except, of course, the horrible thing on Wednesday afternoon.
On the other hand, Ali realized, she was still concerned about her husband—concerned about his staying home from the office, his short temper, his erratic behavior since Wednesday afternoon. Maybe she was imagining things about everybody else.
The other women had rejoined their husbands; Alice had put away the left-overs. The children were in bed now. And she wouldn’t listen to any more talk from Betty or Ginny about maids. She could afford a maid! They could afford a maid! But she wouldn’t have one!
Her father had had maids. «Disciples» he called them. «Disciples» who cleaned and swept and brought-in and …
Her mother had called them «maids.»
Ali stopped thinking and wondered if she’d had a drink she couldn’t handle. She turned on the faucet and dabbed her face with cold water. Joe Cardone walked through the kitchen door.
«The boss-man told me if I wanted a drink, I pour it myself. Don’t tell me where, I’ve been here before.»
«Go right ahead, Joe. Do you see everything you need?»
«Sure do. Lovely gin; beautiful tonic… Hey, what’s the matter? You been crying?»
«Why should I be? I just splashed water on my face.»
«Your cheeks are all wet.»
«Water on the face does that.»
Joe put down the bottle of tonic and approached her. «Are you and Johnny in any trouble?… This Wednesday afternoon … okay, it was a crazy type of robbery, Johnny told me … but if it was anything else, you’d let me know, wouldn’t you? I mean, if he’s playing around with sharks you wouldn’t keep it a secret from me, would you?»
«Sharks?»
«Loan-sharks. I’ve got clients at Standard Mutual. Even a little stock. I know the company… You and Johnny live very well, but sixty thousand dollars after taxes isn’t that much any more.»
Alice Tanner caught her breath. «John does very well!»
«That’s relative. In my opinion, John’s in that big middle mess. He can’t take over and he won’t let go of his little kingdom to try for anything better. That’s his business, and yours. But I want you to tell him for me… I’m his friend. His good friend. And I’m clean. Absolutely clean. If he needs anything, you tell him to call me, all right?»
«Joe, I’m touched. I really am. But I don’t think it’s necessary. I don’t, really.»
«But you’ll tell him?»
«Tell him yourself. John and I have an unspoken pact. We don’t discuss his salary any more. Frankly because I agree with you.»
«Then you’ve got problems.»
«You’re not being fair. Problems to you may not be problems for us.»
«I hope you’re right. Tell him that, too.» Cardone walked rapidly back to the bar and picked up his glass. Before Ali could speak he walked through the door back into the living room.
Joe was telling her something and she didn’t understand.
«Nobody appointed you or any other member of any news media to set yourselves up as infallible guardians of the truth! I’m sick and tired of it! I live with it every day.» Tremayne stood in front of the fireplace, his anger obvious to everyone.
«Not infallible, of course not,» answered Tanner. «But no one gave the courts the right to stop us from looking for information as objectively as we can.»
«When that information is prejudicial to a client or his opponent you have no right to make it public. If it’s factual, it’ll be heard in court. Wait’ll the verdict’s rendered.»
«That’s impossible and you know it.»
Tremayne paused, smiled thinly, and sighed. «I know I do. Realistically, there’s no solution.»
«Are you sure you want to find one?» asked Tanner.
«Of course.»
«Why? The advantage is yours. You win the verdict, fine. If you lose, you claim the court was corrupted by a biased press. You appeal.»
«It’s the rare case that’s won on appeal,» said Bernard Osterman sitting on the floor in front of the sofa. «Even I know that. They get the publicity, but they’re rare.»
«Appeals cost money,» added Tremayne with a shrug. «Most of the time for nothing. Especially corporate appeals.»
«Then force the press to restrain itself when there’s a lot of heat. It’s simple.» Joe finished his drink and looked pointedly at Tanner.
«It’s not simple,» said Leila, sitting in an armchair opposite the sofa. «It becomes judgment. Who defines restraint? That’s what Dick means. There’s no clear-cut definition.»
«At the risk of offending my husband, God forbid,» Virginia laughed as she spoke, «I think an informed public is just as important as an unbiased courtroom. Perhaps they’re even connected. I’m on your side, John.»
«Judgment, again,» said her husband. «It’s opinion. What’s factual information and what’s interpreted information?»
«One’s truth,» said Betty off-handedly. She was watching her husband. He was drinking too much.
«Whose truth? Which truth?… Let’s create a hypothetical situation. Between John and myself. Say I’ve been working for six months on a complicated merger. As an ethical attorney I’m dealing with men whose cause I believe in; by putting together a number of companies thousands of jobs are saved, firms which are going bankrupt suddenly have new lives. Then along come several people who are getting hurt—because of their own ineptness—and start shouting for injunctions. Suppose they reach John and start yelling ‘Foul!’ Because they seem—seem, mind you—like underdogs, John gives their cause one minute, just one minute of network time across the country. Instantly my case is prejudiced. And don’t let anyone tell you the courts aren’t subject to media pressure. One minute as opposed to six months.»