I shuffled some papers together, lit a cigarette, and sat back to look at Angers, rearranging my thinking. I said, “So you mean that subpoena you gave me may have to be used?”
“So Lucas warns me,” said Angers.
“Now there’s a point,” I said. “I don’t get one or two things about this legal setup here. This Lucas seems to have fingers in a hell of a lot of different pies. I thought it was practically universal for lawyers to stick to either the criminal law or the civil law. Yet this guy Lucas keeps cropping up in both civil and criminal cases. Why?”
“You ask some complicated questions,” sighed Angers. “I suppose the short answer is that it’s part of the Mayor theory of government. Mayor has influenced Vados a hell of a lot, you know. And among his other principles is one to the effect that all contraventions of justice are the business of the state. So in Vados itself — although not yet in the rest of the country, I believe — there’s no real distinction between civil and criminal. A private citizen who can’t afford to litigate against someone he thinks has injured him can apply for the state to prosecute on his behalf, for example. And that kind of case actually occurs every now and then.
“But in Lucas’s case, it’s rather different. Actually, he is a criminal lawyer. It’s just that his position as legal adviser to the Citizens’ Party involves him in a good many associated cases. And, of course, having helped to draft the charter of incorporation for the city, he also gets called in when a case like this one of Sigueiras’s comes up.”
“He sounds like a busy man.”
“He is.”
“Didn’t you tell me to expect a subpoena from Fats Brown as well, by the way?” I recalled. “What happened? I never got it.”
“Things haven’t been going too well for Brown,” said Angers rather smugly. “I’m told that when he heard we were going to call you, he discarded the idea. Lucas says he’s been floundering a bit in court, too. Apparently he’s upset by what this fellow Dominguez did the other day.”
“Brown doesn’t strike me as the kind of man that upsets easily,” I said. “What did Dominguez do?”
“Oh, didn’t you hear? Well, there was a disgraceful article by Cristoforo Mendoza in Tiempo last weekend, in which he gratuitously defended Dominguez against what Judge Romero had said about him — and Dominguez wrote to them and to Liberdad saying he didn’t welcome assistance from the organ of a party whose leaders were given to committing murder in broad daylight.”
“And Tiempo published the letter?”
“No, of course not. But Liberdad did.” I nodded slowly. “So he’s transferred his allegiance to the party that commits its murders stealthily by night, I suppose?”
“What exactly do you mean by that, Hakluyt?” said Angers, his tone implying that I ought not to mean anything at all.
“Nothing,” I said peaceably. “Nothing. I’m neutral, remember? So I suppose it’s my duty to regard both political parties as equally repugnant.”
“There’s a difference between the Citizens of Vados and the National Party,” said Angers stiffly; before he could get going on the nature of that difference, I apologized and told him to finish what he was saying about Dominguez.
“There isn’t any more,” he said shortly. “Except that, of course, Judge Romero is sharpening a knife for Brown. Brown is supposed to have put Dominguez up to it — did you know?”
“Up to writing to Liberdad?”
“Oh, come now!” said Angers in a tone of irritation. “Of course not! I don’t quite see what you’re playing at, Hakluyt, but you seem to be deliberately obtuse today.”
“I’ve got a head full of data,” I said. “These political machinations make a hell of a lot less sense to me than the stuff spewed out by a computer. When am I supposed to show up in court?”
“Possibly this afternoon. I’ll let you know before lunch.”
They told me to be on hand at two-thirty. I shouldn’t have bothered to be punctual; I spent the afternoon kicking my heels in an anteroom before the usher came to tell me the court was rising for the day. I used up a few well-chosen words on the subject of the law’s delays and was going out past the door of the courtroom when it slammed open and shut and Fats Brown stormed down the corridor ahead of me. When he was some distance away, he must have recognized the glimpse he had had of me in passing; he stopped in his tracks and turned to wait for me.
“Evenin’, Hakluyt,” he said. “Warn you, I’m gonna make mincemeat outa you when Lucas brings you on. I like expert witnesses — lunch off ’em every day. They take themselves too seriously. Let’s go have a drink. Unorthodox for the plaintiff s lawyer to drink with the defendant’s witnesses — probably get hell for attempted bribery if Lucas hears about it. Hell with it all. C’mon.”
It made no difference to me whom I drank with, after wasting the entire afternoon. I went with him to the same small bar we had gone to after Guerrero’s death. Brown ordered one of his appalling local soft drinks; I had an aguardiente. We clinked glasses.
“No good askin’ you what you’re gonna say in the box,” Fats ruminated after his first sip. “You’d go all high-hat an’ say you’ll answer the questions put to you. Better at improvis-in’ my attacks on expert witnesses; find their weak spots an’ enlarge on them. Hope I’m not worryin’ you.”
“Not much,” I said.
“Won’t talk shop anymore,” he went on. “Um — hear about Mig?”
“Dissociating himself from that article in Tiempo the other day? Angers just told me about it.”
“Ah-hah. Guess Mig an’ I were the only two guys in Vados who knew about it beforehand. Clever! Wish I’d thought of it!”
“You what?”
He gave me a faintly surprised look. His eyes nearly disappeared in rolls of fat as he wheezed into an enormous laugh. “You thought it was a run-out? Oh-ho-ho-ho! Hakluyt, you’re dumber’n a Vadeano when you try! That was strictly for the — hey, of course! It was strictly for the boids, and here’s a Boyd who swallowed it. Heh-heh-heh-heh!”
I waited for him to finish chortling. “Since you think it was so clever,” I suggested, “suppose you tell me why.”
“Pipeline for the scandal of the legal world, that’s me. Sure I’ll tell you. Mig was in a pretty sticky position. Romero had smeared him ’bout as thorough as he could. He had to get himself out of it in the eyes of the reputable citizens of Vados, get? So up he Stan’s an’ makes this dignified an’ lawyerlike statement — all hogwash, but like I said, Vadeanos are dumb once you get out of the gutter, where they’re sly as foxes. Anyway, people give him another look an’ say, ‘Not such a bad guy! That’s pretty good!’ Result — swing of public opinion. Romero’s wondering if he’ll stay around long enough to finish what he started on Tezol. Didya know it was Romero tried that case? No? Trust the old coot to grab himself anything where the National Party’s involved. Hates their guts.”
“So I gathered,” I agreed. “But how do you mean — finish what he started on Tezol? Did he pay his fine?”
“Romero gave him time to find the cash. Prob’ly thought he’d make him squirm a bit. Anyway, here’s Romero, he says to himself, right, this guy Dominguez is chickening out, won’t have the guts to push through what he started against me. So what does Romero do? He goes on TV — one of this bastard Rioco’s little programs, sat around for days while he was tryin’ to make up his mind. I got advance word of it from a pal at the studios — they’re finally going to shove it out. Tonight. He’s goin’ to lambaste Tezol an’ take a swipe or two at Cris Mendoza for good measure, an’ say what he’s gonna do when that fine’s not paid.” Brown sipped his drink. “Think he’d have learned his lesson by now, wouldn’t you? They make out he’s a fine respectable upholder of justice an’ all that crap. Well, figure for yourself what’ll happen when Mig shows him up as an ol’ blowhard who don’t even know what evidence means!”