Scott Turow - The Burden of Proof

Stern did not answer,

"Okay?" asked Dixon. "What time is it? Give those assholes a call, will you? While I still have my nerve. I want to hear the sound of Sennett, that pompous son of a bitch, falling over from shock."

"I believe, Dixon," said Stern, "that you seek to deceive Dixon jolted visibIy. 'Me?"* "Just so,,' "You're crazy. ' "I believe no}''

Dixon's mouth hung open a bi?

"You've been talking to that girl, haven't you? What's her name?

Krumke."

"Alas, Dixon, your anlics have cost me the confidence of the government.

I have not been speaking with Ms. Klonsky."

Dixon stood up. He walked around the office, waving his cigarette.

"YOu want me to bleed, don't you?"

"I would welcome the truth, Dixon. If you care to tell Wandering, Dixon paused at Stern's spot by the window and looked down to the river, spangled and living in the moru[ng sum '"There are some things about that account." "Which account is that?"

Stern asked. "Wunderkind, Inc. Whatever we called it.?": "Yes?"

"That was John's account. Or it was supposed to be. I didn't want to move money into an account that would trace to me. So I asked him to open one. You know, a corporate account, because of exchange compliance. It can't be in his name. The KCFE has a rule that member employees can't have their own accounts."

"So whose name did you use, Dixon?"

Dixon turned around. He was in extreme discomfort. "Kate.

She signed the account papers. In her maiden name. I'm sure she didn't know a damn thing about what was going on.

Goofball just told her to sign by the x."

"And what did John obtain by accommodating you in this fashion?"

"Oh, he's the village idiot. I ask him to jump, he says, How high. He wants to be a floor trader. He was waiting for me to promote him. Look, he's a kid. He's a noodle. You bend him in whatever shape you want. I told him to do things, he did them."

"You did not promise him even a penny in profit?"

"I never talked to him about it. Frankly, I think he's too dimwitted to ask. And there never was any profit, anyway.

Not for long."

"Yes, Dixon, explain that to me. You stole money and then lost it?"

"It was Las Vegas. Who cared? I lost, I got more. It was a fucking amusement, Stern."

"In which you embroiled my daughter and my son-in-lawmyour niece and nephew. A crime of curiosity in which you proposed to hide behind children-my children?"

Dixon did not answer. He returned to the sofa and fired his lighter for another cigarette.

"Did you not estimate, Dixon, that John would tell the government about that account and how it was established?"

"Yeah, I estimated," he said. "I just wasn't real eager to tell you."

Dixon lay back and extended his feet. "I have the records at home. I'll bring them in."

"Did you fear, Dixon, that I would lose respect for you?"

He delivered the remark perfectly-a rapier thrust; cold steel.

"Oh, go fuck yourself, Stern. I'm sorry-I did it, I'm guilty, and I'm pleading guilty. I'll have a long time to repent. So call the goddamned prosecutors and let's get this over with."

With one arm over the sofa back, Dixon blew smoke rings in the air.

"You are guilty of a great deal, Dixon. But, regrettably, not this crime."

Dixon sat up straight.

"Are you frigging out of your mind?"

"I believe not. You are innocent, Dixon."

"Oh, please."

"Dixon, you are telling me precisely what you believe the government thinks."

"You're right about that."

"Which you know to be a lie.."

Dixon, brought up abruptly, did not answer at first. "A lie?"

"Let us leave aside, Dixon, the question of motive. You insist that a rich man might' steal as willingly as a poor one, and that is often the case. But explain this, please.

You tell me that you inveigled John into establishing this account so that, if the day ever came, blame might fall on someone other than yourself. And yet, when the government became aware of the account, you hid the records from them."

"So? I'm not quite as big an asshole as I thought I was.

Besides, I told you: I wasn't real interested in explaining that one to you."

"I feel, Dixon, that you had other motives."

"You're smoking dope, Stern."

"Tell me, Dixon, according to your explanation, how is it that the government learned of any of this in' the first place? Who is the informant, Dixon?"

Dixon shook his head no. As if he had never even pondered the question.

"who do you think it is?" he asked.

"After a great deal of reflection, I have concluded that it is Margy, and that you have known that all along, perhaps even directed her activity."

Dixon was absolutely still. His eyes, a lighter shade tending toward gray or green, moved first.

"You've lost your fucking mind. Completely."

"I believe not."

"You really are a piece of work," Dixon said. "Do you know that? You badger me for months to tell you about this. You cross-examine me. You send me frigging mofion. You threaten my secretary. And now, when I finally suck it up and let you know what's going on, you call me a liar and make some wild-ass accusation that came to you in a hailucination.

Go fuck yourself, Stern."

"A wonderful speech." Stern raised both hands and , clapped once.

"I'm pleading guilty."

"To an offense you did not commit?"

"Look, I'm not taking any more of this crap. You're my lawyer, right?"

"At the moment."

"Well, I want to plead guilty. Make a deal. Those are your orders. InstrUctionsWhatever you call it."

"I am sorry, Dixon. I cannot do that."

"Then I'll fire you."

"Very well."

"You think I won't do this? I'll do it without you. The city is full of lawyers. They all work for pay. It's like blood on the water. I'll have six by the end of the day."

"You are not guilty, Dixon."

Dixon wrenched his face and his voice tore from him at top volume.

"Goddamn you, Stern!"

It was like a cannon blast. Somewhere in the still building Stern could hear movements. Down the hall, a door opened.

"You smug, insuffernable little son of a bitch. Has there ever been a minute in your life when you didn't think you were smarter or better than I am?" Dixon had a wild look.

He had come with'm a few feet of Stern, and Stern was afraid for an instant that Dixon might strike him. But at last Dixon turned away and bent toward the safe.

"Leave it be, Dixon. I remain under subpoena. The safe is my responsibility."

Hot rage, nuclear in its intensity, radiated from Dixon's look, but he stepped away.

"Can you fucking imagine?" he asked before he left.

"Stern here."

"It's Sonny."

He greeted her warmly, asked how she felt. With her voice there was still, if more distantly, the same storm of feeling. Far-off thunder.

He looked at the clock built into the telephone. Another of t/is gadgets. It was well past five.

"Listen," she said. "I just got the most bizarre call. Your client.

Mr. Hartnell. He told me he wants to come in to have a meeting with me."

"Ignore him," saidStern at once.

"I tried. I told him I couldn't talk to him, because he had a lawyer.

He said he fired you. Is that right?"

After a pause, he told her he was not certain precisely where they stood, that Dixon was extremely emotional at the moment, feeling the stress. "If I withdraw, however, I shall not do so before he has substitute counsel. I must insist, Sonny, that the government not deal with him directly."

"Well, Sandy, I don't know. I mean-"

"I am not criticizing you."

"I understand."

Most judges would react adversely if the 'government proceeded. With Stern professing that the client was in turmoil, the court would feel that the prosecution had taken unfair advantage. Even Sennett would not take the chance. His case was strong. Why put it in jeopardy? Sonny, no doubt, was making the same calculations.