Scott Turow - The Burden of Proof

"I'll talk to Stan," she said at last. The usual exit from a difficult pass. "Do I take it Mr. Hartnell might be interested in a plea?"

"I would advise him against that," said Stern. "Most emphatically."

"You're bluffing," she said. He could hear the tricks in her voice, the humor. She could not keep herself from a certain bonhomie. She relished being on the same footing with him, proving herself. She was kind enough, however, not to press further. "What about the safe?" she asked.

"Have you and Marta talked about our proposal?"

"What is it you want?" Stern asked. He remembered, of course. It was merely a lawyer's device, one of a thousand, hoping the terms might somehow improve when they were repeated. They did not. She offered the same deal: produce the safe and an affidavit that its contents were undisturbed. So here was that moment again, the everyday of the lawyer's life. It was, after all, only a signature. Who besides Stern would know?

"I believe, Sonny, that I shall not be able to comply."

"Look," she said. "I understand."

"I don't think you do. Stan has very strong feelings."

"Of course."

"Oh, man," she said. She pondered. "I don't Yke where this is going, Sandy. I really don't. Is your client aware that we can prove he controlled that account? You know, Wunderkind?"

"I cannot tell you what I discussed with my client, Sonny, but I have not breached your trust. I hope you would not assume otherwise."

"I know that. I meant-" she said. "Listen, I have to think this through- If I can see my way clear to let you tell him, do you think that would make a difference?"

"You are very kind, Sonny. But it would make no dif ference at all."

She hesitated, deliberating. From her silence, he was sure she was lost.

"Sandy, this is nuts. If you think that someone in this building is going to be afraid to put Sandy Stern in jail."

"I harbor no such illusions. I assure you."

"And there's nothing else anybody can do?"

He waited with the thought, unwilling to prevail upon her again. He had done that in Dulin, and in the end there had been considerable emotional cost to them both.. "What?" she asked. "No matter."

"What?"

He sighed. "The informant."…

She made so'me sound with her tongue. "What about it?"

"I take it you still do not know the identity."

"I couldn't tell you if I did."

"Of course not."

"So?"

"I believe the United States Attorney has taken particular delight in duping me. I su'pect you will find that your source is someone with whom the government knows I have a relationship, one that naturally tends to place that person above my suspicion." He weighed saying "a client," or even giving her Margy's name, but the more specific he was, the more difficult this would become. As she said, she could never confirm an identity. "If my suspicions are misplaced, I would very much like to know that."

"And that's important to you? In connection with this? The subpoena?"

"Critical," he said.

"I'm not making any promises," she said. "If I' find out, I find out. I don't know what I'd do."

They waited on the line. It amazed him again-she was such a strong, fine person.

"How is your life?" he asked. He dared not be more precise. Your marriage. your husband. "Better," she said.

"Good," he told her.

"Yeah," said Sonny, and waited. "But the law sucks," she told him before she put down the phone.

"S TATE your name, please, and spell your last name for the record,"

"My name is Alejandro M. Stern. The first name is A, 1, e, j, a, n, d, r, o. The last name is S, t, e, r, n."

"M?" asked Klonsky. She would perhaps never wholly resolve her curiosity about him.

"Mordecai."

"Ah." She absorbed that stoically and'went back to her notes.

Sonny ran through the usual preamble, one Stern had read in dozens of transcripts. She told him that he was before the Special March 1989 Grand Jury-March being-when they had been impaneled-and provided a one-line description of investigation 89-86, which, she said? concerned "alleged violations of Title 18, United States Code, Section, 1962." She also mentioned that Stern was not a target and that his lawyer was outside, available to consult with him.

"And her name is Marta Stern, same spelling2' "Yes," said Stern. He spoke to the court reporter seated before him, Shirley Floss, who formerly had worked in Judge Horka's courtroom: "M, a, r, t, a." Shirley smiled as she typed.

Proper spellings were the moon and stars of a court reporter's life.

Stern sat in the witness chair, inside the grand jury at last-thirty years of curiosity finally satisfied. Beside him, behind the facade of the raised walnut bench, were the grand jury foreperson and the secretary, two middle-aged.women selected from among the grand jurors f6r this largely ministerial function. A small desk, shared by the court reporter and Klonsky, was immediately before him, and arrayed beyond in the small, tiered room sat the remaining grand jurors: the Leagu him again-she was such a strong, fine person.

"How is your life?" he asked. He dared not be more precise. Your marriage. your husband. "Better," she said.

"Good," he told her.

"Yeah," said Sonny, and waited. "But the law sucks," she told him before she put down the phone.

"S TATE your name, please, and spell your last name for the record,"

"My name is Alejandro M. Stern. The first name is A, 1, e, j, a, n, d, r, o. The last name is S, t, e, r, n."

"M?" asked Klonsky. She would perhaps never wholly resolve her curiosity about him.

"Mordecai."

"Ah." She absorbed that stoically and'went back to her notes.

Sonny ran through the usual preamble, one Stern had read in dozens of transcripts. She told him that he was before the Special March 1989 Grand Jury-March being-when they had been impaneled-and provided a one-line description of investigation 89-86, which, she said? concerned "alleged violations of Title 18, United States Code, Section, 1962." She also mentioned that Stern was not a target and that his lawyer was outside, available to consult with him.

"And her name is Marta Stern, same spelling2' "Yes," said Stern. He spoke to the court reporter seated before him, Shirley Floss, who formerly had worked in Judge Horka's courtroom: "M, a, r, t, a." Shirley smiled as she typed.

Proper spellings were the moon and stars of a court reporter's life.

Stern sat in the witness chair, inside the grand jury at last-thirty years of curiosity finally satisfied. Beside him, behind the facade of the raised walnut bench, were the grand jury foreperson and the secretary, two middle-aged.women selected from among the grand jurors f6r this largely ministerial function. A small desk, shared by the court reporter and Klonsky, was immediately before him, and arrayed beyond in the small, tiered room sat the remaining grand jurors: the League of Nations, all races, all ages.

Two older men slept; a young thuggish man, with heavy sideburns and long, greasy hair, read the. paper. Some listened abjectly. A slender, attractive, middle-aged woman sat with a pad, taking notes for her own benefit. There was no window, no natural light.

"Where do you reside, Mr. Stern?"

He gave his home address, and in response to the next question answered that he was an attorney. Sonny moved to the table.

"Mr. Stern, I show you what the court reporter has marked as G.J. 89-86 Exhibit 192. Do you recognize it?"

It was the subpoena she'd served on him. One hundred ninety-two exhibits, Stern thought. John had been a busy fellow. No question, the investigation was nearly complete, indictment was near. Klonsky established Stern's receipt of the subpoena and had him read the text aloud.

"Now, Mr. Stern, do you have in your possession, custody, or control the safe referred to?"