Scott Turow - The Burden of Proof

"Dixon, you are about to lie to me again." ' "No," he said, with his frozen innocent look. "Yes."

"Stern," he said.

"You owe me some regard, Dixon."

"I have a lot of regard for you."

"Dixon, I may be befuddled for the remainder of my lifetime about your motivations, but I have no doubts about Clara's.

I am one of those Jews who can do arithmetic. Almost $600,000 stolen by trading ahead and $250,000 plus lost in the deficit in the Wunderkind account equal somewhat more than $850,000, which is the amount of the check Clara wrote against her investment account at River National. My wife was paying the debts her son-in-law incurred in the brokerage account her daughter had opened. And I would be pleased if you would not affront me by denying what is obvious."

"All right." He nodded once and began to pace, his mind clearly racing.

"She knew John and I were both involved.

She thought maybe I'd be willing to take all the heat myself. And she offered to pay the costs."

"A lie?" Stern slammed shut his case. Long-suffering, pusilanimous, he was suddenly on the rim of a smoking volcanic rage with Dixon. "Dixon, you may have convinced Margy long ago with that folderol about how you and John were secret conspirators and that you deserved all the blame, but I am well aware that you were never involved in this "Margy?" Dixon stopped. "I thought she was high on your shit-list."

"I have reevaluated." Stern was tempted to add a further word in her defense, having spoken in error about her when he and Dixon last met, but he remained convinced that somewhere along she had agreed to follow Dixon's bidding in what she told Stern. 'Leave the kid out." He could hear Dixon saying it.,,you may as well know, Dixon, that I have heard the entire tale: how you decided to spare your business and impose punishment yourself, and how you were informed against as a result."

Dixon waited, stood still, then finally retreated to the sofa to assess this new development. He removed his sport coat and threw it down there and, after further reflection, sat down beside it himself.

"As you conceived of matters originally, Dixon, how long was John intended to remain in your purgatory?"

Dixon jiggled a hand, as if something were in it. He was still manifestly uncertain about telling the truth.

"No time limits," he said at last. "As a matter of fact, I told him straight out that two or three years from now I'd probably go to the government and burn him, anyway."

"Apparently, he believed you."

"He should have," said Dixon. He gave his brother-in-law another direct and lightless look, the smoke of the conflagration still darkening his expression until he broke it off in order to reach for a cigarette. He tamped the filter repeatedly on the glass of the desk. "Of course, the big jerk never told me his wife was pregnant."

"Would that have made a difference?"

Dixon shifted his shoulders, not certain. "Probably. I might have thought a little more about the corner I was painting him into."

"And Clara?" asked Stern. "I would like to hear about your last meeting with her. How long before she died did it occur?"

"Three days? Four?" Dixon looked at his cigarette. "There's nothing special to tell. She showed up with that check.

Like you say, she wanted to pay his debts. I told her not t'o bother. I wasn't having any. I wanted his ass, not a check. That's all. She insisted on leaving it. onvinced that somewhere along she had agreed to follow Dixon's bidding in what she told Stern. 'Leave the kid out." He could hear Dixon saying it.,,you may as well know, Dixon, that I have heard the entire tale: how you decided to spare your business and impose punishment yourself, and how you were informed against as a result."

Dixon waited, stood still, then finally retreated to the sofa to assess this new development. He removed his sport coat and threw it down there and, after further reflection, sat down beside it himself.

"As you conceived of matters originally, Dixon, how long was John intended to remain in your purgatory?"

Dixon jiggled a hand, as if something were in it. He was still manifestly uncertain about telling the truth.

"No time limits," he said at last. "As a matter of fact, I told him straight out that two or three years from now I'd probably go to the government and burn him, anyway."

"Apparently, he believed you."

"He should have," said Dixon. He gave his brother-in-law another direct and lightless look, the smoke of the conflagration still darkening his expression until he broke it off in order to reach for a cigarette. He tamped the filter repeatedly on the glass of the desk. "Of course, the big jerk never told me his wife was pregnant."

"Would that have made a difference?"

Dixon shifted his shoulders, not certain. "Probably. I might have thought a little more about the corner I was painting him into."

"And Clara?" asked Stern. "I would like to hear about your last meeting with her. How long before she died did it occur?"

"Three days? Four?" Dixon looked at his cigarette. "There's nothing special to tell. She showed up with that check.

Like you say, she wanted to pay his debts. I told her not t'o bother. I wasn't having any. I wanted his ass, not a check. That's all. She insisted on leaving it. So I threw it in thesafe. That's the whole story."

"That's hardly the whole story, Dixon."

"Yes, it is."

"No, Dixon. You were tempted to surrender John to the prosecutors. And not only lost your nerve but stood mute while his freedom was traded for yours. A remarkable transition."

Dixon Harmell had come of age in the regions where the pressure of the earth had transformed organic wastes into something black and shining and nearly hard as stone. He had taken that lesson to heart-he had his look in place now, as dark and adamantine as if he derived his power to persist from the center of the earth. Transported from the coal lands to the heart of the markets, he had learned that his will was vast, and it was all imposed now. He had no more to say.

"Tell me about your hearing this morning. You really going to the pokey for my sake?"

"ff need be. There are enough mmbers of my family beaing Witness against you." Dixon absorbed the remark with the same unyielding expression. "Do I take it correctly that Clara informed you of Peter's role in all this?" Dixon smoked his cigarette without comment. "Another lawyer, D'Lxon, might help you mount an excellent motion directed against the grand jury proceedings and the govemment's conduct sis ci sis Peter. You would not even have to comment on the veracity of the information he's given them."

A flare of some interest arose in Dixon's face. "Would I win?"

"In my judgment? No,You Would be granted a hearing to determine that there had been no infringement of your right to counsel. Certainly, you could delay Mr. Sennett's steamroller. But I doubt a court would find outrageous governmental conduct or a violation of your rights. The government is more or less constrained to take its witnesses and informants where it finds them. It simply found this one in a rather inconvenient locale."

Dixon shrugged. He was not surprised. Stern again urged him to seek another lawyer's opinion, but Dixon waved a hand.

"I'll take your word for it." He stood then and roamed to the English cabinets. On one shelf, there wer6 pictures photographs of the family.

Clara. The children. If the truth were told-and today once again the truth was required-Stern seldom examined these portraits. They were obligatory items, appropriate decoration. But Dixon paused to consider each photograph, holding them up, one by one, by their frames. Stern gave him the moment, until he was ready himself.

"And now, Dixon, if you please, I should like to know what happened when you met last with Clara. You may be brief. I shall settle for the high points. There is no need," said Stern, with sudden glottal thickness,"for you to dwell on that which you least wish to tell or which I frankly least wish to know."