Scott Turow: The Burden of Proof

"Nogalski," he said. He gripped Stern's hand tepidly and did not bother to look at him. He was a thick man, wearing a tweed sport coat. A hard type. They all were. The detective motioned to a facing easy chair.

Behind Stern, the female officer mumbled something into her radio: We're talkin' to him now.

"You up to a few questions, Sandy?"

"Of what nature?"

"The usual. You know. We got a report to make. Lieutenant's on the way. Gotta fill him in. This come as a big surprise to you?" the cop asked.

.Stern waited.

"Very much," he said.

"She the type to get all depressed and unhappy, the missus?"

This survey of Clara's character, to be attempted in a few sentences, was for the moment well beyond him.

"She was a serious person, Detective. You would not describe her as a blithe personality."

"But was she seeing shrinks, you know, anything like that?"

"Not to my knowledge. My wife was not of a complaining nature, Detective. She was very private. '' "She wasn't threatening to do this?"

"No."

The detective; mostly bald, looked directly at Stern for the first time. It was evident he did not believe him. "We haven't found a note yet, you know."

Stern stirred a hand weakly. He could not explain.

"And where have you been?" one of the Cops behind Stern asked.

"Chicago."

"For?"

"Legal business. I met with a number of lawyers." The fact that Dixon might be in very serious difficulties, so sorely troubling only an hour ago, recurred to Stern now with a disconcerting novelty. The urgency of that situation waved to him like a hand disappearing in the deep, out of reach for the time being.

"How long you gone?" Nogalski asked. "I left very early yesterday."

"You talk to her?"

"I tried last night, but there was no answer. We have a symphony series. I assumed she had gone for coffee afterwards with friends."

"Who spoke to her last, so far as you know?"

Stern deliberated. Peter's shrill manner would quickly antagonize the police.

"My son might have."

"He out there?"

"He is quite emotional at the moment."

Nogalski, for whatever reason, allowed himself a brief, disparaging smile.

"You do that often?" one of the cops behind him asked.

"What is that, Officer?"

"Travel. Out of town?"

"Occasionally it is necessary."

"where'd you stay?" the woman asked. Stern tried not to react to the drift of the questions. The officers, of course, knew by now who he was and reacted accordingly-they despised most criminal defense lawyers, who hindered the police at every turn and were often richly rewarded for their efforts. To the police, this was a natural opportunity chance to pester an adversary and to indulge their customary nasty fancies about foul play and motives.

Maybe the spick was humping his girlfriend in Chi while somebody for hire set this up. You never know unless you ask.

"On this occasion, I was at the Ritz." Stern stood.

"May I go? My son and I have yet to speak with his sisters."

Nogalski was watching him.

"This doesn't make much sense,It was evident he did not believe him. "We haven't found a note yet, you know."

Stern stirred a hand weakly. He could not explain.

"And where have you been?" one of the Cops behind Stern asked.

"Chicago."

"For?"

"Legal business. I met with a number of lawyers." The fact that Dixon might be in very serious difficulties, so sorely troubling only an hour ago, recurred to Stern now with a disconcerting novelty. The urgency of that situation waved to him like a hand disappearing in the deep, out of reach for the time being.

"How long you gone?" Nogalski asked. "I left very early yesterday."

"You talk to her?"

"I tried last night, but there was no answer. We have a symphony series. I assumed she had gone for coffee afterwards with friends."

"Who spoke to her last, so far as you know?"

Stern deliberated. Peter's shrill manner would quickly antagonize the police.

"My son might have."

"He out there?"

"He is quite emotional at the moment."

Nogalski, for whatever reason, allowed himself a brief, disparaging smile.

"You do that often?" one of the cops behind him asked.

"What is that, Officer?"

"Travel. Out of town?"

"Occasionally it is necessary."

"where'd you stay?" the woman asked. Stern tried not to react to the drift of the questions. The officers, of course, knew by now who he was and reacted accordingly-they despised most criminal defense lawyers, who hindered the police at every turn and were often richly rewarded for their efforts. To the police, this was a natural opportunity chance to pester an adversary and to indulge their customary nasty fancies about foul play and motives.

Maybe the spick was humping his girlfriend in Chi while somebody for hire set this up. You never know unless you ask.

"On this occasion, I was at the Ritz." Stern stood.

"May I go? My son and I have yet to speak with his sisters."

Nogalski was watching him.

"This doesn't make much sense," said the detective. It made no sense, the man said. This was his professional opinion.

Stern looked intently at Nogalski. It was one of the hazards of Stern's calling that he seldom felt grateful to the police.

Coming back down the hall, Stern could hear Peter's voice.

He was carrying on about something. The same ruddy-faced cop who had shown Stern into the garage was listening impassively. Stern took his son by the elbow to draw him away. This was intolerable. Intolerable!

Some tough element of resistance within him was wearing away.

"My God, they're going to do an autopsy-did you know that?" asked Peter as soon as they were alone in the corridor. Peter was an M.D. and today apparently he was haunted by his past, the pathological exams he had practiced on the bums turned up in gutters, the gruesome med school humor as six or seven students studied the innards of the deceased.

Peter suffered with the thought of his mother as another mound of lifeless anatomy awaiting the coroner's saw. "You're not going to allow that, are you?"

A good deal shorter than his son, Stern observed Peter. Was it only with his father that this craven hysteria occurred?

Stern wondered. The climate of their relations did not seem to have changed for years. Always there was this lamenting hortatory quality, too insistent to be passed off as mere whining. Stern had wondered for so long what it was his son expected him to do.

"It is routine, Peter. The coroner must determine the cause of death."

"'The cause of death'? Do they think it was an accident?

Are they going to do a brain scan and figure out what she was thinking?

For God sake, we won't have a body left to bury. It's obvious. She killed herself." No one yet had said that aloud. Stern registered Peter's directness as a kind of discourtesy-too coarse, too blunt. But no part of him riled up in shock.

This was not, he said, the moment to cross swords with the police. They were, as usual, being idiotic, conducting some kind of homicide investigation. They might wish to speak next to him.

"Me? About what?"

"Your last conversations with your mother, I assume. I told them you were too distressed at the moment."

In his great misery, Peter broke forth with a brief, childish smile.

"Good," he said. Such a remarkably strange man. A peculiar moment passed between Stern and his son, a legion of things not understood.

Then he reminded Peter that they needed to call his sisters.

"Right," said Peter. A more sober cast came into his eye.

Whatever his differences with his father, he was.a faithful older brother.

Down the hall, Stern heard someone say, "The lieutenant's here." A large man ducked into the corridor, peering toward them. He was somewhere near Stern's age, but time seemed to have had a different effect on him.