Scott Turow - The Burden of Proof

So he was grateful for Clara's ease with him. He crossed his feet trying to race her to the car door, but she remained amused and casual.

Somehow, he made this dour young woman comfortable. As much as he aspired to her, blindly and instinctively, she perhaps thought he was all that she deserved.

"You know," she said, as soon as he was seated, "this was really my idea. I begged my father to ask you."

"This," said Stern, gesturing to the two of them, "was my idea. You, however, put it into action.".

"Oh, you are smooth." She smiled. "Daddy says that. He thinks you' re very bright."

"Does he?" Stern, unaccustomed to city driving, watched the road in desperation. If this car suffered any injury, he would have to flee the state. Murray had made that clear.

"What do you think of him?" she asked. "My father?"

Stern, in spite of himself, was too distracted to prevent himself from groaning.

Clara laughed out loud. She touched his arm as he moved the gearshift along the column.

"I am terrible, aren' t I? I'm not like this, Mr. Stern.

It's all your fault. Do you know that I am usually so quiet? People will tell you that about me."

"What else would they tell me?" Stern asked. He had fallen into a companionable mood. She smiled, but it was the wrong question.

"Tell me about Argentina," she said after a moment. The concert was Ravel. She spoke to him about the music, making offhand reference to passages that she supposed were as plain to him as if they were words written on the page. At the intermission, he bought orange juice. Only one bottle, for her. His normal penury had guided him without reflection and he saw at once that he had disconcerted her by making his lack of means so plain. But she refused to be flustered. She offered him the straw that had been punched down through the cardboard bottle cap and made him take a sip. And there something occurred. The concert hall was crowded; the grand acoustics of the building amplified the hubbub, and the lobby lights were stingingly bright after the prior hour in darkness. But the moment to Stern grew more intimate than an embrace. Somehow her character had become as clear to him as the notes which had been played: she was kind. Committedly. Unceasingly. She cared more for kindness than social grace. This vision of her overtook him, and Stern, in a kind of swoon, felt himself suddenly immersed in that warm current and his heart swimming toward her.

"That was wonderful," she told him as they moved along beneath the theater lights after the concert. She had carried her coat out the door, and they stood, buffeted by passersby, as she struggled with one sleeve. Summoning himself, Stern asked her to accompany him to Chinatown for dinner. He had contemplated this moment all week. He would have to take her somewhere. Chinatown, he eventually decided, answered the imperatives of economics and romance, and the thought of the meal-he was thin in those years and always hungrymhad tantalized him for days. She refused, however. The money, surely, was on her mind.

"I must tell you, Miss Mittler, that I intend to take a telephone next week." This was true. He had held off only because he was not certain Henry would allow him to keep his office. But the remark, spoken in jest, succeeded in amusing her. This, Stern recognized at once, was a kind of rare power with her. Under the marquee lights, Clara Mittler easily laughed. She was wearing a tiny pink hat, with a trimming of white veil, and she reached up to hold it.

"Next week," she said. "We'll make a separate outing of it. Why rush ourselves tonight?"

Agreed. He offered her his arm and she took it. They strode off together through the symphony crowd, the men in overcoats, the women in fur stoles and jewels. Stern felt a swell of pleasure. He was certain that someone there looked up and thought, What a handsome young American couple.

"This is my responsibility," said Stern. "You should have no doubt about that."

"Why would I have any doubt about it? I'm callin you, ain't I?"

Stern continued to keep his eyes closed. Never in his life had he undergone a moment like this. Never. He had always treasured his honor. One hand crept absently along the desk until he recollected that this furtive search was futile.

He was going to buy cigars today. That was a promise to himself. A sworn oath.

When he did not speak, she said, "I need you to tell me what-all I gotta do."

"Of course."

"How long is this goddamn thang gonna last, anyway?" What was it that Peter had said? Three weeks to a lifetime. He told her simply that one could never be certain. He had no wish to get into details.

"That's great. I suppose I gotta come down there?"

"Here?"

"where else?" She was apparently confused about treatment or diagnosis.

"I would think everything necessary can be done in Chicago.

' ' "Well, I'd think so, too," she said, "but it in't gonna be like that."

He had no idea what outraged impulse she was giving vent to now. when the thought of Helen came to him abruptly, he could not breathe. He sat back in the chair rigidly, dumb.

Surely, there could not be a problem there, too. Peter had virtually promised. And if he was wrong twice? Stern's eyes were now open wide.

Margy asked if he was there.

"I am sorry." He asked her for a moment and pulled himself closer to the desk, gripping the glass by its green edge.

All that control he had exerted, that excessive, ugly compulsive grasp he always had on himself and had always quietly despised-it had a purpose. He saw that.now. "You know I only got three weeks," Margy said. "Three weeks?" he asked.

"Till I'm supposed to be there. This thing says June 27th."

What thing, he almost said. But he did not. A miracle process of reconstruction was immediately at work. Oh, he was still alive. He understood now: she had been served with a grand jury subpoena. He slapped himself on the chest, where he could feel his heart pounding.

Answering his questions, she provided a short account of events the day before: The subpoena had been served by Chicago FBI agents, local functionaries uninvolved in the investigation, who merely dropped off the paper, telling her she would have to testify on the twenty-seventh about the documents called for.

"You are quite right," said Stern. "You must come here. I was thinking for a moment that they might not require a personal appearance before the grand jury, but since they told you otherwise-" He was lying fabulously now-in an instant he would have the entire conversation retooled. "So you say the.twentY-seventh." He reached for his appointment book, but Claudia had it. He did not bother to retrieve it.

"Yes, that is fine. Well, I shall see you here then."

"That's all?" she asked.

"No, no," said Stern, "of course not. I must meet with you, review the documents, determine why they have bothered you."

"But you're my lawyer. It won't be like John. Like you said-you're responsible."

"I must check with the Assistant United States Attorney to be certain.

But I must say-" Stop, he told himself. Cease.

He was blathering, still electric with reYef. "Margy, put the subpoena on the fax machine. Right now." For a moment they were on the line together, unspeaking, difficult small things gathering in the hushed whirring. Then Stern announced that Claudia was summoning him to another call, a fiction out of whole cloth, and placed Margy on hold until the subpoena copy was laid on his desk. It sought corporate records and, properly, should have been served on him as the corporation' s lawyer. He had not taken Klonsky's warning to mean they would go this far. But Chief Judge Win-cheil had let the prosecutors get away with this tactic in other cases where they had argued it was necessary to be sure that employees would be exacting in producing documents. And as usual, Stern noted, the govemment's informant had been on target in identifying who would know MD's records best.