Scott Turow - The Burden of Proof

By the time he got to the witness stand, he would be one more wanton soul testifying that he had merely followed orders, without a minute for reflection. With his look of childish innocence, and his relative inexperience, John would carry this act off better than most.

Thinking of all this and the way the situation was gradually spinning out of control, Stern felt queasy. For just an instant, he fell beneath a quirky vision of his entire family down at the federal courthouse, testifying, pointing fingers, hopelessly involved. In that scene, he somehow was the victim, not the man accused but the one left out in the cold. Everybody knew more than he did. He shook the notion off, but looked down to the phone, full again of that sense of coming injury which could not be prevented.

MARGY seemed to have done something with her hair. Near her shoulder it sprayed up in a froth of curls, and its blondish tint seemed brighter when she came into the light.

She looked bigger than Stern recalled-a hale, large person full of life. He refused at once to allow recollection or imagination to take him any further.

"Fine," she answered when he inquired atain furtiveness must have accompanied this scheme. Just between me and you. Don't tell. As Clara always said, John was not dumb. Sooner or later, he must have known that these trades were being handled differently from others. So they went on in the usual murky world of collaboration and deceit, each with some unspoken ground of disrespect for the other: You are weak. You are dishonest. His son-in-law was the classic stuff of the government witness, an unquestioning lower-down with the convictions of a noodle.

As soon as TooIcy explained the facts of life to him-that his commodities registration and his right to do business on the financial markets in the future hung in the balance-he would reduce his level of actual suspicions to none at all.

By the time he got to the witness stand, he would be one more wanton soul testifying that he had merely followed orders, without a minute for reflection. With his look of childish innocence, and his relative inexperience, John would carry this act off better than most.

Thinking of all this and the way the situation was gradually spinning out of control, Stern felt queasy. For just an instant, he fell beneath a quirky vision of his entire family down at the federal courthouse, testifying, pointing fingers, hopelessly involved. In that scene, he somehow was the victim, not the man accused but the one left out in the cold. Everybody knew more than he did. He shook the notion off, but looked down to the phone, full again of that sense of coming injury which could not be prevented.

MARGY seemed to have done something with her hair. Near her shoulder it sprayed up in a froth of curls, and its blondish tint seemed brighter when she came into the light.

She looked bigger than Stern recalled-a hale, large person full of life. He refused at once to allow recollection or imagination to take him any further.

"Fine," she answered when he inquired about her flight, "Nice hotel," she added. "Slept good." A simple declaration utterance ripe in implication: all was forgotten, forgiven, swept aside. Margy was good at this, pretending that nothing had ever occurred; she had done it, Stern sensed, dozens of times. Whatever the writhing inside, the internal. outcry, the reverberations would never touch the surface. She sat there all dolled up, wearing a raw-silk suit and an orange blouse with a huge bow. She had come into Stern's office carrying a large briefcase and.a garment bag slung from her Shoulder, and had been savvy enough to extend her hand, with its long red nails, while his secretary was still present so that neither of them would be discomfited: by the opportunity for some more intimate hello. The Oklahoma businesswomen, determined and composed. Hi y'all.

Behind his smoky glass desk, Stern spent a moment describing the day's agenda. He and Margy each drank coffee.

Together, they would scrutinize the documents the government had subpoenaed and attempt to anticipate Ms. Klon-sky's questions. Then they would proceed to the U.S. Attorney's Office, where Klonsky would interrogate Margy in preparation for her appearance before the grand jury, which would immediately follow.

"Do I gotta do that," Margy asked, "siddown and have this chat with her?"

"No, but it is routine. It suits both sides. I am not allowed inside the grand jury room, so by submitting to an interview, we learn in advance what the prosecutor has in mind and I will have the chance to help in any troublesome areas. Ms. Klonsky, in turn, finds which questions she would rather not ask you on the record."

"I get it." Margy was satisfied. She asked where he wanted to start, and he pointed to the briefcase.

"The hard part," said Margy with a smile. Hard port. "A problem?" asked Stern. He did not care for the sound of this. He put down the coffee cup and removed the subpoena from the file. Margy unloaded first the checks the government had demanded--,all those written in the first four months of the year for amounts exceeding $250. She had them literally tied up in string, nine stacks, each the size of a brick, with the severed perforations lending, from the side, a striated look, like certain fish.

"What-all they gonna do with these?"

"They are looking, I assume, for funds being transferred to Dixon. Is there any evidence of that?"

"Shore," she said. "Lots of it. Salary. Bonus."

"Anything else?"

" Nada."

"Did any companies or accounts you know him to control receive money?"

"Nothin," said Margy.

Good, he thought. He flipped through the stacks, more to get the feel of the checks than anything else. She had made two copies, a set for Stern and a set for herself, and had a clerk stamp an identification number on each. You did not need to teach Margy anything twice.

Stern referred again to the subpoena. Because many of the records were already here, Stern last week had taken responsibility for assembling the trading records which the prosecutors had asked for. The remaining documents had been delivered to Stern's office, and in preparation for today he had carefully gone into each pile and replaced, just where he had found them, the order tickets the government was surely seeking-the four or five dozen which John had written. The bundle of documents, copied and numbered like the checks, waited mow in a white transfer case. He showed them to Margy, then had Claudia summon one of the young men in the.office, who would deliver the records to the grand jury room prior to their arrival Stern read aloud the government's last request for records of the Wunderkind Associates account,

"The strange port." Margy had her briefcase on her lap and removed a manila folder. Maison Dixon, like many houses, used what was called a consolidated statement, in which purchases and sales, confirmations, margin requirements, and positions were all reported together. The computer spat out a single form, which was mailed to the customer any time there was account activity. The second leaf of that computer form remained at MD and was mi-crofilmed. Opening the folder, Stern was surprised to find the original statements which should have gone to Wun-derkine[ "It's strange," she said. "See the address."

The documents said "Wunderkind Associates" at the top, and "[H6LD]." He asked what the notation meant.

"Hold,." she said. "You know. Like 'Don't mail it, I'll pick it up."

"Does that occur often?"

"Sometimes. Fella's gettin a divorce and don't want his wife countin up everything he owns on her fingers or toes.

Or he thinks the IRS is openin his mail. Or he don't think much of the mailman in his neighborhood. Lotsa reasons."

Stern nodded. "And these were never picked up?"

"They were sittin right in the file;"