Scott Turow - The Burden of Proof

She flipped her white hand, her bracelets and long nails.

"I don't know. She asked if I had any idea where the records went."

Realizing that he was somehow the target of all. this, he tried to avoid showing his relief. Barring further stupidity -an outright confession-the government would never make a case for perjury based on the fact that Margy had kept her opinions to herself.

"She asked if I knew anything about this Wunderkind account from any other source."

"You told her no?"

"Right."

"That was untrue?"

"Yep."

Stern had not been bright enough to ask that question in his office.

Perhaps Margy might have responded fully then.

Certainly she was not likely to expand now.

"Anything further?"

"She asked if I talked to Dixon about the,documents.

told her no to that, too."

"But you had?"

"Shore."

What made him think he was wily when he had neglected the obvious?

Naturally, she talked to Dixon about this. Who else would know where the records had gone? In all probability he had ventured a few suggestions concerning what she ought to say to the government-and to Stern. In truth, he had no desire to learn exactly what Dixon had told her.

It was sure to enrage him-and at any rate, the conflict of interests which the U.S. Attorney had so gratuitously predicted had now come to pass. Margy's lying, from a coarse perspective, almost certainly advanced Dixon's cause; Stern could no longer counsel both clients. He knew he had himself to blame for the predicament. In thirty years, his personal relationships had never interfered with his professional obligations, but one way or another, his widower's priapism had brought him here-if nowhere else, to the point that Margy was furious enough with him to admit what she had done. For the present, however, his humiliation was subordinate to his duties, which were clear.

"Margy, I would like to introduce you to another lawyer, who, I believe, will counsel you to return to the grand jury at once and recant."

"'Recant'?"

"Correct the record. If it is done immediately, no harm will come to you."

"I've been there and I'm gone." She had a terrible sour expression and got to her feet. Anger increased her substance-her hair, her frills, her bright nails, high heels, her smoothly glinting hosiery. Margy was a person of many pieces carefully assembled, but right now every layer was galvanized by her temper. "You don't have any goddamn idea what's goin on here, do you?" The way her eyes fixed on him, as she looked down, was frightening-not just the harshness, but the disrespect. She had made, apparently, certain assumptions that to her chagrin she now recognized were incorrect.

"I should like to know," he said hollowly. At the moment, he found himself gripped strongly by fear-for MargY'S predicament, and more, by the way she took him to task for his ignorance. So much was swimming beyond his knowledge' or control. John. Dixon. Margy herself. They were like bits of matter drifting off into space.

"Nab," she said. She shook her head, its many curls. "Not from here, Jackson. You know who you gotta talk to. I got a plane to catch." She hitched her bag to her shoulder and picked up her purse and her briefcase. "This here thing is a fool contest: who's the biggest fool.

You remember you got told that by Margaret Jane Allison of Polk's Cowl, Oklahoma." With bags in both hands, she. used a foot to prop open the door, and without a backward glance went through it.

SOME defense lawyers said the worst moments came after indictment, when you saw the evidence assembled by the state-the mountain you could never climb. But Stern always welcomed that challenge; once you knew the prosecutors' direction, every other angle became a line of escape.

It was the times in the midst of an investigation that could be the most unbearable for him. Usually, there were people to interview, records to look at, motions to make. But, on occasion, he was frozen by realization: the government knew something and he knew nothing at all.

Lawyer's terror, he called itand at the moment it was as bad as it had ever been. Blind and ignorant, you fear that any move will be wrong, the one to send you tumbling from the cliff. And so woeful, beleaguered-the right word, in all respects, was defenseless-you hang there, immobile, in darkness, awaiting the storm, hearing the winds build, feeling the air growing chill. He sat in the witness room, slumped, weary, aware of his weight, his age. He was'terrified for Dixon.

When he looked up, Klonsky was posed in the doorframe, leaning upon it and taking him im "Sonia."

"Sonny to my friends." She smiled; he must have looked pitiable to have softened her so quickly. But he welcomed her kindness. Sonny, then.

She sat down in the card chair where Margy had been. "Start wanted me to see if I could find you?"

"And you succeeded." He smiled cordially. "We may speak lawyer to lawyer, Sonny?"

"Of course."

"I was as dismayed as you to learn that those documents were not where they were expected to be."

"I assumed as much, Sandy. But it's a very serious situation for your client."

He smiled gently, in order to indicate that he did not need the pointer.

"That's what I was talking to Stan about," she said. "Ah, yes," said Stern. "The mighty United States Attorney." Just now, in his present mood, he found his feelings much harder to suppress: the thought of Sennett, tight-fisted, rancorous, was the flint against his stone. He cantioned himself to assume a more amiable tone in speaking of her boss.."What does he tell us?"

"He tells us," said Sonny, "that he believes you can find the documents."

"Does he?" said Stern. "Imagine having fifty-four Assistants to supervise and still taking the time to do my job as well."

She smiled in spite of herself. "He says he has a message."

"Very well."

"Find the safe."

Nothing moved; not a twitch was allowed; perhaps, for some infinitesimal time, the blood did not flow. This was the training of the courtroom:

Betray nothing.

"Do you understand this remark?" he asked her finally.

"Do I?" asked Sonny. "Do you think I should answer that?"

She did not have to; it was clear. Sennett was using her as no more than the messenger. Stern knew what that spelled. iAy, carajo! old words, a curse from childhood. Mr. Sennett and his informant. They seemed to know everything. Perhaps it was not an informant at all? Rather a wiretap. A mike in the wall. A hidden camera. Stern drew a breath. If anything, his fears for Dixon were greater. In company he smiled, a primitive reflex.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"Oh," he said, "I do not believe that I have handled a matter for some time that has frightened me more."

"Frightened?"

"The correct word." He nodded. "I have never been in an investigation where I have received less information."

"From the government?"

"Certainly from the government. You have never even formally confirmed who is being investigated or for what crime."

"Sandy, there's no "Rules are not the point. I speak of fairness. Of what is commonplace." Having given himself berth to speak, he could not contain his indignation. "Do you not believe that some basic accounting of the govemment's suspicions is.appropriate by now? Rather than engnging in these highly selective and minimal disclosures in the hope I can be sent scurrying in one direction, then another? Do you think I cannot recognize that these subpoenas are composed with the obvious intention of hiding any scrap of information about the prosecution's knowledge and interests?"

"Sandy-look, you know Fm not in charge."

"You sit here now. You have been an Assistant long enough to know what is customary-and what is not. Give me just a word or two."