Scott Turow - Presumed innocent

"Caution here," he says. "These are productive thoughts, but we do not want to lead Della Guardia to evidence he has not thought to obtain. Our requests, whatever they are, must be unobtrusive. Remember that everything that the prosecution discovers which favors the defense must be turned over to us. Anything we discuss which might be useful to them will be better left forgotten." Sandy gives me a sidewise look, quite amused. He enjoys being so candid with a former opponent. Perhaps he is thinking of some specific piece of evidence he kept from me in the past. "Best we conduct this search ourselves without disclosing our intentions." He points at Kemp; it is his turn. "Another motion, then: for an inventory of all items seized from the apartment of the decedent and for an opportunity to conduct a view and inspection of our own.

"The apartment remains under seal?" he asks me.

"I presume."

"Also," says Stern, "your mention of Carolyn's personal habits leads to this thought. We should subpoena her doctors. No privileges survive her death. Who knows what we might discover? Drugs?"

"Rope burns in the past," says Kemp.

We all laugh, a grisly moment.

Sandy, decorous as ever, asks if the name of one of Carolyn's doctors is "known to me." It is not, but all county employees are covered by Blue Cross. A subpoena to them, I suggest, is bound to uncover a good deal of information, including doctors' names. Stern is pleased by my contribution. The next group of documents we look at are the phone records from Carolyn's home number and my own, an inch-thick bundle of xeroxed pages with an endless train of 14-digit numbers. I hand the sheets one by one to Stern. From my phone, there are one-minute calls to Carolyn's recorded on March 5, 10, and 20. When I get to April 1, I spend a long time looking. I just lay my finger on the number that is recorded there at 7:32 p.m. A two-minute call.

"Carolyn's," I tell him.

"Ah, " says Stern. "There must be a commonsense explanation for all of this." Observing Stern work is like tracking smoke, watching a shadow lengthen. Is it the accent that allows him to lay that perfect subtle stress on the word "must"? I know my assignment.

He smokes.

"You do what at home, when you babysit?" he asks.

"Work. Read memos, indictments, prosecution packages, briefs."

"Must you confer with other deputy prosecuting attorneys?"

"Occasionally."

"Of course," says Stern. "Now and then, there is the need to ask a brief question, schedule an appointment. No doubt in all these months of records,"-Stern taps them-"there are a number of such calls to deputy prosecuting attorneys other than Carolyn."

I nod with each suggestion.

"There are a lot of possibilities," I say. "I think Carolyn was working on a big indictment that month. I'll look over some things."

"Good," says Stern. He looks back to my MUD sheets for the murder night. His lips are rumpled, his look disturbed.

"No further calls after 7:32," he says finally, and points.

In other words, no proof that I was home, where I say I was.

"Bad," I say.

"Bad," Stern finally says aloud. "Perhaps someone called you that evening?"

I shake my head. None that I remember. But I know my lines now.

"I'll think about it," I say. I take back the MUD sheet for April 1, studying it a moment.

"Can those things be dummied up?" asks Kemp. "The MUDs?"

I nod.

"I was thinking about that," I say. "The P.A. gets a bunch of xeroxes of the phone company's printouts. If a deputy, or somebody else, wanted to do a job on a defendant, he could make a great cut-and-paste and nobody would know the difference." I nod again and look at Kemp. "These things could be faked."

"And should we pursue that possibility?" asks Stern. Is there some hint of rebuke in his voice? He is studying a thread pulled on his shirt-sleeve, but when his eyes light on mine for the briefest instant, they are penetrating as lasers.

"We might think about that," I say at last.

"Mmmm hmmm," says Stern to himself. He is quite solemn. He points at Kemp to make a note. "I do not believe we should explore this before the conclusion of the state's evidence. I would not want to see them introduce the fact that we made efforts to challenge the accuracy of these records and failed." He directs this remark to Kemp, but it is clear to me who is meant to catch its import.

Stern reaches resolutely for another file. He checks his watch, a slim golden Swiss piece. The arraignment is in forty-five minutes. Sandy himself is due back in court sooner. He suggests we talk about the witnesses. I summarize what I have read thus far. I mention that Molto and Della Guardia provided no statements from two of the listed witnesses: my secretary, Eugenia, and Raymond. Sandy absently tells Kemp to list another motion for production. He has put his glasses back on, tortoiseshell half-frames, and continues studying the witness list.

"The secretary," he says, "does not trouble me, for reasons I will explain. Horgan, candidly, does."

I start when Sandy says this.

"Certain witnesses," Sandy explains, "Della Guardia must bring to the stand, whatever their disadvantages to him. You know this, of course, Rusty, far better than I. Detective Lipranzer is an example. He was quite candid in his interview with Molto the day after the election and acknowledged that you asked him not to order your home telephone records. That is sufficiently helpful to the prosecution that Lipranzer will be called, notwithstanding the many fine things he will say about you personally. Horgan, on the other hand, is not a witness whom I would think a good prosecutor would ordinarily be eager to see. He will be known to all the jurors, and his credibility is such that it would seem quite risky to call him unless-" Sandy waits. He picks up his cigar again.

"Unless what?" I ask. "Unless he is going to be hostile to the defense? I don't believe Raymond Horgan will put the bricks to me. Not after twelve years. Besides, what can he say?"

"It is a matter of tone, not so much as content. I take it that he is going to testify to your statement in his office on the day after the election. One would think that Nico would be better off putting on Ms. MacDougall, if he had to accept an unfriendly witness. She at least has not been a local personality for more than a decade. On the other hand, if it appears that Horgan, Della Guardia's political opponent, and your friend and employer for a dozen years, is sympathetic to the prosecution-that could be extremely damaging. That is the kind of courtroom nuance on which you and I both know close cases often turn."

I look at him squarely. "I don't believe that."

"I understand," he says. "And you are probably correct. Probably there is something we have missed that will seem obvious when we know Horgan's prospective testimony. Nonetheless-" Sandy thinks. "Raymond would meet with you?"

"I can't imagine why not."

"I will call him and see. Where is he now?" Kemp remembers the law firm. About six names. The League of Nations. Every ethnic group is mentioned. O'Grady, Steinberg, Marconi, Slibovich, Jackson, and Jones. Something like that. "We should plan a meeting for Horgan, you, and me as soon as possible."

Strangely, this is the first thing Sandy has said that is both entirely unexpected, and whose effect I cannot seem to shake. It is true that I have not heard from Raymond since that day in April that I walked out of his office, but he has had his own concerns: new job, new office. More particularly, he is an experienced criminal defense lawyer and knows how circumscribed our talks would necessarily have to be. His silence I had taken as a professional accommodation. Until now. I wonder if this is not simply some malicious effort by the prosecutors to unsettle me. That would be like Molto.