Scott Turow - Presumed innocent

Della Guardia ends up standing beside me. Molto is a few feet behind. As good as Nico looks, Tommy is a disheveled mess. His vest, absurd by itself in July, has ridden upon his substantial belly and his shirt-sleeves stick too far out of his jacket. His hair has not been combed. Now that I've seen Molto, the impulse to call him a twerp, which I thought I would have to stifle, has passed. Instead, I seek to look Nico in the eye. He nods.

"Rusty," he says simply.

"Delay," I answer. When I look down toward his waist, I see that he has covertly offered his hand.

I do not have a chance to test the full extent of my charity. Kemp has caught hold of my coat sleeve and jerks it violently to pull me aside. He comes to stand between Della Guardia and me. We both know that I do not have to be told not to talk to the prosecutors.

Judge Mumphrey from the walnut bench looks down and smiles at me circumspectly before he speaks. I appreciate the recognition.

"This is Criminal Case 86-1246. Let me ask counsel to identify themselves for the record."

"Your Honor, I am Nico Della Guardia, on behalf of the people of the state. With me is Chief Deputy District Attorney Thomas Molto."

Funny, the things that get you. I cannot suppress the briefest sound when I hear my title with Molto's name. Kemp jerks my sleeve again.

"Quentin Kemp, Your Honor, of Alejandro Stern, P.C., on behalf of the defendant, Rozat K. Sabich. I would request leave, Your Honor, to file our appearance."

Jamie's motion is allowed, and the court records now officially indicate that Stern and Co. are my lawyers. Jamie then moves on.

"Your Honor, the defendant is present in court. We would acknowledge receipt of Indictment 86-1246 and waive formal reading. In behalf of Mr. Sabich, Your Honor, we would ask the court to enter a plea of not guilty to the charge."

"Plea of not guilty to the indictment," repeats Judge Mumphrey, making a note on the court record. Bail is set by agreement as a $50,000 signature bond. "Is there a request from either party for pre-trial conference?" This is the plea-bargaining session, usually an automatic, since it helps both sides buy time. Delay starts to speak, but Kemp interrupts.

"Your Honor, such a meeting would be an unnecessary waste of the court's time." He looks down at his legal pad for the words that Sandy wrote. When Kemp gets outside, he will read the same speech again live for the TV Minicam teams. "The charges in this case are very grave, and they are entirely false. The reputation of one of the city's finest public servants and attorneys has been impugned and, perhaps, destroyed with no basis in fact. In the truest sense of the words, justice in this case must be swift, and we ask the court therefore to set an immediate trial date."

The rhetoric is splendid, but tactics of course govern this demand. Sandy, has emphasized to me that a quick disposition will avoid interminable strain on my shattered emotions. But disordered though I may be, I recognize the fundamental rationale. Time is with the prosecutor in this case. Delay's principal evidence will not deteriorate. My fingerprints will not lose their memory. The MUD records will not die. With time the P.A.'s case can only become stronger. A witness from the scene might appear. There may be some account of what happened to the murder weapon.

Kemp's request is a significant departure from form, since most defendants view delay as a second-best alternative to acquittal. Our demand seems to catch Nico and Molto short. Again, Della Guardia starts to speak, but Judge Mumphrey interrupts. For whatever reason, he has heard enough.

"The defendant has waived pre-trial conference. The matter will therefore be set over immediately for trial. Mr. Clerk," he says, "please draw a name." About five years ago, after a scandal in the clerk's office, the last chief judge, Foley, solicited suggestions on a method to ensure that the selection of a trial judge for a lawsuit was completely random. I came up with the idea that, the draw be made in court, in front of everybody. The proposal put forth of course in Horgan's name was immediately adopted, and I believe was the touchstone for Raymond's belief that I had executive ability. Now wooden plaques, each bearing the name of a judge, are spun inside a closed cage, borrowed from a bingo game. Alvin, the clerk, rolls the bones, as they are known. He pulls the first into the opening.

"Judge Lyttle," he says. Larren Lyttle. Raymond's old partner, the defense lawyer's dream. I am lightheaded. Kemp reaches back and with no other movement squeezes my hand. Molto actually groans. I am pleased to see that up on the bench Judge Mumphrey for an instant seems to smile.

"The case will be set down to Judge Lyttle's docket for motions and trial. Defendant's motions to be filed in fourteen days, the prosecuting attorney to respond according to Judge Lyttle's order." Judge Mumphrey picks up his gavel. He is about to move on, but looks down at Nico for a moment. "Mr. Della Guardia, I should have interrupted Mr. Kemp, but I suppose this case is likely to inspire many speeches by the time that it concludes. I do not mean to endorse what he said. But he is correct when he observes that these are very serious charges. Against a lawyer who I think we all know has served this court with distinction for many years. Let me say to you, sir, simply that I, like all other citizens of this county, hope that in this case that justice will be done-and has been done." Ed Mumphrey nods again to me, and the next case is called.

Della Guardia leaves as he came, through the cloakroom exit. Kemp is straining to maintain a straight face. Jamie puts his pad in his briefcase and watches Nico go.

"He walks pretty well, doesn't he," asks Jamie, "with all that sticking out his behind?"

"I take it," Barbara says, "that you're very pleased about Larren." We are on the highway now, finally free of the downtown traffic. Barbara is behind the wheel. We have learned in recent weeks that my distraction is such that the world is not safe when I drive. There is a primitive relief with the cameras and the clamor behind us. The press pack followed us from the courthouse, down the street, snapping pictures, the huge video cameras lurching toward us like some monster's eyes. We walked slowly. Try, Sandy urged us earlier, to look relaxed. We left Kemp at a corner two blocks on. If every day goes like this one, he said, Nico won't get past opening statement. Jamie by nature is a cheerful soul, but somehow his bonhomie conjured a shadow. Every day will not be like this one. Grimmer moments are ahead. I shook his hand and told him he was a pro. Barbara kissed him on the cheek.

"Larren is a good draw," I say, "the best probably." I hesitate only because of Raymond. Neither he nor Judge Lyttle would ever communicate outside of court about the case, but the presence of the judge's best friend as a witness is bound to have some impact, one way or the other, depending on the balance of Raymond's sympathies. I touch Barbara's hand, on the wheel. "I appreciate your being there."

"I don't mind," she says. "Really. It was very interesting," she adds, sincere as ever in her curiosity, "if you don't consider the circumstances."

Mine is what the lawyers call a 'high-profile case'-the press attention will continue to be intense. In that situation, communication with the eventual jurors begins long before they come to court for jury service. Nico has been winning the press battles so far. I have to do what I can to project a positive image. Since I am charged, in essence, with murder and adultery, it is important that the public believe that my wife has not lost faith in me. Barbara's attendance at every event the media will cover is critical. Stern insisted that she come downtown so that he could explain this to her face to face. Given her distaste for public occasions, her narrow suspicions of outsiders, I expected her to regard this as a taxing assignment. But she has not resisted. Her support in the last two months has been unfailing. While she continues to view me as the victim of my own follies-this time for having ever been enamored of public life and cutthroat politics-she recognizes that things have passed well beyond the stage where I am being served right. She regularly expresses confidence in my vindication and, without a word from me, presented me with a $50,000 cashier's check to cover Sandy's retainer and the later fees, which was drawn from a trust which her father left exclusively in her control. She has listened with fast attention to hours of table conversation in which I lambaste Nico and Molto or describe the intricacies of little strategies that Stern has devised. In the evenings, when I am apt to recede to a withdrawn vacancy, she will come to stroke my hand. She has taken on some of my suffering. Although she evinces bravery, I know that there are moments, alone, when she has cried.