Scott Turow - Presumed innocent

"Last night your estimate was that the state's case was good enough to go to the jury."

"Rusty, I am by nature pessimistic. Certainly you cannot take me to task for my discipline. If I had predicted victory and the result were otherwise, I could understand your concern. This I do not."

"Don't you?"

"We both know that the prosecution's case was not strong to start and that it weakened as it progressed. Some rulings were favorable. Some witnesses balked. Some cross-examinations succeeded. One piece of evidence was unaccounted for. Another was clearly mischaracterized. The state case failed. We have each seen that happen before on many occasions. And matters went from bad to worse for them today. Consider Dr. Robinson's testimony this morning. That was very telling."

"You really think so? I didn't tell him I killed Carolyn. So what? I'm a lawyer. A prosecutor. I know better than to confess to anyone."

"But to visit a psychiatrist two days after the murder, to have the advantage of this most intimate of professional relationships and to make no culpable statement of any kind-Rusty, this was significant proof, elicited by the prosecution, no less. Perhaps if I had known of it, I would have not made the prediction which I did last night." Sandy frowns somewhat; his eyes are slightly averted. "At a moment like this, Rusty, of such sudden change, I have seen persons react strangely. You should not allow your thoughts about events themselves to cloud your appraisal of matters."

Very diplomatic. Don't let the fact that you killed her influence your judgment as a lawyer. This mild betrayal of me, subtle though it is, is so much out of character that I am now certain I am right.

"I've been in these courtrooms a dozen years now, Sandy. Something is wrong."

Stern smiles. He puts down his cigar. He clasps his hands.

"There is nothing wrong here. You are acquitted. The system so operates. Go home to your wife. Is Nathaniel back yet? That should be a marvelous reunion for all, of you."

I refuse to be distracted. "Sandy, what accounts for what happened today?"

"The evidence. Your lawyer. The lawyers on the other side. Your own good character, which was well known to the judge. Rusty, what else is it that you think I can tell you?"

"I think you know what I know," I tell him.

"Which, Rusty, is what?"

"About the B file. About Larren and Carolyn. About the fact that she used to carry money to him."

Shock-acute surprise-is not in Sandy Stern's emotional range. His faith in his own worldliness is such that he would never allow anything to so affect him. But his expression now gathers intensity. His mouth draws. And he turns his cigar toward him and considers the ash before he looks back at me.

"Rusty, with all respect, you have been through a great deal. I am your friend. But I am also your lawyer. Lawyer. I keep your secrets. But I do not tell you mine."

"I can handle the facts, Sandy. I assure you I can. I've dealt with a lot the last few months. And as you told me last night, I'm very good at keeping a secret. I just have this bizarre commitment to learning the truth. I'd like my sense of irony complete."

I wait and Stern at last gets to his feet.

"I see the problem. You worry about the judge's integrity."

"With cause, wouldn't you say?"

"No, I would not agree." Stern perches on the sofa arm, a white nubby fabric. He takes a moment to loosen his tie. "Rusty, what I say to you I know. How I know is not a concern for you. I have had many clients. Persons worry. They seek a lawyer's advice at times. That is all. And we speak now tonight and these things are never spoken again by either of us. For my part, I tell you now, I have never said any of these things. Understood?"

"Very well."

"You doubt Larren's character. You must forgive me, Rusty, a moment of philosophy, but not all human misbehavior is the result of gross defects of character. Circumstances matter, too. Temptation, if you will allow an old-fashioned word. I have known Larren throughout my career and I tell you that he was not himself. His divorce left him in a state of disorder. He was drinking much too heavily. I understood he was gambling. He had fallen into this relationship with a beautiful and self-seeking woman. And his professional life was shattered. He had given up his practice when it was at its zenith, both in terms of his prominence and its financial rewards. I am sure he meant by this change to make up for the reversals in his personal life, and instead he found himself confined as an act of political vengeance in a judicial dumping zone, adjudicating matters of picayune importance which had no relation to what had attracted him to the bench at the outset. Larren is a powerful mind, able, and he heard for years about nothing but traffic tickets, tavern brawls, sexual interludes in the Forest-matters at the periphery of public justice. All of these cases end the same way, with the defendant discharged. It is only a question of labels: Case dismissed. Pre-trial supervision. Post-trial probation. The defendant in any event returns home. And Larren was in an environment whose thoroughgoing corruption was always one of this city's most distressing secrets. The bondsmen. The policemen. The probation officers. The lawyers. The North Branch was a beehive of illicit dealing. Do you think, Rusty, that Larren Lyttle was the first judge in the North Branch courthouse to fall by the wayside?"

"You can't be apologizing for him," I say, and Stern's look becomes tormented-severe.

"Not for a moment," he says strongly. "Not for a moment. I do not for a moment condone what we speak of. It is a disgrace. Our public institutions crumble from such conduct. If such matters had been the object of proper accusation and proof, and were I the judge before whom they were tried, the prison sentences would be lengthy. Probably lifelong. Whatever my affinities or affections.

"But what happened happened in the past. Long in the past. Judge Lyttle, I tell you, would rather die-I mean this sincerely-die rather than corrupt his office in the Superior Court. This judgment is heartfelt and not merely a lawyer's sanctimony about a judge."

"My experience as a prosecutor, Sandy, was that people aren't usually just a little corrupt. It's a progressive disease."

"This is an episode in the past, Rusty."

"You're confident it's over?"

"Very."

"Is that another story, too? How it ended?"

"Rusty, you must understand that I do not have a historian's knowledge. I heard personalized accounts from certain individuals."

"How did it end, Sandy?"

He looks down at me from the vantage of the sofa arm. His hands are on his knees. His face is without humor. Confidences are the core of Sandy Stern's professional life. To him these are intimate and sacred matters.

"My understanding," he says finally, "is that Raymond Horgan became knowledgeable of what was occurring and demanded that it cease. Some police in the 32nd District began to assemble evidence. Other persons with knowledge of that had deep fears that any probing of corruption in the North Branch would ultimately prove the undoing of many persons besides Judge Lyttle. It was frankly from one or two of these concerned persons that I heard this account. At any rate, they determined that the P.A. should properly be advised of an ensuing investigation." Stern looks off for a moment. "Perhaps," he says, with the most remote of smiles, "that was their lawyer's advice. Privately, I'm sure, it was calculated that Horgan would naturally inform his old friend of the perils to which he was exposed and counsel him at all costs to stop. I believe that is what occurred. I emphasize that I do not know whether or not I am correct. As you no doubt perceive, I am most uncomfortable with this kind of conversation, and I have never made any effort to confirm this information."