Phillip Margolin: The Last Innocent Man

“I’m sorry.”

Conklin was going to say something else, but one look at David stopped him. He had not seen the lawyer since Stafford’s trial, and the change in his friend’s appearance was startling. David’s face was puffy, his eyes were bloodshot, and his suit was creased and stained.

A waitress appeared and Conklin ordered coffee. As soon as she walked off, David said,

“I want to hire you.”

“I’m pretty busy, Dave.”

“I know, but I’m desperate. I’m willing to pay twice your regular rate and cover the cost of anyone you hire to take up the slack on your cases.”

“This is that important?”

David nodded.

“Who’s the client?”

“Me.”

“What’s this about?” Conklin asked cautiously. If David was in some kind of trouble, it would explain his appearance, but Conklin could not imagine David’s doing anything illegal or unethical.

“A client of mine told me some information in confidence. I have to know if he was telling me the truth or if he’s lying to me.”

“Who’s the client?”

“Thomas Gault.”

“I thought that case was over.”

“It is.”

“So this is something new.”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?”

“I can’t disclose that. I’m afraid anything you find may be tainted if I break the confidence.”

“Tainted? How?”

“If a lawyer reveals an attorney confidence and the police use the information to solve a crime, I believe the courts would prevent the district attorney from using the evidence at trial.”

“So you can’t tell me what Gault said?” Conklin asked incredulously.

“That’s right.”

“How am I supposed to conduct an investigation if I don’t know what I’m investigating?”

“I can tell you information that doesn’t violate the confidence, and I’ll answer any questions I can.”

Conklin started to make a sarcastic remark, but he saw the pain on David’s face.

“Okay. I’ll play it your way. What can you tell me?”

“I’m upset because Larry Stafford was convicted.”

Conklin’s brow furrowed. “This is about the Stafford case?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“So Gault told you something about the Stafford case and you think he might be lying.”

David did not respond.

“I feel like I’m playing twenty questions.”

“Don’t stop. I feel as ridiculous as you do, but this is too important to screw up. I want you to be able to pass a polygraph test if a defense lawyer asks if I broke Gault’s confidence with you. Now, think about what you know.”

“You told me that you’re upset because Stafford was convicted, you want to know if Gault lied to you about something that probably concerns the Stafford case. I don’t get…”

Conklin paused. He studied David. In all the time he’d known Nash, he had never seen him looking like this. It would take something monumental to destroy his friend’s self-confidence. Conklin leaned forward and stared directly into David’s eyes.

“Gault told you he killed Darlene Hersch, and you want me to find out if he lied,” Conklin said. David did not move. Conklin slumped against the back of the booth.

“Have your secretary send me a retainer agreement setting out the terms of your employment,” David said.

Terry Conklin’s investigation started in the public library. There were numerous articles about Thomas Gault, because he was a famous writer. After Gault won the Pulitzer, The New York Times Magazine featured a cover story that gave a detailed account of his service as a mercenary in South Africa, Liberia, and several other African nations and included interviews with soldiers of fortune who had served with him. If Gault killed his wife, it would not have been the first time he had done in someone with his bare hands.

After the library Terry went to police headquarters, where he obtained copies of police reports of incidents involving Gault. Conklin expected the domestic-violence complaints filed by Julie Webster Gault, but he was surprised by several reports of assaults committed by Gault in bars, including a recent account of a fight at a dockside bar called The Dutchman. Terry noted with interest that the incident had occurred only days before his meeting with David. He also noted that the person who posted bail for Gault was none other than his new client, David Nash.

Conklin interviewed the bartender and another witness, who recounted Gault’s fighting skills and the impersonal way he had provoked the fight. Conklin ran down an ex-girl friend who was still afraid of Gault, even though she had not seen him in over two years. Two other women refused to talk to Terry.

Conklin was initially troubled by Detective Ortiz’s description of Hersch’s killer as having curly blond hair, but he remembered that Merton Grimes’s description of the killer’s hair would fit the way Gault had worn his hair when he was tried for Julie Gault’s murder. If Gault used a wig to disguise himself because of all the publicity his trial engendered, it would explain the differences in the descriptions of Hersch’s killer. Conklin also learned that Gault owned a beige Mercedes.

At the end of a week Terry Conklin was convinced that Thomas Gault could easily have killed Darlene Hersch, but he had absolutely no proof Gault even knew who the dead policewoman was. Conklin was reduced to following Gault in the hopes that his quarry would lead him to a witness or evidence that would help him solve David’s dilemma.

Each morning Conklin parked his car on a side road near Gault’s property and climbed a small hill, where he watched the house from a copse of trees. Conklin rarely observed any activity before ten, when Gault would leave the house for an hour-long run. Gault always looked as if he had broken a sweat before the run, and Conklin guessed the writer performed some kind of physical exercise before leaving the house.

Three times a week Gault worked out at a local dojo, where he received private lessons from the owner, a former instructor of unarmed combat for the South Korean Army. On the days he did not go to the dojo, Gault did not leave his house before midafternoon.

If Gault’s activities during the daytime were dull, his nights were anything but. Gault spent almost every evening in a bar or nightclub. On one occasion Gault returned home with a woman, who left by cab shortly before Gault’s run. Toward the beginning of the second week, Gault’s evening routine changed. Instead of going directly home from the bar or nightclub, Gault drove to Portland’s industrial area. He always parked near a deserted warehouse that backed on the Columbia River. The warehouse had “Wexler Electronics” written on the side in peeling red paint. Conklin checked the corporate records. The company had gone under a year ago, and the property was tied up in litigation.

The first time Gault drove to the warehouse, Conklin waited in his car. A high chain-link fence separated the warehouse from a strip of sandy land that sloped down to the river. Conklin watched Gault take a large rug and a flashlight from the trunk of his car and disappear around the side of the warehouse that abutted the fence. Half an hour later Gault reappeared. He seemed winded. Conklin saw him wipe his forehead with his shirtsleeve, then drop the flashlight into his trunk and drive off.

The second night Gault took the flashlight and a large toolbox from the car, returning an hour later with both items.

On the third night Conklin did not follow Gault when he left the warehouse. As soon as Gault’s car was out of sight, Conklin took a flashlight out of his glove compartment and walked to the fence. The wind from the river chilled him. He hunched against it and played the light beam over the ground, then along the warehouse wall. Nothing.