Parnell Hall: The Underground Man

“And it’s a hell of a rotten defense. ‘I didn’t do it, Your Honor, I was stoned out of my head on crack.’ If we try that, half the jury’s gonna believe you smoked crack, got stoned out of your head and went out and killed your uncle.”

“I see that.”

“You do? Good. So you understand we’re up shit creek as far as an alibi goes.”

“I see that. So what am I gonna say?”

Steve took a breath. “Well, that’s the problem. You already told the cops you were at the movies. They can prove that’s a lie. You stick with the story, you look bad because the jury knows you’re lying. You change the story, you’re admitting you lied on the one hand, and on the other hand, what you gonna change it to? You wanna tell ‘em you were out smoking crack?”

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we ain’t got a snowball’s chance in hell if I put you on the stand.”

Jeremy stared at him. “You’re not gonna put me on the stand?”

“What good would it do?”

“I don’t know. But, Jesus Christ, we gotta do something.”

“That’s for sure,” Steve said. “There are a lot of other ways to go, Jeremy. But they’re tough on the one hand, and risky on the other. And if we try ‘em, a lot of it’s gonna depend on you.”

“On me? What would I have to do?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Just that. Absolutely nothing. And believe me, it’s gonna be hard. What you have to do is absolutely nothing. Just sit in your chair. And don’t grab my arm. And don’t roll your eyes. And don’t look at me as if I’ve just taken leave of my senses. No matter how you feel about what I’m doing, or no matter what I do.”

Jeremy stared at him incredulously.

“Yeah,” Steve said, pointing. “Like that. That’s exactly what you cannot do in court.”

Jeremy shook his head. “You’re crazy, man. You’re out of your fuckin’ mind.”

“Maybe,” Steve said. “And that’s a judgment call you’re gonna have to make. You’re the boss, Jeremy. You know that? If you want, you can always fire me and hire a conventional lawyer. But frankly, I don’t think it would do you any good.”

“Why not?”

“Because the prosecution has too good a case. There’s no way to beat it any conventional way.”

“So?”

“So, we gotta try something else. Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t. The way I see it, it’s our best shot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. If I’m your lawyer, that’s how I’m gonna play it. But you’re the boss. It’s your call. If we lose, you’re the one goin’ up the river. So that’s why I’m telling you what I’m gonna do, and giving you a chance to fire me if you want.”

Steve shrugged. “So that’s why I’m asking.” He smiled, and looked him right in the eye. “You like to gamble, Jeremy?”

Mark Taylor looked apologetic. “They subpoenaed my photographer.”

“Oh?”

Steve Winslow was slumped back in his desk chair, utterly exhausted from the day in court. Mark Taylor had stopped by to give him the bad news.

“Yes,” Taylor said. “They’ll put him on the stand and he’ll have to testify that defendant’s Exhibit A-2 is a picture he duped from the photos of Jeremy Dawson sent out to the wire services.”

“It’s all right, Mark. We knew that was coming.”

Taylor flopped into the clients’ chair. “They subpoenaed him this afternoon while court was still in session. That’s why I didn’t have a chance to warn him. As soon as Dirkson found out, he moved fast.”

Steve waved it away. “It doesn’t matter, Mark. I don’t want your men duckin’ service. If Dirkson hadn’t served him, he’d have asked for a continuance until he could. So don’t sweat it.”

“Well, I hate to bring bad news.”

“It’s the only kind I get. So what else have you got?”

“Nothing good. Negatives all around. I got men out scouring Teaneck, New Jersey, looking for someone who saw Jeremy Dawson there that night. So far, no one did.”

“He was there.”

“So you say. According to Dirkson, he was in Manhattan, blowin’ his uncle’s brains out.”

“You believe that?”

Taylor shrugged. “Hell, everybody in the courtroom believes that. I mean, I’m on your side and all that, but I don’t want to give you any false hopes. Frankly, things don’t look good.”

Steve smiled. “Confidentially, I don’t think you’re shattering any illusions, Mark. But thanks just the same. You got anything else?”

Taylor shook his head. “Just negatives. California checked in. They’re still trying to serve the subpoena, but Julie Creston’s still a no-show. Presumably she’s in Rio.”

“Figures,” Steve said.

“If she shows up, you still want her served?”

“Sure do.”

Taylor shrugged. “O.K. I sure wish I knew what you were doing.”

“Frankly, I wish I did too,” Steve said. “So what about the subway station?”

“Nothing there either. No witness, no one saw nothing. The only bright spot is the token booth clerk doesn’t recall seeing Jeremy Dawson that night. But that doesn’t do you any good, ’cause if he was coming from Jersey, he wouldn’t have come through the turnstile, he’d have come uptown on the train.”

“I know,” Steve said.

“He doesn’t recall anyone else in particular, and why should he? And no other witness has come forward, with the exception of Joseph Bissel. And he didn’t see it happen, he showed up after the fact.”

“How soon after the fact?”

Taylor shrugged. “There I’m not sure. We know it was before we got there, because when Tracy asked the cop he already knew something about a kid with green hair.”

“Exactly. So it had to be that night.”

“But after the murder.”

“Yeah, but how soon after?”

“Don’t look at me,” Mark said. “Hell, you had the guy on the witness stand, you could have asked him then.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

“Well, it wasn’t proper cross-examination because the prosecution didn’t bring it out on direct. Even so, I could have brought it in. He testified he’d seen Jack Walsh that day. I could have asked him if he’d seen Jack Walsh any other time that day. Specifically, if he’d seen him later that night. More specifically, if he’d seen the charred remains of the man on the subway platform, and if that was indeed Jack Walsh.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Steve sighed. “I blew it. I missed a bet. Frankly, I was too concerned with the Jeremy Dawson identification. Too concerned with handling the witness just right. Shaking the identification without coming off like a bad guy. I had to play it just right. And then getting the kick in the chops when the son of a bitch actually did pick out the picture of Jeremy Dawson. I have to admit, that threw me a little.”

“So what can you do now? Can you recall him for cross-examination?”

“I doubt it,” Steve said. “Dirkson would object, and I’d have to make a showing of what I expected to prove. And as I said, it’s not really proper cross-examination anyway, and Judge Grimes isn’t gonna buy it. No, if I want him on the stand, I’d have to call him as my own witness.”

“Are you gonna do that?”

“I don’t know. Depends how things go. I’m just saying I could.”

“You want me to subpoena him?”

“Not now, Mark. Not the way things stand.”

“What would you try to prove by him, anyway?”

“I don’t know. But where the hell was he when the crime took place? Probably in that other subway station he hangs out in. But maybe not. And if he showed up right after the crime and talked to the cops, I could always argue that he was the one fired the bullet into Jack Walsh.”