- Margolin - The Last Innocent Man

“Are his sexual preferences unusual? Does he have any peculiarities?”

“I don’t see why, what that would…Can’t we talk about something else? This is very hard for me.”

“I know it’s hard for you, but this case is heavily concerned with sex, and I want you prepared for the questions the district attorney is going to ask you in open court.”

“I’ll have to…? I couldn’t…”

Jennifer took a deep breath, and David let her compose herself.

“Our sexual relationship is…just normal.”

Her voice caught, and David again watched her hands, tense and entwined, clasp each other rigidly.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said so softly that he had to strain to hear her.

“David, that evening you and I…It is true that Larry and I were having problems, but they had to do with his work, not our sexual relationship. He was working very hard. He didn’t make partner last year and it deflated him. At first he just gave up. It was right after we got married, and he was talking about leaving the firm and trying something else: government work or going out on his own. Then he changed his mind and decided that he would be accepted if he just worked harder. Even harder than before. He was leaving early and coming home late. He was drinking, too. I hardly saw him at all, even on the weekends. And when I did see him, it seemed we were always quarreling.

“The evening I met you…I just blew up at him. Called him at the office. He came home all upset. I’d interfered with his work. Couldn’t I understand? I told him I did understand. That I thought he considered his work more important than me. I walked out. Then I met you and…and it just happened. I wanted to hurt him, I guess. But it isn’t…wasn’t sex. We were…all right.”

She stopped, out of words, her energy spent. David didn’t know what to say. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew he couldn’t.

“Besides,” she said, “I don’t see what any of this has to do with Larry’s case. I told Charlie, Larry couldn’t have killed that girl. He was home with me on that evening.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. I would know. I mean, if he was out with another woman…He was with me.”

“You would swear to that in court?”

“Yes. I don’t want Larry to go to prison. He couldn’t take it, David. He couldn’t take the pressure.”

“He seems to be holding up pretty well.”

“You don’t know him like I do. He puts up a good front, but he’s a little boy underneath. He’s very good at seeming to be in one piece, but I know him well enough to see the cracks beneath the surface.”

David put down his notepad. The short interview had taken its emotional toll on both of them.

“I guess that’s enough for now. I’m going to visit the motel after work and try to talk to the desk clerk. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything.”

She stood, and he walked her to the door.

“I want to thank you for taking the case. I know it was a hard decision for you. And I know that Larry will be safe with you.”

He didn’t know what to say. She solved the problem by leaving quickly. He watched her walk away, hoping that she would turn and give him some sign, but she didn’t and he returned to his desk, more confused than ever about their relationship.

There was a glass and a bottle of good bourbon in David’s bottom drawer. He took his bourbon neat. It was some time since he had felt the need for a midday drink, but he had the feeling that there would be many more before he was through with the Stafford case.

TERRYCONKLIN WASmedium height, a bit chubby, and had a wide and continuous smile. He looked like the least dangerous person in any gathering, and people trusted and talked to him. That’s what made him so valuable as an investigator.

Terry turned his Dodge station wagon into the parking lot at the Raleigh Motel. The wagon was strewn with debris left by Conklin’s five children. It was a far cry from the flashy sports cars James Bond drove, and Terry liked to joke that it was part of his cover.

Terry had spent some time that afternoon in the morgue at theOregonian reading everything he could find about the Hersch case. He had photocopied the clippings for David, who was finishing the last one as they pulled up in front of the motel office.

“Any help?” Conklin asked as he shut off the engine.

“They don’t give me much more than I already know. Say, before I forget, the bail hearing’s tomorrow and they’ll probably put Ortiz on. Can you make it?”

“No problem,” Terry said as they headed toward the motel office.

Merton Grimes was an old man, stooped and slow to move. The cold weather was still holding off, but Grimes had on a heavy plaid shirt, buttoned to the neck, and a pair of soiled gray slacks. He was standing over a pot of coffee when David entered, and David had to cough to get his attention. Grimes looked put out and took his time shuffling across the room. David could see a section of the back room through a half-open door. There was a small couch covered by an antimacassar. A lamp rested on a low end table casting a dim light on the green-and-white fabric. David could hear the muffled sound of a TV whose volume had been turned low, but he could not see the screen.

“Mr. Grimes?” David asked. The old man looked immediately suspicious. “My name is David Nash. This is Terry Conklin. I’d like to talk to you about the murder that occurred here a few months ago.”

“You reporters?” Grimes asked in a tone suggesting that he would not be upset if they were.

“No. I’m a lawyer. I represent the man who’s been charged with the crime.”

“Oh,” Grimes said, disappointed.

“I’d like to see the room if I could and talk about anything you might know.”

“I already told what I know to the police. Damn place was like a circus for a week,” he said, nodding at the memory. “Reporters and cops. Didn’t do business no harm, though.”

He laughed and it came out more of a snort. The old man wiped his nose with the back of his hand and turned to a pegboard on the wall behind the desk counter. It took him a moment, but he found the key he was looking for. He started to reach for it, then stopped and turned back. He had a crafty look on his face, and David knew exactly what was coming next.

“You know, I ain’t sure I should be doin’ this. You representing a criminal and all. I don’t know if the cops would like it. I could get in trouble.”

“I can assure you this is perfectly legal…”

“All the same…”

“And, of course, we would pay you for your time.”

“Oh, say, that’s mighty nice of you,” Grimes said with a smirk. David wondered how much dough he’d pulled in from the press for exclusive tours. He laid a twenty-dollar bill on the countertop. Grimes looked at it for a moment, probably figuring if there was any way to get more; then his fingers made the fastest move David would see all evening, and the bill was gobbled up and stuffed into his trouser pocket.

“We can talk while we walk,” Grimes said, taking the key off the peg and shuffling toward the door. Conklin held it open, and he and David followed Grimes across the parking lot toward the motel rooms.

“She sure was a nice-lookin’ gal,” Grimes said as they started up the metal stairs to the second landing. “Didn’t look like no hooker to me. I got suspicious right off.”

“You get plenty of hookers here?” Terry asked with a straight face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Terry shrugged.

“You said she didn’t look like one. I just supposed…”

The old man weighed his answer for a second, then snickered.

“Yeah, we get our share. I don’t take no cut, you understand. But there’s a few that likes our accommodations. Cops don’t care, so why should I?”