: Margolin: The Last Innocent Man

There were tears in her eyes and David felt dead inside.

“But I wasn’t gonna let them do this to me. So I crawled and sometimes I walked a ways and I got to the bottom and just fell in that ditch, and anytime a car come by or a truck I’d pull myself up. That was the worst. Even worst than the shooting and being alone. No one would stop for me or help me.”

The tape recorder spun on. The rays of the sun created splotches of light on the tabletop. Monica placed her arm around Jessie’s heaving shoulders and spoke soothingly. David stared at the wall. It took every ounce of control he had learned in the courtroom to keep his features from showing any emotion. Sometimes he wondered if that wasn’t one trick he could do now without trying.

MONICA ANDDAVIDagreed to meet by the reception desk, and Monica took Jessie back to the girls’ detention area. It was a little past noon and the reception room was empty. David sat down on a couch in the corner. The interview had shaken him, and he wanted some time to calm down.

A teenage boy walked up to the reception desk and David thought about the man-boy, Tony Seals, whom he was being paid so much money to represent. Eighteen years old, his brains burned out by controlled substances, not caring about anything or anyone, not even himself.

And the boy’s parents. David would never have come into the office the day after the Gault verdict if Anton and Emily Seals had not been old and valued clients of his firm, and close personal friends of Gregory Banks, one of the senior partners and David’s closest friend.

During the meeting Anton Seals had sat straight-backed and expressionless, wearing his conservative pinstriped suit like a uniform. His only show of emotion had been the constant stroking of his wife’s hand. Emily Seals had also kept her composure, but David could see that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. The Sealses represented old money. They were elegant people. Neither of them fully understood what their son had done to Jessie Garza, himself, or their lives.

“Why did you shoot Jessie Garza?” David had asked Tony Seals yesterday at the county jail. Even now David did not know why he had asked the question. You didn’t have to know why a person violated the law to get him off.

“She was a pain in the ass.”

“You shot her because…”

“Well, you know, she knew how to get drugs, so we used her like that for a while, but she was a pain in the ass. Then she tore up some marijuana plants that Sticks had growing. So we were talking about what a pain in the ass she was and how no one liked her because she’s got such a big mouth and Zack says he’ll bump her off.”

“Just like that?” David had asked. “Just because of the plants?”

“I guess so. Zack was always talking like that. About how he was a hit man. He said he’d killed guys before, but Sticks and me didn’t believe him even though he was always flashing this gun around. We didn’t think he’d use it.”

“Why didn’t you try to get Zack to take her to the hospital after she was shot?”

“I did say we should back at the hole, but Zack said, ‘Don’t worry about her, she’s just gonna die,’ so I forgot about it. Besides, I was real tired and I didn’t want trouble with the cops.”

David saw Monica walking toward him and he stood up.

“Is she okay?” David asked when they were outside.

“It depends on what you mean by ‘okay.’ Physically, she’s doing fine. Psychologically…” Monica shook her head. “She’s one tough cookie, Dave, but I don’t know. And her ordeal on the mountain isn’t the worst part. We’re holding her until the trials are over; then we want to send her back to her parents in Montana. Only they’re not sure they want her.”

“Shit,” David said.

“Yeah,” Monica answered bitterly, “but that’s life, right? Why the interest?”

David shrugged.

“She got to you, right? You better watch that, Dave. It’s bad for the old ‘Ice Man’ image.”

“Give me a break, Monica,” David said without anger. “I’m not in the mood.”

Monica sensed his exhaustion and backed off.

“Say, I haven’t congratulated you yet on the Gault verdict.”

The way she said it, David wasn’t certain it was a compliment, so he said nothing.

“Norm says you tried a good case.”

“We both did.”

“Who’s going to play you in the movie?” Monica asked with a mischievous grin. David laughed.

“You angling for a part?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe if Tom Cruise gets the lead.” She struck a pose. “Whadda ya think? Do I still have what it takes?”

“Yes, Monica, you still do.”

And they were suddenly too close to personal problems for comfort.

“Look,” David said to change the subject, “is there any possibility we can deal on this one?”

“Not a chance, Dave,” Monica answered.

“Not even if I threw in Tom Cruise?” David asked with a smile.

“Not even for Tom Cruise.”

“That’s what I thought, but I had to try.”

“You always do.”

They stood together for a moment, until they both realized they had run out of conversation.

“Take care of yourself,” Monica said. David knew she meant it. She was the one who had been hurt most by their divorce, and that fact always made him feel bad.

“You, too,” he told her. They walked out to their cars, and David watched Monica drive off; then he shut his eyes and sat in the hot car for a moment while the air-conditioning came on. He didn’t need a case like this so soon after Gault. He needed a vacation. But, then, he always did. He couldn’t remember the last time he had not been under pressure. The difference was he had never thought about it before.

Darlene Hersch was out of breath by the time she reached the squad room. The clock over the water fountain told her the bad news. She had sprinted from the car and she was still late. There was nothing she could do about it now. Only she hated to make a bad impression. All the other officers in the special vice unit had been on the police force for several years. She was new, and it looked bad to be the only late arrival.

The squad room was small. The dull-green paint on the walls was peeling, and the linoleum-tile flooring buck-led in places. Rows of clipboards hung from two of the walls. A bulletin board occupied the third. All the space in between was covered by cartoons about police work, bulletins about office procedure, and a large poster that gave instructions about what to do in the event of a fire.

A sink and a countertop ran along the outer wall. The countertop was littered with paper cups, and two pots of coffee steamed next to the room’s only window. The center of the room had been taken over by two long Formica-topped tables. Sandra Tallant and Louise Guest, the other policewomen on the squad, sat at the end of the table near the door. Darlene slid onto a metal bridge chair and hoped Sergeant Ryder would not notice that she was late.

“Have another rough night, Darlene?” Ortiz asked in a loud voice. Darlene flushed. Neale grinned and Coffin snickered. Sergeant Ryder looked up from the desk at the front of the room, and Darlene turned her head and glared at Ortiz. Ortiz winked. The bastard.

Ortiz perched on the countertop near the coffeepots. He was handsome, and he knew it. With his dark complexion, shaggy mustache, and thick black hair, curled and cared for like D’Artagnan’s, he played the lady’s man. Darlene thought he was an asshole.

Sergeant Ryder stood up and checked his notes on the clipboard he always carried. A big, insecure man, he was always rechecking his facts, as if he feared that they would change if he did not keep constant track of them.