Jonathan Kellerman - Self-Defence

Leah said, "With everything your client's charged with, he's lucky to see fresh air. And why should we bargain with him when he's already lied to us, trying to palm off Karen Best on Trafficant. We know from other sources that Trafficant had no involvement in that."

"Tsk, tsk," said MacIlhenny. "There are sources and there are sources."

Through it all, App sat, looking bored. The inanimate calm of the true psychopath.

Bleichert said, "Transfer to Lompoc and that's it."

"It's quite a story," said MacIlhenny. "First-rate drama."

"Sell it to the movies,"

MacIlhenny smiled and pointed a finger at App.

App smiled and took out another paper.

After clearing his throat, he began.

"I became acquainted with the writer/artist Morris Bayard Lowell, hereafter to be referred to as "Lowell' or "Buck,' at a party in New York in the summer of 1969. The party I believe to have been at the Greenwich Village townhouse of Mason Upstone, editor of the Manhattan Book Review, though I can't be sure. Lowell and I struck up a conversation, during which I told him I greatly admired his work. Subsequent to that, Lowell and I began a friendly relationship that culminated in my optioning a book of his, a collection of poems entitled Command: Shed the Light, for development as a motion picture. In addition to the advance payment for this option, I advanced him money to purchase land in Topanga Canyon to develop a personal residence and to build an artists' and writers' retreat he called Sanctum. I did these things because even though Lowell had experienced a long hiatus in creative output, his previous accomplishments in literature and art led me to believe he would regain his creative powers and resume his place as a major American writer."

Sniff. He touched his nose.

"Unfortunately, this was not to happen. Command: Shed the Light received highly excoriative reviews and was a commercial failure."

Rattling the paper.

"As part of my relationship with Lowell, I also became acquainted with various artists and writers. Among these was a British sculptor, Christopher Graydon-Jones, whom I aided in attaining employment in an insurance company in which I am a substantial shareholder, and whom I believed, at the time, to be a major talent and of excellent personal character. Likewise, a writer, Denton Mellors, whose true name I have since learned was Darnel Mullins, an African-American novelist, for whom I found employment in the business affairs office of my motion picture production company and, when he proved to lack skills in that area, as a manager of several motor inns that I own."

Throat clearing. "I might add that I am also a substantial contributor to the United Negro College Fund."

MacIlhenny arched an eyebrow and handed him a glass of water.

He drank and read. "Another individual I met through Lowell was a writer named Terrence Trafficant. Trafficant had spent time in prison and wrote about his experiences in a prison diary entitled From Hunger to Rage. Lowell took Trafficant in, as a protégé, helped him get paroled, and aided in getting the diary published. It became a best-seller. At Lowell's urging, I read said book and optioned it for development into a motion picture, advancing money to Terrence Trafficant."

Staring at the camera, as if trying to convince it of something. Sniff.

"I was to find out, subsequently, that I had been defrauded by both Mr. Lowell and Mr. Trafficant, in that Command: Shed the Light had been written not by Mr. Lowell but by Mr. Trafficant and passed off by Mr. Lowell to the artistic and literary community, and to the public at large, as an original work. I learned this in conversation with Mr. Trafficant, who showed me his original handwritten notes for the book and gave them to me for safekeeping in exchange for a sum of money. I remain in possession of said notes and am willing to offer them as evidence in the prosecution of Mr. Lowell for the murder of Mr. Trafficant, a crime I have personal knowledge of because Mr. Lowell confessed it to me, several days after the deed, when I confronted him with the evidence of his plagiarism and fraud."

Deep breath.

"That's all I have to say at this time."

MacIlhenny smiled. Bleichert frowned.

Leah said, "So you want to trade Lowell for everything you've done."

App folded the paper.

"All we've got on Lowell," said Leah, "is your word for it."

"And the notes," said MacIlhenny.

"If they're authentic. And even if they are, all they prove is fraud. On a dead victim. So big deal."

"A murdered victim."

"I haven't heard any evidence of murder except Mr. App's say-so."

"Would a body help?"

"Depending on whose it is."

"Tsk, tsk, young lady. Let's not be coy."

Bleichert said, "Whose corpus, Land?"

"Speaking theoretically? Let's say Mr. Trafficant's."

"Where is it?"

MacIlhenny smiled and shook his head.

"Withholding information on a homicide case, Land?"

MacIlhenny looked down at his chest rolls. His breasts were as big as a stripper's. "I have no personal information, Stan. All my conversations with Mr. App have remained on a strictly theoretical basis."

"Is this body theoretical, too?" said Leah.

MacIlhenny winked but ignored her. "I'm offering you a gift, Stan. Wrapped and ribboned. This could be your biggest case: internationally acclaimed author, major fraud, plagiarism, bloodshed. We're talking Time magazine cover and you write the true crime book."

Leah said, "As opposed to your client the piker, with multiple homicides and enough dope to stuff half the noses in Hollywood."

"My client never won the Pulitzer."

"Your client murdered more than one person."

"Tsk, tsk." MacIlhenny laughed softly. "Slander and libel. Where's your proof?"

"I've got eyewitness testimony."

"Tainted witness. Long history of drug abuse, and your own case against him for attempted murder gives him an obvious motive to lie. His word against my client's?"

"Biggest case of the year," said Leah. "Does Mr. App get to buy the film option?"

MacIlhenny gave her a pitying look. "Mr. App will no longer be engaged in the motion picture business. When the dust clears, Mr. App will be retiring."

"When the dust clears?" she said. "I see dust storms on the horizon. Tornadoes."

MacIlhenny turned away from her and back to Bleichert. App remained silent and motionless.

"You're offering squat, Land," said Bleichert.

"On the contrary, I'm offering you fame and fortune and the chance to put an icon on trial in return for dropping all charges on a couple of diddly cases you don't stand a chance of proving."

"If you think we're so weak, why bargain?"

MacIlhenny pulled shirt fabric out of a fold of flesh. "In the interests of justice and efficiency. Mr. App is no youngster. Every day spent away from hearth and home wears on him severely. He recognizes he has certain… personal problems due to chemical dependency. He is willing to undergo medical and psychiatric treatment for these problems as well as to offer his considerable talents to the community in exchange for no jail time, beyond what's been served, and no full-court attempt to employ the confiscatory powers of the RICO statutes."

"Betty Ford and community service for multiple murder and dope laundering?" said Leah. "When do you take this act to Vegas?"

Bleichert said nothing. She tried not to look at him, but failed.

MacIlhenny was looking at him, too.

"There has to be some time served," said Bleichert. "But I can conceive of its being at Lompoc or somewhere like that. As far as RICO, you know that's not our bailiwick."

"I've already talked to the DEA, Stan, and they're willing to go along with partial confiscation in return for some valuable information about foreign narcotics commerce currently in my client's possession. The hang-up's these alleged homicides. They don't want to be put in an awkward position."