Compelling Evidence (11 page)

"And that's why you've come to me?"

"In a manner of speaking. Yes."

They want me to take this piece of swill off their hands. Skarpellos sits staring at me as if, like a faith healer curing L‐prosy, I hold some magic formula, some legal potion that I cae prescribe for his client that will cleanse him. A long pause follows as Tony struggles through several versions of a pained adle. It's a common expression for Skarpellos. He's on one of his verbal safaris searching for the right words. "I appreciate the firm's confidence, Tony. Perhaps I might even Ihm a little of it‐if I knew precisely what it is you want from me:' If it's my help, he will have to do better than this. Skarpellos Will have to climb down from his throne. He may even have to W1. For the right fee, I might take the case. "This is a very important man," he explains‐their client who not really a client. "He has important friends. He's made a e, but then who among us has not done that?" Tony spreads arms over the shimmering stone surface of the desk and begins talk with his hands, trailing highways of smoke in the air, part the Greek lexicon. "Tony. What is it that you want?" There's an edge of impato my words. Knowing glances are exchanged between Brown and S We've arrived at the marrow of our meeting. If we were eng plea negotiations, this is where the bullshit would be shelved we would hear no more of society's interests, or the requi of justice. There's an awkward pause as they go through the silen of selecting a spokesman. Brown gets the nod. He comes polished chann and flashing teeth‐‐4he words emitted w rapid‐fire precision of a Gatling gun. "Well, we don't really want you to take the case."

Now I'm angry. Ron Brown‐the resident sycophant‐i to tell me that I'm not up to defending their man. "You represent a client, I believe‐Susan Hawley?"

I make no gesture to respond, but it's clear that Browr none. Suddenly I remember my conversation with Skarp the University Club and the pieces begin to fit. "Your client presents some real problems for our client."

a slight pause as Brown looks to Skarpell6s, and then: want is your assurance that she won't testify."

"What?" I'm more amused‐‐dazed‐than angry. Ron Brown suffers from the chronic corporate disease generation. He possesses the intellectual fortitude of je original thought entering his mind is doomed to die of ness. Observing every disagreement and battle from the si Brown is uncanny in his early recognition of a victor. dust has settled, it seems all anyone ever remembers is that turned the first spade of earth to bury the vanquished, lead the team fight song. He exhibits all the dubious q corporate and civic leadership in our times. In a word, Ron has the natural inclinations of a good politician. He now moves quickly.

"You have to understand. !e asking you to suborn pe&ry, or to obstruct justice. "Y has every right to refrain from testifying‐‐4o take the avoid incriminating herself. That's all we want: her sil Brown is slick.

Still, his knowledge of criminal law enough to get him in trouble. "And if they immunize her? If they agree that her can't be used against her in any criminal proceeding‐w He looks at me. A dour expression has now fallen Ji over his face. "She doesn't testify." From the uncertainty in his voi be sure if these words are a statement or a question. "You understand that she could be jailed for contempt‐have her ass thrown in the bucket in perpetuity‐until she agrees to testify?"

Again there's a long pause. The discomfort that afflicted Skarpellos appears to be contagious. Pimples of sweat begin to rise on Brown's forehead. "There are people who would be willing to compensate her very handsomely for her continued silence. Let us just say that she would never have to ply her chosen profession again if she were to cooperate."

Now I am angry. This is surreal, as if I've entered a dream. Lmages of Jimmy Lama and his flash of temper flood my mind. Susan Hawley has been bedding a pricey political client of Potter, Skarpellos, and now they want her silence. "We aren't having this conversation." I rise and begin to move toward the door. "Paul‐please." Skarpellos is again taking the lead. He's on his feet, palms spread on the cold rock slab. His eyes, reddened b.y cigar smoke, are now filled with supplication. For a moment at least, curiosity tempers my anger. "What's the firm's interest in this case?" , Skarpellos looks at me soberly‐‐4he kind of soulful look that Hashes in bright neon hues‐‐‐@"Bullshit to Follow."

"We're concerned because this is a prominent client ..."

I laugh, not the polite titter or snicker of a subaltern, but a belly‐wrencher, right from the gut. "Come on, Tony. This guy's so greasy you don't want your name on the same piece of paper wa his. Do me a favor‐save the prominent‐citizen crap for the pewspapers and the jury."

He abandons the civics lesson. He gives up a good‐natured laugh. He is in shirtsleeves, and so the roll of flab just under his chest is free to jiggle. Brown is serious. "Ah, Ron, at least they won't accuse us of coming to the dim‐witted." The severity begins to crack into an uncomfortable grin around the comers of Brown's mouth. Fearful that he might Iniss his cue, he finally issues a grudging chuckle. "Please, sit down, Paul‐please." Tony gestures toward the dwr. I want to allay your fears of impropriety." Skarpellos; begins to speak in hushed tones. He now asserts control over the

"Weting. There's more professionalism here

than I would have credited. He compliments me for my shrewd perceptions in grasping the Magnitude of the matter. He apologizes for the clumsy approach of Brown, who slithers uncomfortably against leather uph( as his boss makes amends for him, Tony tells me there i wonder that Ben thought so highly of me, and engages e self‐deprecation conceding the obvious‐that he's not th w greatest gift to the trial bar, that his talents lie in wh h "business." There's a warm paternal smile here. He co p hands on the desk like some rural preacher about to coun of his flock. "This case, this client, is very important," says Skarpel doubt if you will ever fully understand the significance matter."

"Humor me."

"Irrespective of anything you may think of me, I want understand that I‐that this firm‐would never ask you to in anything improper or unethical." There's a sober and pause as if to emphasize the genuine nature of this guar

"If your client is immunized and threatened with conte understand that your counsel to her must advise the cou is in her best interest. There will be no offer of compei for her silence‐not from me, not from Potter, Sk

"Os we want you and your client to know that

should s necloc to testify, to assert her Fifth Amendment right, we wil all legal expenses that might be occasioned by that decisi client has instructed me to offer to pay Ms. Hawley's full fees, compensation that will be paid up to the limits 'of this usual fees‐$250 per hour for preparation, $300 an hour time spent in court."

"Who's your man?" I ask Skarpellos. "We can't tell you that," says Brown. "Confidences. You understand." Skarpellos looks at me, er broad grin. "Well?"

Brown is leaning forward in his chair. "What' answer?" I For Ron Brown it's an easy question, as is any other that an ethical indiscretion against the offer of certain op

"The question is not for me. It's for my

client. I'll Nothing more. I'm duty bound to convey your offer. You your answer in a few days. But you should unders make no recommendation to her on this. It's her decis hers alone."

There's an immediate smile, an expression of re Skarpellos. "I knew we could count on you. Ben alw 1 sit nursing a drink, the ice cubes melting slowly in the teacolored slush at the bottom of my glass. Topper's is filling up fast. The usual crowd of half‐swacked lawyers and lobbyists exchanging war stories are working up calluses on the undersides of their bellies as they press against the bar.. The din of voices builds to a climax and erupts in laughter as a group at the far end of the room competes for bragging rights. Two women in short, tight skirts and sequined tops struggle to look sedate, propped on bar stools as they spend the early shift waiting for legislators to finish up their afternoon session at the Capitol a block away. I'd been introduced to Topper's by Ben. It was a hangout for the crowd, a few lawyers, but mostly lobbyists, heavy drinkers F I 7much time on their hands for professional socializing. I've OTM Topper's instead of the more'

familiar Cloakroom for this A, in hopes that we will not be interrupted.

,watch as Leo Kerns makes his way around the tables, that red ;7‐71 1@

Sface grinning at me as he approaches at full waddle. Leo Of those small balls of energy who look like they've been '7' 7 . v i into a wrinkled suit. The collar of his white dress shirt is '@L the knot of his tie rests halfway down his chest, where the Mro lope of his stomach starts.

t.,@ S, ,‐ I in glad you could make it." sticks out a beefy hand, and I take it. Before he's even his eyes begin a frantic search for the cocktail waitress. In his gaze settles on one of the bimbos at the bar.

"I'm in V111‐1 says. This is Leo Kerns, hopelessly out of date, tasteless. The only glad‐handing cop I know. I've often mused over that he missed his calling, for Leo is the best salesman I met. In the office he's constantly on call to perform of every jailhouse, cast in the role of good cop versu interrogations. This disarming fat little man with the smile has done his part for prison overcrowding. He die natural desire of suspects to converse with a friend to unburden themselves of gnawing secrets at a troubli on an understanding shoulder, to a sympathetic ear.

Here Leo's in all his glory. Topper's is a cut above the room, the bar across from the courthouse that's become tution for the legal fraternity and some of the cops. I hookers arewt quite so brazen about showing their w what they're showing isn't quite so worn. "So whadda you wanna talk about that it was so couldn't discuss it on the phone?" He says it with dis Leo's holding up two fingers in a loose victory sign h waitress. He orders a double bourbon and water. I dodge his question with a few pleasantries in hopes drink will come quickly. Some liquid distraction to visual diversions while I pump him for information. Kerns drops himself, all five feet, three inches, into on the other side of the table and almost disappears abyss. I've often wondered, but never lacked sufficient ask, how Leo skirted the height requirement in order to as an investigator with the DA. He stood out like the whenever there was a gathering of the office staff. But he lacked in statur6 he made up for with his Ihfiish chutzpah and that &adly, disarming manner. "How are they treating you, Leot' "I could complain, but it wouldn't do any I'm trying to ease into it without being too g=viou's, of Ben's case and the turns the investigation is taking. I to put on the preliminary bout first, a little distractor. are rife that the DA is closing in on a major political Hawley's "boink book," I think, the list of names Lama to get from my client. Leo and I reminisce; he talks about Nelson the DA. asshole," he says. Seems Nelson's been on the warpath of the investigators got caught living in the backseat of a assigned car, parked overnight in one of the more sw the city. "Guy had a little trouble with his landlord, so out. Couldn't come up with the advance rent and security deposit for a new place," says Leo, "so he batched it in the backseat of his car, He was showering at the

"Y' and using the

john at a local gas station, doin' meals on a hibachi strapped to the front bumpercan you believe it? Some citizen saw the government plates on the car and complained." Leo laughs. "That sonofabitch Nelson's now forcin' us to turn the cars in to the county lot every night."

I can imagine that this is now crimping the style of some of Leo's friends. Guys who used to skate for home at two‐thirty in the afternoon now have to return at five o'clock to park their cars. Life's tough.

Finally I plunge in. "What do you know about this political thingt' I ask. "Me big case Lama's on?"

He wrinkles his brow and answers a question with a question. "You wouldn't be involved, would you? Got a piece of the defense or something?"

"Nothing like that, Leo. Just a client who may have a tangential interest." There's little sense in lying to Kerns. "The hooker‐Hawley?"

he asks. He sits staring at me with a soulful grin. Leo's learned the ultimate art of good interrogationto listen a lot, endure long, pregnant pauses, and let the other guy say the next thing. Like a gridiron defense, Leo always plays for the verbal turnover. I smile and nod, my head cocked at a forty‐five‐degree angle as if to say "if you wish to call her that." I am not surprised that be already has a bead on my client. It's an unquestioned axiom that a cop's lot is composed of hours of tedium, punctuated by instants of terror. In those long hours of routine they talk, to one another, to the press at the scene of the latest calamity, to anyone who will listen. The fact that Larna took a personal hand in Hawley's pretrial, I know, makes it an odds‐on bet that Susan Hawley's tmubles have been chewed on over coffee and doughnuts by every person with a badge in the city. "If you've read the papers, you know what there is to know," be says. I remind him that my client's name wasn't in the papers. He makes the face of concession and shrugs his shoulders. ,%ama's squeezing her pretty hard, is he?"

""He's tryin'.f, "Man's on a holy crusade to save the world for truth, justice, and the American way," says Kems. "Sonofabitch ougbta get a red tape and blue tights." We laugh together at this mental image.

It was Leo who'd first clued me in to some of the antics of Lama and his friends, a few cops who palled together and formed a fast fraternity.

These law‐and‐order had a curious ceremony to "earn your bones," gain acc the group. An applicant had to get laid while on duz members did the deed with a fellow officer's wife or gir For these guys, the department's motto, "Service First," special meaning. Leo's drink comes.

Before he can reach for his walle I twenty across the table at the waitress, an investment n a candor. The waitress scoops up the money and leaves. "Still, if you want my opinion, your girl should rol ov the bunch of 'em."

"Maybe they performed that number," I say, Leo laughs. This tickles some responsive and prurient cord inside him. "No, seriously," he says.