Courthouse (52 page)

“We've got him cold,” exulted Maria.

“Not so,” said Marc. “We've got a lot of material that casts great suspicion and doubt on Toni Wainwright's having killed her husband. But we don't have Zack Lord cold at all.”

Franco looked confused. “What are we going to do now?”

“We've done our job to defend our client,” said Marc. “Now I think we ought to give this information, including the tape we just recorded, to our good assistant D,A., Mister O'Connor.”

They got into the car and Franco began driving downtown.

“You think he'll do anything about it?”

“He'll be absolutely overjoyed to prosecute Zack Lord,” replied Marc. “Mrs. Wainwright might have been a socialite, but prosecuting Zack Lord is world news. It's the best thing O'Connor could ever have dreamed of. Headlines all over the place.”

“You really don't think we've put together a good case against Lord?” asked Maria.

“Well, let's say it's at least as good as they had against Mrs. Wainwright. Maybe better,” Marc assured them. “And to think it's all because of you two.”

Franco smiled. “Our ideas are pretty good, hanh?”

Marc smiled. “They were great.” He saw a phone booth on a street corner they were approaching. “Stop here at the curb,” he said. “Let me call the office.”

Marc got out of the car and entered the phone booth, closing the door. He quickly opened it again. Even on Fifth Avenue the phone booths were used almost as often for urinals as for phone calls.

“Mister Conte's office,” answered Marguerite.

“This is Mister Conte. Any messages?”

“Yes, sir,” she said excitedly. “Andy Roberts has been calling.”

“What did she say?” Marc asked. “Did she leave any message?”

“Yes, sir. She said she wanted to talk to you, and she wanted to know where she could meet you. She should be calling back any minute. What should I tell her?”

Marc thought for a moment. “Tell her to meet me at the boat at the marina.”

“Pescadorito?
Is that the name?”

“Yes.”

“Just a minute,” said Marguerite, “the other phone is ringing. Maybe it's she. I'll put you on hold, okay?”

“Okay.”

“It is Andy Roberts,” said Marguerite, coming back to the phone. “I told her about the boat. She said she isn't far from there. She'd meet you in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” said Marc. I'll talk to you later.” He moved out of the phone booth and into the car hurriedly. “Come on, let's move,” he said to Franco.

“What's the matter?” Franco asked, looking around the street.

“Nothing here. Andy Roberts is going to meet me at the boat.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Franco, moving the car out into the avenue quickly. They entered a side street and headed toward the East River.

Marc began moving rapidly toward the boat the moment Franco stopped the car at the marina. Maria and Franco reluctantly agreed it would be better for them to wait in the car.

When he reached
Pescadorito's
berth, Marc looked around. There was no one paying attention to him. He tugged at one of the hausers securing the boat and, as the boat moved closer to him, stepped aboard. He could see that someone had opened the doors to the aft cabin. They were still slightly open. He walked toward the stem.

“Andy. Andy, that you?”

He heard nothing. He opened the cabin door. As light fell into the cabin, there, sitting on the bunk, propped up against one wall was Andy Roberts, pale, her hair stringy, her face frightened and drawn.

“Hi,” Marc said, moving down the stairs. He closed the door behind him and turned on a cabin light.

“Hi,” Andy said. She tried to smile, but it immediately turned into tears. She put her hands to her face, then gamely lifted her head, drying her tears with the back of one hand.

Marc sat on a small corner chair and opened his tie. “Take it easy. It's all right now,” he said soothingly. “I'll help you with the rest of it.”

“Oh, Mister Conte, it's really a mess,” she moaned, her head dropping down again. “It really is.”

“It's not so bad,” Marc assured her.

“Oh, Christ, Mister Conte. How could it be worse?” she said, looking up now. “They're looking all over for me. I'm a wanted criminal.”

“Well, you've made the first step in the right direction by calling me. At least we can stop things from getting worse,” said Marc. “I can start straightening it out”

“How can you straighten it out, Mister Conte?” she said angrily now. “You think they'll listen to you? You think those rotten creeps in charge of this police state are going to give me a chance? You think this elitist court system can be fair, can give one of the people a fair chance?”

“I'll get you the chance,” Marc said firmly. “You know I can fight well, I'll make them listen. But first I want to listen. Let me hear the answer to the first question. Were you involved in this thing, Andy?”

“I didn't have anything to do with it.”

“Well, let me give you set speech number sixteen.”

“What's that?”

“Simply this,” said Marc. “I don't have the time or inclination to check out your story. I'll believe whatever you tell me. It's not that I don't care, mind you. But, I'm your lawyer. And if you don't care enough about yourself to tell me the truth, why should I care? I'll fashion your defense on whatever you tell me. If it's a phony story, that blows up in my face … well, I'll look foolish but you'll look convicted. So let me ask again. Did you have anything to do with it?”

She lifted her head proudly. “I swear, I didn't have anything to do with it,” she said firmly.

“That's good enough for me,” said Marc smiling.

Andy smiled too.

“This is a little confusing, though. How did your father's shotgun get into the hands of Ali Al-Kobar?”

“I was living with this guy, one of the People's Army. We had a falling out a little while ago. But he still had a key to the pad. You see my old man, my father, that is, is a lawyer too, in Connecticut. And he's a trapshooting nut. When I moved to my own apartment, he gave me an old shotgun for protection. It was in the apartment. I think my old man—the one I was living with—came in one night and took the shotgun.”

“But why would he give a shotgun with your father's name on it to someone who was going to use it the way this shotgun was used? It was an invitation to trouble.”

“He's a mean son of a bitch, Mister Conte. He'd do it just to get back at me, because it'd throw suspicion on me and embarrass my father. You see, my father didn't approve of him. He thought he was a deadbeat.”

“Do you know where this nice guy is now?” Marc asked.

“No. I've been trying to get in touch with him myself,” Andy said. “That's why I've been moving around. But I haven't been able to find him. He's taken off. Why?”

“If this guy is punk enough to get you involved in this, he could use a little heat from the police who are looking for you,” said Marc.

“What good is heat on Billie—that's his name—going to do me?” Andy asked. “When the cops get their hands on me, they're going to deliver me over to a fat D.A. who's going to run me through the court machine like I was a sausage going into a casing.”

“That won't happen,” Marc assured her.

“How can you stop it?”

“First, I'll surrender you. And that'll weigh greatly in your favor, that you faced up to the charges voluntarily rather than having to be ferreted out like a mole.”

“And then what? They'll railroad me. You know that. This is a system that caters to the rich, the known, the people with connections.” Andy was afraid. The fear was plain in her eyes.

“I'm a specialist in defending knowns
and
unknowns,” said Marc, trying to be light. “Let me take care of it.”

“Those bastards just want to hang me,” Andy said, almost without hearing Marc. “You think anyone involved in a political case like mine can get a fair trial? The whole system stinks. It has to be torn down, wrecked, burned, destroyed.”

“Andy, you're getting hysterical underneath that pretty calm of yours,” said Marc. “You're talking nonsense.”

“Oh no I'm not, and I'm not turning myself in.”

“Let's say for the sake of argument that what you say about the present system is so, Andy. After you destroy the system, tear it apart, wreck it, what will you and the one hundred, or one hundred thousand or one million people you think are worthwhile, what will you do with the world then?”

“Build a better world, that's what.”

“And how are these worthwhile people going to handle the problems of the millions, billions of other people in the world? Who's going to distribute the food? Who's going to run the electric generators, the railroads? Someone's got to be in charge of things. Who's it going to be?”

“Of course someone has to be in charge,” Andy answered. She was wary now, knowing Marc was leading her somewhere.

“And that person who's in charge of the whole thing will have to have help, won't he or she? Assistants to be in charge of New York, California, Utah?”

“This is childish,” she balked.

“Humor me then. Answer the question.”

“I guess,” she answered hesitantly.

“Well, then, aren't you on your way to building another system, another hierarchy? Just like the one we have now, only with different people in charge?”

“Yes, but the people who'll be in charge will be a different kind of people,” insisted Andy, “people not interested just in profit, in greed, but in helping, in having understanding, in tolerance, in peace.”

“Don't you realize what you're saying?” Marc asked. The wake of a passing boat out in the river made
Pescadorito
heave gently in its berth.

“What
am
I saying?” she asked, stalling for time, realizing she was becoming enmeshed in the web that Marc was spinning.

“You're saying that you're going to tear down the system that exists and eliminate the corrupt people who run it, and immediately replace it with another system, with other people in charge. Except for some variations in personnel, you're going to end up exactly where you started out. Why not just modify what there is now?”

“No, the present system is too corrupt, and rotten.”

“Will you stop with that old rebellion boiler plate and listen to what you're actually saying,” Marc insisted in turn. “In the first place, a world filled with people requires some people to work in one area, some in another, some to farm, some to manufacture, some to co-ordinate, some to determine policy. It's absolutely essential to existence. And in the second place, it's not the system that's wrong; it's us, it's people. We're not perfect. Not the farmers, not the drill press operators, not the police, and not the judges. And you can't-expect total perfection from any place, including the courts, because people make mistakes. They have. They do. And they'll continue to. So, after all this bloody revolution of yours, unless you slaughter millions of people, you're still going to have to bear with the frailties and imperfections of humanity. Seems like a waste of time and effort to mount a revolution to destroy inanimate institutions. Why not try and educate people instead? Make them better.”

“It's not a waste of time,” Andy said softly, less belligerently.

“Your main hope is that the new people who are put in charge of the system do not become corrupt, do not become avaricious, do not make the same mistakes. Isn't that right?” Marc continued.

“Yes.”

“And what if they do?” Marc asked. “What if they aren't perfect?”

“They'll have to be replaced with better people,” she answered.

“By another revolution?”

“No. Just replace them.”

“Then why can't the present people who you say are corrupt be replaced?—just as easily as you've suggested the replacement of the new people?” asked Marc. “Without revolution?”

Andy studied Marc quietly, pensively, biting her bottom lip. “Because the whole system is too corrupt. You can't build on it,” she replied, regaining her strength.

“Nonsense. A system is merely a method of handling or co-ordinating things. If there is a need for changing the method because of different needs, different desires, what's the big problem in modifying the present system? Or even making entirely new ones without having a revolution?”

Andy said nothing.

“The system is only a set of rules in a book somewhere, an inanimate entity,” said Marc. “It's nothing. It doesn't go unless people move it. If those people are useless, corrupt, dumb, replace them now. Who's stopping you?”

“That's not the point,” said Andy. “It's this fascistic government.”

“It
is
the point,” Marc insisted. “Government is merely the method of governing, running things. There's one now. You want a different one, run by different people. Okay,” said Marc. “That doesn't seem like a big problem. Elect them, change them now.”

“They won't let you.”

“Forgive me, but that's bullshit,” said Marc. “Who's stopping anybody from voting? Unless you don't believe in voting and rule by a majority of the people.”

“Of course I do. Everybody should have a say.”

“Well, you have the majority of the people voting for what there is now. Are you of the opinion that the voice of the lesser numbers should drown out the voice of the greater numbers?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell are you talking about?”

“What does all of this have to do with me and the police looking for me?” asked Andy.

“It has to do with the fact that I'm here to protect you. Do you think I'm avaricious …”