Losing Faith (18 page)

“I know this sounds crazy,” he begins, saying the words as if they’ve just come to him even though he’s run them through his mind a half dozen times, “but this FBI agent came up to me after the service yesterday and asked me some questions. He said it was all standard operating procedure, but I’d already told everything to the police, and this FBI guy . . . he seemed to have more of an agenda, if you know what I mean. Anyway, Faith always said that being involved in the justice system without a lawyer was as stupid as taking out your own appendix, and so . . .”

He was hoping that Jennifer would relieve his anxiety with a wave of her hand and say,
Why on earth are you concerned? No one in a million years would think that you killed Faith.
But what he gets is the opposite: a troubled look confirming his worst suspicions.

“You were absolutely right to come see me,” she says. “Spouses are always the primary suspects. The sad truth is that some of them do end up in jail, and it would be naïve to think that sometimes they’re not in there by mistake.”

As if that weren’t enough to suggest Stuart should be engaged in a full-fledged panic, Jennifer starts talking about things like conflict
checks and opening a matter and retainer agreements and bringing on an associate.

“Hold on, Jennifer . . . I really thought that we’d just talk for fifteen minutes and then you’d be like . . . shadow counsel. Is that the term?”

Jennifer smiles, and for a moment Stuart thinks that perhaps the world is not ending. But then she says, “I’m so sorry, Stuart. I forgot for a second that you’re not a lawyer. If Faith were here, she’d understand all of this without a second thought. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. First, there’s the horror of Faith’s murder and then the FBI—people you think you can trust to catch her killer—are suggesting that
you’re
the one who might have done this. It’s surreal, right?”

“I was going to say Kafkaesque,” Stuart says.

“Okay, so let me try to put you at ease a little bit. This is a process. It’s a scary one, I know. But it’s still a process. I’ve always found that the more you’re prepared for what’s going to happen, the less frightening it is, so why don’t I give you a step-by-step of what to expect. Okay?”

“That’d be great,” Stuart says.

“First thing is that I know that Faith would want me to take extra-good care of you, which is what I’m going to do. But I can’t do that until the representation is official. That means you sign a retainer agreement, and we have to charge you a retainer. Now, normally it’s a hundred thousand dollars in a matter like this, but because . . . because Faith’s family here, we’ll only ask you for fifty. I charge seven fifty an hour, and I’ll be working with an associate, who, depending how senior he or she is, will charge anywhere between three fifty and the high fours. If we don’t use the retainer, we’ll refund the difference, and if we exhaust the retainer, we’ll ask you to replenish it. Sound fair?”

Fair
is not the first word that pops into Stuart’s mind. He wants to ask how many people ever receive a refund, but he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

“Okay,” Stuart says instead.

“Good. Now the next step is for us to do a very thorough debriefing so that I understand everything you told law enforcement and the types of questions that they were asking you. This will allow me to assess whether we can go in to see them again.”

“Again?” Stuart says, hearing the panic in his voice.

“Yes. Our goal is to have a meeting with the prosecutor in charge of the case—not the FBI agent, but the person really calling the shots—and convince him or her that you’re not the person who did this.”

“Okay. When would we do that?”

“In the first instance it’s not so much
when
as it is
if
. The only way that you can go in is if the story you tell them is going to be believed. And I won’t know the answer to that until I hear the facts from you.”

She doesn’t let any time elapse for Stuart to proclaim his innocence before saying, “And there’s no reason to put that debriefing off, and lots of reasons to get out ahead of this, so why don’t we get right down to it? I trust you to wire the retainer tomorrow.”

Jennifer reaches for a legal pad and for the next two hours she asks Stuart questions, most of which concern the thirty or so minutes between the time Stuart came home from work on the last night of Faith’s life and when she told him that she was going to the gym. By and large, she approaches the facts from the vantage point of asking what the police and the FBI asked and how Stuart responded, rather than inquiring about the facts themselves.

When the Q-and-A ends, Jennifer rocks back in her chair, twirling her pen. Stuart knows better than to interrupt, as he has the feeling of a patient awaiting his test results.

“Stuart, I don’t want to add to your worries,” Jennifer says, “but you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know that you’re at some risk. And what you need from me is not friendship or false assurances, but hard-nosed legal advice. So, here it is: you have every reason in the world to be concerned.”

“I didn’t kill my wife, Jennifer,” Stuart says. “You have to believe me.”

The moment the words come out, he feels the full weight of how serious this has become. He’s actually denying being a murderer.

“I know you didn’t,” Jennifer says, but to Stuart it seems too pat, like something Jennifer is saying to be polite. The legal equivalent of
So nice to meet you
.

That would be bad enough, but Jennifer’s not finished. “I do get the feeling you’re not telling me the whole story, however. And if I’m getting that feeling, you’d better believe that the FBI has it too. Those guys never think anybody’s being straight with them, and that might be the reason you got the impression that the agent . . . what was the term you used? Had an agenda? So, this is the part where I explain to you that whatever you say to me is subject to attorney-client privilege, and that means I’m duty-bound never to disclose it without your permission. Faith and I were close, and so I understand that there may be reluctance on your part to tell me certain things about your relationship with her, or even about her . . . but—and this is critically important—if that’s the case, then you should get another lawyer. Someone who didn’t know her. And you should do that right now, because you can’t keep information from me and expect that I’m going to be able to do my best by you.”

“Can I ask you a hypothetical question?” Stuart says.

He knows from Faith’s war stories that hypotheticals are the loophole to the attorney ethical code. A client suggests that—
hypothetically
—he committed a crime, and the lawyer explains the
hypothetical
advice that would be given in such a case. The dubious theory on which the exercise rests is that because it’s hypothetical, there’s no perjury problem if the client later tells a completely different story on the witness stand.

“Sure,” Jennifer says, not seeming put off by this transition.

“If I suspected, or let’s say even
more
than suspected, that Faith was involved with someone else . . . would that be good or bad for me?”

Stuart wonders if Jennifer already knew about Faith’s affair. Would she tell him if she did? Probably not, he concludes. Best friend privilege being right up there with that of attorney-client. Perhaps that’s even the reason that Jennifer so quickly saw through the story of marital bliss that Stuart recounted to law enforcement. Maybe Faith previously told Jennifer all about their problems.

“So the
hypothetical
you’re positing is one where a husband knows his wife has been unfaithful, and then the wife is murdered?” Jennifer asks. “Do I have the
hypothetical
facts right?”

Stuart nods. He’s already forgotten this is supposed to be speculative.

Jennifer considers the fact pattern for a moment and then says, “Okay. So my view, under this hypothetical set of facts, is that the husband should stay quiet about the affair. One reason is that you already denied it, and I’d just as soon not hand the FBI proof that you’ve lied to them. But more importantly, the issue only comes up if the FBI concludes the murder is some type of crime of passion. Faith’s personal life doesn’t matter if the attack is a random mugging or the killer is someone out for revenge for a judicial ruling. If the focus of the investigation turns to people with whom she had a romantic attachment, however, then the fact she was having an affair is highly relevant. But in that case her lover also becomes a suspect. The reason I say that you should keep quiet about it is because I’m assuming the FBI will discover the affair without your help. I take it that the FBI agent didn’t share any of that with you during your meeting, did he?”

“No,” Stuart says, fully recognizing that Jennifer has now abandoned the pretext of this being a hypothetical. “But he asked me if she was having an affair, and I said she wasn’t.”

“Okay . . . Well, maybe they haven’t discovered proof of the affair, or maybe the agent just didn’t want to tip his hand. But at some point, they’ll come back to you with that evidence.” Jennifer rubs her face, deep in concentration. “The danger for you now is that if you
know about Faith’s infidelity, then you have even more of a motive: on top of the financial angle that they’re already onto, there’s also jealousy to consider. Are you with me here?”

Stuart nods. He understands all too well. Things do not look good for him.

As if she senses that he’s desperate for good news, Jennifer smiles. “
But
 . . . if she
was
having an affair and you didn’t know about it, then the affair is irrelevant to you. You’re not a jealous husband. You’re not fearful of a divorce and its financial implications. For all you know, you’re the happiest married couple on earth.”

For the first time since he’s arrived, Stuart can feel himself relax. “Oh, got it. Thanks, that’s what I thought too,” he says.

“That’s not the end of it, though.” Stuart thinks that Jennifer is going to call him on this being a hypothetical, but that’s not the way she plays it at all. “I’d have a different response if I thought the FBI was going to find evidence that you knew about the affair and then lied to them about it. People don’t lie to the FBI to protect their wives’ reputations. They lie to protect themselves. So—hypothetically speaking, of course—if the husband is going to keep the affair to himself, he’d better be damn sure the FBI doesn’t find evidence that says he knew about it before the murder.”

27

R
achel cleared out most of her work over the coming weeks so she could devote her full attention to the Garkov case. As a result, she now finds herself in the very rare situation of having downtime. She knows her type-A personality, as well as the partner billing committee, won’t permit this state of affairs to persist very long, but that doesn’t mean she can’t bask in it for a few hours.

As is so often the case, her thoughts immediately turn to Aaron. Although she knows her glee over the possibility that Aaron may be on the road to a divorce is unseemly, she can’t deny that’s precisely how she feels. And while their “date” didn’t lead back to his hotel room, she’s now convinced it’s only a matter of time.

And there is no better time to take that next step than after the prom.

Her mind flashes on the image of Aaron in formal wear, looking like James Bond, right down to holding a martini, shaken, not stirred. When she conjures herself standing beside him, she realizes that something new is called for, a dress that is going to blow Aaron Littman’s mind.

She types into her search engine
Dolce & Gabbana
. She could walk up Madison and actually shop in the company’s showroom, or better yet, travel the even shorter distance to Bergdorf’s or Barneys, but she’s still not ready to make that extra commitment to decadence—shopping in public during a workday.

A few screens in, she comes upon a silk chiffon in platinum, with two jeweled straps. It makes the model in the picture look like she
has a chest, and Rachel figures she’s a cup size bigger, if not two, so the effect on her will be that much greater.

She has just completed inputting her credit card information when the phone rings. The caller ID says “Restricted Number.”

Rachel figures it’s most likely a snotty judicial clerk about to tell her that some filing she made last week has been bounced. She considers whether to let the call go to voice mail, but law clerks are often difficult to get on the phone, and so she answers.

“Rachel London.”

“Ms. London?”

She knows from the way he’s said her name that it’s not a clerk. The caller is a man, not a boy.

“Yes?”

“This is Special Agent Kevin Lacey of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Rachel has at least ten clients who are currently subjects of ongoing FBI investigations, and she hasn’t a single clue as to which one this call is about. The FBI is notorious for putting people through the wringer and then not following up again for months, sometimes even years. She’s had clients who gave the FBI interviews and were contacted three, and once four, years later, always on the eve of the statute of limitations’ running out, and been told that the U.S. Attorney’s Office was about to indict.

“And which one of my very lucky clients are you calling about, Agent Lacey?”

“I’m afraid
you’re
the client on this one, Ms. London,” he says in a voice that’s too confident for Rachel’s liking. “I’m investigating the murder of Judge Faith Nichols, and I wanted to talk to you a little about that.”

There’s a standard operating procedure at Cromwell Altman for calls with the FBI: act friendly, get as much information as you can without giving up any, and when that effort has been exhausted, say that you need to discuss the issues with your client.

She’s never had a case without a client, however.

“I’m . . . not sure I understand,” she says to stall him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that the FBI is trying to encourage me to divulge attorney-client privileged information concerning Nicolai Garkov.”