The Advocate's Devil (17 page)

Rendi got up and started pacing. “What if
this
is what happened. It’s completely speculative, I admit. And it probably didn’t happen this way. What if—just what if—before
Campbell ever even heard of Dowling, he placed a computer search for recent New York cases in which women had filed false
complaints of sexual misconduct. And then he
deliberately
picked these women to go out with?”

“What, are you crazy?” Justin asked her. “Why would a man intentionally go out with women who he
knew
had falsely charged men with sexually abusing them? Those women are poison ivy to most men. They won’t go near them. No one
wants
to be charged with sexual harassment or rape, especially a jock.”

“That’s right,” Rendi said. “For
most
men these women are poison—because
most
men aren’t rapists.” Then, after pausing as if to reconsider whether to take her point farther, Rendi slowly continued. “What
if a guy deliberately set out to rape a woman, and wanted to get away with it? Who might he pick as the least likely type
of woman to be believed?” She quickly answered her own question. “A woman who
once before
had filed a
false
complaint and who had been exposed as a liar. A woman like Jennifer Dowling.”

“Rendi, that’s the most paranoid thing I’ve ever heard,” Abe said angrily. “You sound like that radical feminist Gloria McDermot.
I really expect more from you—”

“I’m not so sure that Rendi’s off base,” Justin interrupted. “It’s certainly possible—though I also admit it’s rank speculation—that
Campbell made a calculated decision to date Jennifer because he planned in advance to rape her, and he knew she wouldn’t be
believed if she cried rape.”

“My God, Justin, now you’re joining Rendi’s paranoia. That dog just won’t hunt. It doesn’t make any sense. Think about what
you’re suggesting.”

“Could be true, Abe. Just could be. Maybe Campbell understood the story of the little boy who falsely cried ‘Wolf!’ and he
applied it to a grown-up woman who had falsely cried harassment.”

“Let’s don’t jump to any ridiculous conclusions,” Abe cautioned. “You’re both reading an awful lot into a couple of computer
printouts and an incomplete field investigation. It’s highly circumstantial at best, and Campbell may have a good explanation
for the whole thing. We’re letting our fantasies run away with us.”

“You’re probably right,” Justin agreed. “Remember that Campbell and Dowling met by chance near her office building. That doesn’t
fit in with your theory, Rendi, does it?”

“Not all chance meetings are really chance,” Rendi shot back. “I arrange ‘chance’ meetings with my investigative subjects
all the time. It’s not all that hard to do.”

“Stop this now,” Abe insisted. “We’re Campbell’s
defense
team. Let’s stop thinking like prosecutors, and start thinking like defense lawyers. I’m going to defend this man—and win.”

C
AMBRIDGE
—
S
ATURDAY
, A
PRIL
15

At law school Justin had been active in the Federalist Society, a conservative group that prided itself on being politically
incorrect on issues of race, sex, and politics. He took courses mostly from the right wing professors, steering clear of teachers
like Haskel Levine and others who had been Abe’s favorites a generation earlier. Justin had written a term paper on how feminism
was dangerous to liberty. Though he was always polite to women personally, his political views, especially about rape, sometimes
provoked his women friends into displays of rage.

“Big deal,” he had once infuriated Rendi by saying. “Rape is not like a broken bone or even a cracked tooth. It doesn’t cause
any real damage. There’s nothing to heal, except some bruised feelings.” Rendi had almost given him a cracked tooth following
that display of male insensitivity. Instead she’d given him a lecture about how it felt to be violated to one’s core. Justin
had pretended to listen, but it had just sounded like feminist rhetoric to him even when coming with the passion that accompanied
all of Rendi’s lectures.

The Campbell case was subtly changing Justin. As his suspicions about Joe Campbell mounted, his compassion for Jennifer Dowling
increased. What if Campbell had really exploited her vulnerable past? It was only a theory. What if it were true? He felt
a growing kinship with Jennifer Dowling, since, like her, he had originally been taken in by the smooth-talking basketball
star. Sure Abe was right: Justin had to act like a defense lawyer. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think and feel like a human
being.

Justin and Abe sat over lunch at the Bombay Restaurant across the street from the Kennedy School near Harvard Square, the
usual venue for their weekly strategy session. “You can’t defend Campbell as though there weren’t something fishy—as though
you didn’t know more than what he told you.”

“I can’t just act on your suspicions, either,” Abe replied, taking a bite of his tandoori chicken. “He’s our client, and I
have a legal and ethical responsibility toward him.”

“He lied to you, and more than once.”

“All my clients lie to me, and more than once.”

“This guy is bad.”

“Most of my clients are bad. I think it was Mark Twain who once said, ‘If there were no bad people, there would be no good
lawyers.’”

“Abe, my gut tells me Campbell is guilty.”

“That’s your opinion, and you have the right to hold it and to express it to me—in private. I don’t necessarily share your
opinion.”

“That’s because you have DLBS.”

“What the hell is DLBS?”

“Defense lawyer’s blind spot. That’s what we called it when I interned at the DA’s office.”

“Listen, every good defense attorney develops a nose for guilt over time. We’re not easily fooled by our clients.”

“Oh, yeah? What about the Patrick case?”

In the case Justin was referring to, Abe had been appointed to represent an indigent black man named Orlando Patrick, who
was accused of killing a cabdriver during a holdup. Orlando’s brother, Marcel, testified that he was the real killer. The
jury believed him and acquitted Orlando. Marcel was then charged with murder, and Orlando testified that
he
had killed the cab-driver. The second jury acquitted Marcel. There was a terrible public outcry, especially when it became
clear that neither brother could be retried for the murder because of double jeopardy.

“That case was unusual,” Abe said defensively. “Those Patrick brothers were the best damn liars I ever met. To this day I
still don’t know which of them was telling the truth.”

“How about neither of them.” Justin sighed. “Abe, you represent so many obviously guilty defendants that you become desperate
to believe that you’re representing the occasional innocent—so you can justify what we’re doing for a living.”

“Who taught you that nonsense, Justin?”

“You did. I can see it in your desperation to believe Campbell is innocent. How many times have you heard defense lawyers
mouth the platitude about how it’s better for ten guilty men to go free than for even one innocent defendant to be wrongly
convicted?”

“Oh, about once a day. And it’s not a platitude. I assumed that you believed in it.”

“I do believe in it. There’s no greater exhilaration for a defense lawyer than representing an innocent defendant.”

“Except when you lose. It’s even worse losing for someone you know is innocent.”

“Even when you lose, you know you’re doing God’s work if your client is innocent. I envy Mike Tyson’s lawyers, despite the
fact they lost. They knew he was innocent. In fact, in many respects, the Campbell case is the exact opposite—the mirror image—of
Tyson.”

“How so?” Abe asked.

“Lots of people thought Tyson was guilty because of his media reputation, his rough edges, and his direct way. Yet we both
think he was really innocent. With Campbell, everybody seems to think he’s innocent because of his charm and polish. And because
he’s white. I think he’s guilty as hell.”

“I’m glad everyone thinks Joe is innocent,” Abe said. “That can’t hurt in front of the jury. In this game, there’s only one
bottom line—winning—whether the client is black or white, innocent or guilty.”

“Still, it feels a lot better expending all that energy when the guy is innocent.

“It sure does, and that’s the attitude I’m approaching the Campbell case with.”

“Tell me, Abe, how does it feel when you get a guilty guy off?”

“It’s a terrible feeling, especially when it’s a horrible crime like murder or rape. It’s even worse when you lose a case
for an innocent client, because it’s your job to win.

“Even for the guilty?”

“Yes, even for the guilty. It’s not part of your job to enjoy it—that’s why I never go to victory parties for guilty clients.”

“God, it must feel just terrible to see a murderer or rapist go free because you outsmarted the prosecution.”

“You’ll experience it some time yourself, Justin.”

“I can’t wait,” Justin said cynically.

“You’re right about one thing—that for the principle of ‘better ten guilty go free’ to have any meaning to a defense attorney,
we have to actually meet that one innocent defendant every so often. I still believe Campbell is that one innocent.”

“Sure you do, Abe, because if you can’t find the one innocent, you have to make him up.”

“Not so. Any good lawyer worth his salt does a better job if he truly believes his client is innocent.”

“I understand that. That’s precisely my point. You
really
do believe that your client is innocent, if there is
any
plausible basis for that belief. Then when evidence of guilt begins to emerge, you develop that blind spot. You just don’t
see it, even if it’s right in front of your eyes. I’m amazed that with your experience you still don’t see through Campbell’s
charm.”

“Campbell’s charm has nothing to do with it, Justin. He may have charmed Emma. I’m looking at the evidence.
Your
evidence. It just doesn’t persuade me. It does shake me a little bit, and I appreciate that. Without hard proof what would
you have me do?”

“You should drop him like you did Kraus,” Justin offered.

For an instant, Abe’s mind flashed on an image of the goose-stepping Henry Kraus, a neo-Nazi “Uberführer” who had been arrested
at Downtown Crossing in Boston for demanding that blacks be sent back to Africa, and that Jews be sent back to Russia. Abe
had agreed to represent Kraus on the First Amendment issue. Kraus then went on TV and announced that he had picked Abraham
Ringel to represent him only because he wanted “a sharp Jewish lawyer,” Abe immediately left the case, announcing that he
would never allow a Nazi to select him for anything because he was a Jew. His decision had caused quite a stir, especially
when Kraus sued him for breach of contract.

Abe had won the case after an undercover agent working for the Anti-Defamation League testified that Kraus had deliberately
orchestrated the entire episode in order to show that Jewish lawyers couldn’t be trusted.

“You dropped that Nazi son of a bitch before you even knew it was a setup,” Justin reminded him.

“Yeah, but when I dropped Kraus, nobody thought I was doing it because I believed he was guilty. I went out of my way publicly
to defend his right to make racist and anti-Semitic speeches. I just didn’t want to be his lawyer. This case is different.
If I dump Campbell without any explanation, everyone will believe that I learned something that led me to conclude Campbell
is guilty. I couldn’t do that even if it were true—which it isn’t.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re stuck with Campbell,” Justin said plaintively. “I really don’t want to hear that.”

“I am stuck with Campbell,” Abe concluded. “Even if I agreed with you that he was guilty—which I don’t. Better ten guilty
men go free—”

“I
know
the rule,” Justin interrupted. “Somehow it feels so different when we’re the ones who are freeing the guilty rapist.”

“First of all, we’re not. And second of all, we have no other option,” Abe said.

“Yes, we do. You’ve gotta confront Campbell with what we’ve learned—all the computer stuff—his reputation. The whole schmear.
Campbell has the right to know what we know about him. Some clients just don’t want to be represented by lawyers who are aware
of the skeletons in their closets.”

“What do you think I should tell him, Justin?”

“Everything we’ve got, the whole messy ball of wax. And tell him how we found it.”

“You really do want him to fire us.”

“It’s his decision, and he’s entitled to know exactly what we think of him, and precisely what we are, and are not, prepared
to do for him.”

Abe thought about this for a moment. “I think you’re right about that. We should give him a chance to explain what you and
Rendi have conjured up. And I’m not going to sugar-coat anything.”

“Sounds like you’ve got to confront him before the trial,” Justin said.

“It sure does.”

“Want me to hold your hand?” Justin asked.

“Not on this one. This time, it’s going to be one on one, with no referee.”

B
OSTON
—
T
UESDAY
, A
PRIL
18

In preparation for Abe’s meeting with Campbell, Justin went back to the computer room and Rendi headed back out to the field.
Abe needed documentation—hard evidence—to support everything he was going to throw at Campbell, even if it took some time
to gather it. Abe knew that Campbell’s intuitive ability to psych out his opponent would serve him well in this confrontation.
Abe prided himself, as well, on being an intuitive lawyer. His advantage lay, as it always did, in superior preparation. Abe
did not want to ask any question to which he did not have the answer—and the proof to back it up.

Justin’s computer research had uncovered that Campbell had been married as a senior in college to a smart and beautiful classmate
named Annie Higgins. Captain of the Northeastern University ski team and a standout slalom competitor, she was herself a star
athlete. The marriage had lasted five years, though they had separated after two.