The Advocate's Devil (32 page)

Abe had spent enough time with Campbell to know not to expect the customary hug from a grateful client. He was right, and
relieved. Instead he got a cool handshake from Campbell.

“You did a good job,” Campbell whispered, looking in the direction of the jury, which was leaving. “Especially considering
what you think of me. Don’t worry, you’ll never have to see me again, except in commercials and at Celtics-Knicks games. I
do want you to know that I am innocent. That’s the truth. Thank you. I’ll send you my last installment on your bill. Now you’ll
be the most sought after lawyer in America. Congratulations.”

“Congratulations to you, too,” Abe said. “And please get some help. Stay out of trouble.”

Abe looked at Jennifer Dowling, who was sobbing uncontrollably in Cheryl Puccio’s arms. Suddenly Jennifer looked at Abe and
shouted across the room at him, “You’re worse than Campbell. He’s a sicko and a pervert. You’re supposed to be a decent man.
You got the jury to believe I’m a liar. And you know—deep in your heart—that I’m telling the truth. You bastard.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Ms. Dowling,” Abe said, walking toward her with his arm extended to shake her hand. “The jury
didn’t find you to be a liar. They just had a reasonable doubt.”

“Bullshit,” Jennifer replied, pulling her arm away. “You made them think I am a liar, and I’m not.”

“I’m sorry. That’s the way our system works.” Abe walked away, his head reeling from a combination of confused feelings—ego
gratification for winning, professional satisfaction at fulfilling his role as a defense attorney, and personal guilt over
what he had done to Jennifer Dowling.

The defense team left the courtroom, with Campbell behind them, signing autographs. Suddenly the media descended upon them.

“Any comment, Joe?”

“Are you mad at Jennifer, Joe?”

“Abe, what do you think was the main reason for the acquittal?”

Abe responded for Campbell. “We are satisfied that justice was done and Mr. Campbell can get back to his life and his profession.
He isn’t mad at anybody. The reason we won is because Mr. Campbell is innocent. The state had no case. It never should have
come to trial. Beyond that, we have no further comment. Ms. Puccio did an excellent job, and so did the judge and jury. Botton
line, there was no case.”

“So it wasn’t your brilliant defense?” one journalist was shouting at Abe as they were getting into the car.

“No, it’s easy to win when you have an innocent client.”

That was Abe’s standard response whenever he won a case. Some lawyers were quick to take credit for victories, and when they
did, they created the risk that their statements would be interpreted as a suggestion that it was a difficult case because
the client was really guilty. Abe always credited the client’s innocence. Only this time the words did not come out so easily.

Henry Pullman was not in the car. He had stayed behind in the hope of cornering some of the jurors. He always did that in
order to check the accuracy of his methods so that he could fine-tune them. It was all perfectly proper, at least in most
states, and extremely educational for Henry.

Back at Abe’s office there was the usual champagne and cookies that followed all victories. It had been a long time since
the last victory party. There had been no champagne following Charlie Odell’s release from prison, since Charlie’s freedom
had been achieved at the cost of Nancy Rosen’s indictment. Today there was nothing—at least nothing public—to tarnish Campbell’s
victory.

Abe proposed a toast to Joe’s freedom, and then he smashed the glass on the floor. Everyone was shocked at his uncharacteristic
display of apparent violence. But he quickly explained: “There is a Jewish tradition of breaking a glass at even the most
joyous events such as weddings. It reminds us that no joy is ever without some sorrow. Today there is joy in Joe Campbell’s
victory. Yet there is still sorrow, because Nancy Rosen remains in prison, even though the man she was convicted of helping
to escape is now in custody.”

Campbell, who had heard bits and pieces of the Rosen drama from Abe and Justin, joined in: “To Nancy’s freedom.”

Abe would never be able to fathom the man. So much of him seemed—at least on the surface—to be so decent, so normal. If Justin
and Rendi were right, where did his demons come from?

He had to put the most positive face on Campbell’s acquittal, especially since most of the people at the party—including Emma—knew
nothing about Campbell’s secret. One day he would tell Emma the truth about Joe’s background, Abe thought to himself. But
not for many years.

About an hour into the party, Henry Pullman came bursting through the door. He grabbed Abe and Rendi and pulled them into
an empty conference room. “You’re not going to believe this. I spoke to four jurors, including Julianne Barrow.”

“What did they tell you?” Rendi asked.

“This guy Campbell is really something. In all my years in this business, I’ve never seen anything like him.”

“How so?”

Henry took his notepad out of his jacket pocket. “The first guy I spoke to was Harrison Fowler, the truck driver from Maiden.
Listen to what he told me. I wrote down his exact words.”

Henry started to read his notes. “‘When I first heard Jennifer’s testimony, it sounded true. Then I believed Campbell’s denial.’”

“He didn’t deny anything,” Rendi said.

“Well, Fowler sure thought he did,” Henry insisted. “When I pressed him on that, this is what he said: ‘Oh, I know he didn’t
actually take the witness stand, but I was watching him very carefully. His denials looked very sincere. I believed him.’”

“What else did Fowler say?” Abe inquired.

“He said that Puccio really blew her credibility with that small dick question. Nobody believed that.”

“Why not?” Rendi asked.

“Fowler didn’t want to get into that. He just said, ‘We didn’t believe it.’”

“What about Ms. Scuba Diver?” Abe asked.

“I couldn’t get too much from her. She seemed almost embarrassed. She talked about reasonable doubt. She said that Jennifer
may have been angry because Campbell didn’t treat her well. She wanted to know what Campbell was going to do now. She seemed
more interested in him as a person than in the case.”

“Son of a bitch. He really did seduce her. And she knows it. That’s why she feels guilty. That’s why she wouldn’t look at
us when she entered the courtroom. She voted her crotch, not her brain. Joe really did get to her hormones. Son of a bitch.”

“Don’t worry, Abe,” Rendi teased. “The press will never know that. They’ll think you won the case with your brilliant legal
arguments. You’re going to be a superstar.”

When Abe returned to the party, Campbell was already gone. “He wanted to catch the shuttle back to New York,” Emma explained.
“He told me to give you a kiss good-bye and say thanks. He also said anytime
we
want tickets to a Knicks game, they’re on him. That’ll be great when I’m in New York. We can go together when you come down
to visit.”

“Maybe. We’ll see,” Abe said, his attention wandering to the reporters who were talking to Justin on the other side of the
room.

“Justin tells us—off the record, of course,—that it was your tactical decisions that won the case,” said Mike Black of the
Globe
, walking over to Abe. “Is that true?”

“Let’s stay off the record for a minute, okay?” Abe replied. “Tactical
mistakes
can lose a case, and I don’t think we made any. However, tactics alone rarely win a case. You’ve got to have the right client
and the right evidence. Now back on the record. This was a team victory. Everyone on the team deserves credit.”

“Abe,” Black persisted, “if you had such a good client, why didn’t you put him on the stand? Wasn’t it risky allowing the
jury to conjecture about why he didn’t testify?”

Abe was pleased that even Mike Black, who was among the most perceptive law reporters in the country, wasn’t suspicious. “It’s
always a risk to put a client on. And it’s always a risk not to put a client on. That’s what I get paid for—to weigh those
risks in a particular case.”

“Abe,” called Gayle, “it’s Tammy Gross from
Larry King Live
. They want you live at nine
P.M
.”

“Fine. Have them send a car here.”

“There are also calls from
Good Morning America
and the
Today
show. They both want you tomorrow. They also want Campbell.”

“Try to work it out so I can be on both. Tell them no Campbell.”

Abe stopped drinking champagne in anticipation of his upcoming TV interview. He went back to talking to the reporters, carefully
feeding them a mixture of background material and quotable sound bites for publication.

“Abe, can you come into the office for a second?” Gayle whispered discreetly. “A new client.”

“Who?”

“It’s Ice Puppy, the rap singer. His real name is Mohammed Kenya. Actually his
real
name is Malcolm Royce.”

“How do you know so much about him?”

“There’s an article about him in the current
People
. He’s been indicted for raping one of his backup singers. It’s all over the papers.”

“I haven’t looked at a paper since before the trial. Quick, bring me a few clips while I talk to him.”

Abe picked up the phone.

“You the man who got that White Knight dude off?” came the abrupt question.

“Yes, I am,” Abe replied.

“Then you the man I want to be my mouthpiece. I don’t care what you charge. My record company’s pickin’ up the tab.”

“Can you come to Boston to see me, Mr…. What do I call you?”

“
You
can call me Mo or Mal. My old friends call me Mai. My new friends call me Mo. I can be in Boston anytime. I got wings.”

“Can it wait till the day after tomorrow?”

“Fine. First thing in the
A.M
., I’m there.”

After Abe had finished his call, Gayle came in with another message. “Call Senator Bergson. The guy who’s been accused of
harassing his staff members. He wants you. Everyone wants you.”

“Until I lose the next one.”

“Well, you’re not going to lose the next one,” Gayle gushed. “You’re on a roll. You’re on top of the world. You’re a winner.”

A few minutes later, as Abe was savoring the victory, Gayle pointed to the phone again.

“Another new client?”

“No, it’s a woman named Darlene Walters. Says it’s about Joe Campbell. Should I tell her to call back?”

“I’ll take it,” Abe said, motioning for Justin and Rendi to join him in his private office. He put the call on the speaker-phone.

“Hello, Ms. Walters, I’m here with two of my associates, if that’s all right. If this is about the Campbell case, you should
know it’s over. He was acquitted.”

“I heard. That’s why I decided to call. I know you were asking about me before the trial—a woman named Rendi something talked
to a couple of my friends. I didn’t want my name to come up at the trial, so I didn’t get in touch with you.”

As she spoke, Rendi whispered in Abe’s ear, “She’s the account executive Margie told me about. Remember, the rough sex.”

“So why are you calling now?”

“I was hoping he would be convicted and put away.”

“The jury has spoken, Ms. Walters.”

“They didn’t know what he did to me. It was just like what he did to that poor Jennifer woman.”

“Look, Ms. Walters, I can hear that you’re upset. But there’s really nothing I can do. He was acquitted.”

“He’s done it before, and he’s going to do it again. Somebody has got to stop him.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Walters. There’s nothing I can do.”

Abe started to hang up the phone when Justin stopped him. “Ms. Walters, I’m Justin Aldrich, Mr. Ringel’s associate. Mr. Ringel
is right. There is probably nothing we can do, but I would like to hear what you meant when you said that what he did to you
was like what they say he did to Jennifer.”

Abe was upset at Justin’s intrusion. He didn’t want to hear what he knew was probably coming. Unfortunately it was too late.
He couldn’t hang up the phone now, as Darlene Walters began to tell her story.

“I met Joe at a party and really had the hots for him. It was after my divorce, and I was going through a wild phase. When
he asked me out, I was thrilled. After dinner, I invited him back to my apartment and we started to make out. I
wanted
to get it on with him. Then he started to accuse me of having done something terrible during my divorce. He made me cry,
and I told him to leave. He wouldn’t. He really got turned on when I fought off his advances, and he beat me up. And then
raped me.” Darlene Walters was now sobbing into the phone.

“Did you call the police?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I just couldn’t. I don’t want to get into it.”

“How did Campbell find out about your divorce?” Justin asked.

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t tell him. I didn’t want him to know I had children. Turns off some men.”

“We really appreciate your call,” Justin said. “I just don’t think there’s anything we can do. Did you call the prosecutor?”

“No. I don’t want to bring a case. I just thought you should know. Maybe you can have some influence over him. He’s a real
sicko. Unless he gets help, he’s going to hurt someone real bad. And I didn’t think you’d want that on your conscience.”

“Thanks, Ms. Walters,” Abe said, and hung up the phone.

Even before the line was disconnected, Rendi spoke up. “Oh, my God. Now it makes sense. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“What, what makes sense?” Abe asked.

“What Chrissy Kachinski—remember, the ‘groupie’ who got married to the meat guy from the south shore?—told me as I was leaving.”

“What?”

“Chrissy said something about Campbell having picked the right victim, because Darlene would never complain. I figured she
just meant that groupies protect the players, but it could have meant…”

“What, what?” Abe pressed.

“Don’t you see? It all fits together. Maybe Campbell found Darlene the same way he found Jennifer, stalked her, pretended
to meet her, dated her—all the while planning to rape her—knowing that she, too, was a perfect victim—a victim who would never
complain.”