The Advocate's Devil (19 page)

“I reached my client Owens,” Nancy continued, “and urged him to turn himself in.”

“What did he say.”

“He refused, as I thought he would.”

“So? What did you do then?”

“I told Owens that I was mailing the prosecutor a letter that afternoon, disclosing that he was the killer, what his motive
was, and what he had told me when he came to my office on the day of the Williams shooting. He told me things that only the
killer would know. I made a file memo.”

“What did Owens say?”

“He went crazy. Threatened to kill me. Threatened to have me disbarred.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that I had made up my mind, and that I was calling to give him a day or two lead time to do what he had to do
before the prosecutor got the letter.”

“Oh, my God, Nancy, you told Owens to skip town?”

“Not in so many words. But that was the message.”

“So what happened?”

“Owens skipped town. The prosecutor got my letter, looked for Owens, was told that he had left in a hurry the day before.
No one can find him. I think I know where he may be.”

“What did the prosecutor do?”

“You won’t believe this, Justin. He threatened
me
, with obstruction of justice and disbarment.”

“I do believe it. You really put your bar certificate at risk for Charlie.”

“What else could I do? I have to save Odell. And I had to give my client a fighting chance. They wouldn’t give him immunity,
so I gave him a chance to give himself immunity by disappearing. Not perfect, but the best I could think of. Hell of a lot
better than what that old lawyer did in the Leo Frank case. Your client is not going to die.”

“Thanks, Nancy. I really owe you. If there’s any trouble over this, you can count on me.” And Justin anticipated that there
certainly
could
be trouble for Nancy. Big trouble.

Abe and Justin arrived at the prosecutor’s office on the fifth floor of the old courthouse a few minutes after four. Justin
had briefed Abe about what Nancy had told him on the phone. It always bugged Abe that prosecutors were housed in the same
building as the judges, while defense attorneys were relegated to offices a few blocks away. One look at the dreary gray walls
and institutional furniture in the office quickly reminded Abe of why he preferred to be an outsider.

District Attorney Kevin Duncan was there with his chief assistant and a state trooper. He got right down to business.

“Let’s be straight with one another, Mr. Ringel. You’ve got a guy on death row who you say is innocent. There is no way you
can prove his innocence in court without Ms. Rosen’s client, Owens. Rosen’s own testimony would be hearsay and probably not
admissible on lawyer-client privilege grounds. If you want to save Odell, you’ve got to help us find Owens.”

“I have no problem with that,” Abe replied. “I’ve got no responsibility to Owens. He’s not my client. How can
I
help you find him? I don’t know anything about him.”

“Nancy Rosen does. She knows about his friends, his family, where he probably went. We have reason to believe that if Nancy
Rosen wanted to help us find Owens, she could.”

“So why don’t you ask Nancy? What do you want from me?”

“We’ve asked Nancy, and she won’t help us. Claims she knows nothing. We don’t believe her.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“You can help us put pressure on her. We intend to indict Nancy Rosen for obstruction of justice, and we believe Mr. Aldrich
could help us prove that Ms. Rosen advised her client to flee. We want Mr. Aldrich to testify against Nancy Rosen.”

“No way I’m gonna testify against Nancy Rosen,” Justin said.

“You’ve got no choice, Mr. Aldrich. Odell’s on death row, and that’s where he’s staying unless you help us find Owens. The
only chance we have of finding Owens is by squeezing Rosen’s tit in a wringer. And, Mr. Aldrich,
you’re
the wringer.”

“You son of a bitch!” Abe jumped out of his chair as if he were about to attack Duncan. “You’re holding Charlie Odell hostage
against Nancy Rosen.”

“That’s your characterization, Mr. Ringel. I would put it differently. Mr. Aldrich has information that could help us prove
that a local lawyer committed a felony—an ongoing felony, since Owens is still at large.
We
have an interest in finding Owens, and
your
client
Odell has an interest in finding Owens. Can we work together? Or does the status quo remain?”

“By the status quo, you mean Odell dies.”

“That
is
the status quo, Mr. Ringel.”

“We’ll think about it,” Abe said, knowing that he couldn’t ask Justin to help the prosecutor put his friend Nancy in prison.
“You’re scum, Duncan. You would actually allow a man you know is innocent to be executed if my young associate here doesn’t
testify against Nancy Rosen?”

A sardonic smile appeared on the prosecutor’s lips. “I don’t know that he is innocent. I only know that your friend Rosen
claims that another man, who is conveniently missing, apparently admitted that
he
did it. We get these false confessions all the time, Mr. Ringel, especially in high-profile cases, you know that. And I don’t
even know for sure that Owens ever really admitted anything to Rosen.”

“What about the stuff that only the real killer would know?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Ringel. Information gets out. Rosen probably heard about it through the courthouse
grapevine. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Duncan, you really are a worm.”

“And one more thing, Mr. Ringel. I don’t want you or Mr. Aldrich telling Nancy Rosen about my offer to you. If you do, she
might decide to follow Owens into hiding, and then we would come after the two of
you
for obstruction of justice. You’ve got exactly three days to decide whether Odell dies or Rosen goes to jail. There is no
third alternative. It’s a tough choice. I hear you’re both good at making tough choices. Mr. Ringel, Mr. Aldrich, have a nice
day.”

C
AMBRIDGE
—
T
UESDAY,
M
AY
23

Haskel’s condition was worsening every week. Now there were days of absolute silence. Abe would visit almost every morning
on the way to his office and talk to his old mentor. Sometimes he would get no response at all. Other times he would see a
smile, a frown, a tear, a twinkling of Haskel’s deep old eyes. Abe wasn’t even certain he was really seeing these responses.
Maybe Haskel was reacting to his own inner dialogue rather than to Abe’s soliloquy. On some days Haskel would speak, often
in delphic terms, occasionally with long, rambling stories.

Today Abe sat at Haskel’s side to ponder his response to the awful choice the New Jersey prosecutor had inflicted upon him
and Justin. In recounting the meeting with Duncan, Abe characterized Charlie Odell as a hostage and the prosecutor as a tyrant.
Suddenly Haskel began to speak, softly and indistinctly at first, but then in a singsong voice reminiscent of a young student
learning the ancient Talmud. Abe listened carefully to every word.

“There was once a walled city in Roman-occupied Judea in which a thousand Jews lived peacefully. A Roman general laid siege
to the city, and no food or water was allowed in. The tyrannical general sent a message to the elders of the city that they
had two choices. Either they must turn over to the Romans one citizen of the city for execution or everyone in the city would
die of starvation.”

After telling the story, Haskel stopped and nodded off to sleep. Abe tried to arouse him, but to no avail. His visit was over.
There would be another tomorrow. In the meantime, Abe had to figure out what Haskel meant by his cryptic story and whether
it provided any guidance to him in the tough decision he now had only two days to make.

“Justin,” Abe called out as he walked into the reception area of his office, “I need you to do an unusual bit of legal research
this morning.”

Justin bounded out of his office with that eager look only recent law school graduates seemed to have all of the time. “Sure,
Abe. Library? Computer? What’s the task today?”

“Neither,” Abe responded. “Today you study one of the oldest legal documents in history.”

“I love legal history, especially the old English dooms. What do you want me to look up?”

“This isn’t English. It isn’t even
in
English. I need you to look up something in the Talmud.”

“The Talmud? They don’t teach that stuff in law school, and I don’t read Hebrew.”

“Actually, it’s in Aramaic, which was the everyday language of the Jews at the time the Talmud was compiled. It’s a bit like
the case reports that we read today. The Talmud records legal discussions among the leading rabbis during the third, fourth,
and fifth centuries.”

“Abe, don’t you think we have enough on our plate without digging up ancient rabbinical decisions?”

“Haskel told me a story today. I think it comes from the Talmud. Maybe it has some answers that could help us in the Odell
case.”

“How can a fifteen-hundred-year-old discussion help us in the Odell decision?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Abe replied, shrugging. “Got any better ideas?”

He recounted Haskel’s story about the walled city and asked Justin to find out how the old rabbis had resolved the dispute
over whether to sacrifice one innocent person in order to save an entire city. He told Justin to call around to various rabbinical
seminaries to get a lead on the story and to find out if any English translations were available.

A few hours later Justin was back again. He had found the talmudic reference to which Haskel was referring, and it was as
elusive as Haskel’s story. The old rabbis had agreed that if the tyrant requested a specifically named hostage, he should
be turned over and the city saved. However, if the tyrant requested just any hostage, none should be selected by the city
elders for execution, even if that meant the destruction of the entire city and its inhabitants.

“There was a certain logic to their thinking,” Justin explained. “If the tyrant picked the victim, it became the responsibility
of the tyrant. If the elders decided, the burden would be on them.”

“No wonder so many of us Jews become lawyers,” Abe said. “These talmudic distinctions are even more difficult to figure out
than the legal distinctions in the English common law. How does it help us with the Duncan decision?”

“Let me think about that a little more.”

“Okay. But do it quickly. We have only two days to make our decision.”

C
AMBRIDGE
—
W
EDNESDAY,
M
AY
24

When Abe arrived at his office for the morning confrontation with Joe Campbell, the athlete was already in Abe’s inner office,
pacing quickly back and forth in his designer sweat suit as if he were warming up for a game. He was, in fact, in the midst
of the NBA playoffs. The Knicks had swept the Heat in the previous round and were awaiting the outcome of a closely contested
series between the Pacers and the Bulls that would determine their next opponent.

“Well, Joe, you’re here early. I thought ballplayers like to sleep late.”

“Has it occurred to you that I’m anxious to get this bit behind me? I need to concentrate on earning a living.”

“Yeah, except you have nothing to worry about. You’re innocent, right, Joe?”

“You know that better than anybody.”

“Do I?”

The question hung between them.

Abe took a file folder out of the old oak file cabinet adjoining his desk, riffled through the papers, and looked at Joe.
“We’ve got a big problem that I’ve got to put to you directly.”

“What do you mean
we
, Kemo Sabe?” Joe asked. “Only I have a problem, remember. You’re not accused of anything.”

At least not yet, Abe thought as he turned the conversation more confrontational. “I do have a problem, and my problem is
you.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you’ve been leveling with me.”

“I told you I was sorry, and that it wouldn’t happen again. Can’t we put that behind us and get on with my case?”

“I’m not talking about
that
lie,” Abe said. “Justin and Rendi believe that your entire story of when you met Jennifer and found out about her harassment
suit is a bald-faced lie.”

Suddenly Joe Campbell’s entire demeanor seemed to change. He was no longer the polite young man who had so impressed Abe at
the Four Seasons. Now he was a trash-talking jock.

“What the fuck are you saying? How dare you? I told you that I would tell you the truth, and I expect you to believe me. I’m
not paying you to sit here and insult me,” Joe said angrily, starting to get up. “Every goddamned lawyer in the country would
give their right testicle to be representing me. And you sit here and call me a liar. Fuck you.”

Abe hated this part of the lawyer’s job—looking your client straight in the eye and telling him that you question his entire
story. They didn’t teach you how to do it in law school, and there was no instructional manual among the volumes that lined
Abe’s office. A quarter century of experience had taught Abe how important this kind of confrontation could be in winning
a case, especially when the client was lying but might still be innocent of the charges—a phenomenon more common than most
outside observers might suspect.

Abe was prepared for Joe’s reaction, and he responded in an even tone. “Please stop acting. I am actually trying to help you.
I’m your doctor and I’ve just read your CAT scan and it shows me you have operable cancer. Do you want me to pretend you don’t
or do you want me to try to cure you?”

“What the hell does this have to do with CAT scans and cancer? You can’t see a lie on a CAT scan.”

“My staff and I look at the evidence, and the evidence shows our trained eyes—just like a CAT scan shows a doctor’s trained
eye—that you may not be telling us the truth. Why would you lie to us, Joe, if you’re innocent?”